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My flight touched down and I exhale, just as reality starts to kick in. I’ll be living here for a few months. Make the most of it, my mind reminds me for the umpteenth time.

Jonah made me study Bruce’s features. He’s very handsome, with a nice chiseled jawline, thick brows, and intense brown eyes, dark hair, tanned skin, and a fit structure that gives an outdoors type vibe. I also studied a picture of him in a suit, giving debonair vibes. He’s got the sexy adult boy-next-door look, and Jonah also warned me to keep a protective and cautious distance. He’s paid to protect me, nothing else. He must have said that part twenty times.

Jonah need not worry. I’m too jaded to think about dating anyone right now, never mind the fact that my life is in danger, and I feel like a fugitive on the run. Who in their right mind would want to date a girl that’s most likely to get them killed just by being next to her? So yep, Jonah need not worry. Besides, the possibility of finding love like mom and dad had is damn near impossible. Though they never got their fairytale ending, they sure as hell showed me what love is and what I shouldn’t settle for. Ergo, Bruce won’t be a problem, handsome or not. I only have room for survival.

I got out of my first-class seat. My entire luggage is my backpack. Jonah said my apartment is all set up and I can shop for everything I need once I’m settled. When your life is in danger, material things that money can buy become insignificant. My significant items are my passports, a few toiletries, pictures of my parents and Jonah, an extra day change of clothes plus one extra pair of underwear. My bag is always packed like I’m going down the street, not running for my life with only essentials.

I hope coming to Chicago works, because we thought London would work and they still found me and killed my bodyguard and friend. When Jonah arrived, I asked for Amrit and he told me my friend and protector had died saving me. My whole being collapsed in grief. A part of me kept hoping it was a lie, that the door would open and Amrit would walk in with a bright smile, but it never came. Now I’m spinning in a circle of sorrow and survival.

The memory that stays with me most was his determination to get me to safety, alongside the sound of our joyful laughter. I still can’t shake the feeling that my friend is dead because of me. Jonah keeps reminding me that he knew the score, and he was willing to give his life to protect me.

My mind plays back the events of the moment Amrit told me to run and not look back. I didn’t look back. I kept going till I made it to the safe spot. The woman didn’t question me when I showed up at her door. She let me in, grabbed some biscuits for me and juice boxes, and drove me straight to the airport, bought a ticket for Manchester with instructions on where to go and how to get into the house. She assured me the house had plenty of food, emphasizing that I mustn’t make any calls or speak to any individuals. Just wait there until Jonah arrives.

Jonah arrived the next morning and started making plans for my departure from the UK. I spent the last four days memorizing the rules of safety and every angle of Bruce’s face, then back on a plane to London and now Chicago. So yes, my backpack is just fine.

I get through immigration and exit door B as instructed. I look around and see a guy with a yellow scarf, but he’s not the one I’ve studied. The features and structure don’t match. This guy is a lot bulkier, with a bit rugged and short blond hair. I watch as his gaze follows the tall model beauty that’s drawing attention as she passes by. He’s not Bruce, but who is he? I keep looking, then I see Bruce. He’s certainly more attractive in person. He’s the guy that looks relaxed but oozes authority and confidence. He’s standing a few feet behind the other guy, but in his hand is the real scarf with my initials. I move through the crowd and head towards him, now standing next to him.

“Nice scarf. Do you know Alexis Doherty?” I ask. He turns to me, our gazes lock for an intense moment that hits like a tidal wave. He smiles, bright white teeth even more attractive. For a second I forget how tired and hungry I am and forget he’s my bodyguard, not someone to ever swoon over. Jonah warning echoes in my head. I snap out of whatever weird moment is engulfing us.

“Hello, Sprinkles,” he drawls in a deep voice that makes my body blossom with warmth. I smile back, blushing to my own chagrin. This isn’t good. Keep a firm grip.

“Hi, Bruce,” I manage to say.

“Where are your bags?” he asks.

I tap my backpack to signal that’s all I have. He nods and guides me towards the parking lot.

As we move, I notice Mr. Bulky, who was checking out my blond decoy, following us.

“Is he with you?” I ask in a whisper.

“Yes.” That deep voice hits like a gentle wave. This isn’t good. Firm grip, I remind myself. I nod and follow him.

We arrive at the parking lot, and I get in the back seat with Bruce, saying hello to the driver, who’s a good-looking black guy. He smiles back at me.

Bruce frowns at the interaction. Jonah spoke highly of this Bruce guy. I hope he’s not an asshole.

An asshole that will protect you, ignore the driver.

“How was your flight?” he asks

“Fine,” I answer, much as it wasn’t. I couldn’t sleep or eat for fear the people after me might poison me or I might be poked with a deadly needle in my sleep.

“If we are going to be around each other, don’t ever lie to me.” His voice is gruff. How could he tell I lied? “How was your flight?” he asks again.

“It was okay. I needed to sleep but I was too scared to sleep or eat anything. I’m hungry and tired.”

“Would you like to stop for food on the way before we get to your apartment or order when you get to your apartment?”

“I think I would prefer to order at the apartment so I can shower and sleep.”

“Smith, take us to the apartment,” he says to the driver.

“What’s your name? Jonah told me to tell him the truth about everything except my real last name and my relationship to Jonah. “You must keep our relationship a secret,” Jonah warned repeatedly. He also made me promise not to date him or get swooned by him. “He’s a womanizer, do not let him fool you,” he’d warned, also repeatedly.

“Alexis Doherty,” I answer. He puts his hand out to me, and I take his hand and feel a charge, a jolt of electricity. He feels it too. The awareness is apparent in our locked gaze at the unexpected charge.

“I’m Bruce Powell. Smith is the driver, and that’s Ice,” his voice deepens. I nod and try to pull my hand, but he holds on like we are magnetized, as his brown eyes question and search mine for all my secrets. Something ethereal is pulling us. Unexpectedly, he drops my hand and shifts uncomfortably in his seat. For a beat, I mentally steady my emotions.