The Bodyguard | [Finished Not Edited | +18]

23

Viviana's Pov:

I've never thought of myself as particularly weak. Right now, the idea of being strong is mocking me. Every part of my body is trembling, and all I can do is cling to Valentino while he drags me stumbling toward the car parked outside the motel room.

I don't see any of the other faces as I pass them by, and I don't hear anything but my heartbeat in my own ears. That, and the sound of the gunshot on repeat in my mind. The hot sticky wetness of my father's blood clinging to my fingers, to my clothes.

I'm seconds from breaking. Something inside me finally snaps under the pressure. My father tried to ruin me for years, and it's almost ironic he'd succeed but only by forcing me to take his life. Lorenzo is gone. My father is gone. My mother is gone. I'm the only one with my brither who left.
I clutch my hand over my stomach and tuck my chin, hoping he doesn't read me like he always does so easily.

Even though he's probably going to kill me, the grip of his hand is offering me the tiniest bit of comfort, the only thing keeping me clinging to sanity at this point.

The word goes fuzzy, and I hear the gunshot again, so loud, echoing in my head.

I'm bodily picked up and set on the warm leather of the SUV. Valentino is gone, the door closed in my face, but then he's come around to slide in beside me behind the driver's seat.
"Angel," he whispers.
A hot tear slides down my cheek. Why is it hot? Oh, I'm freezing. That's why I'm shaking. I feel so cold I expect to see my breath fogging out in front of me with every exhale. But no, it's inside me. What I've done is inside me now, forever.

"Angel," he says again, louder this time. I look up at his face.
I don't find anger there, but I can't pinpoint the look he's giving me right now, not with this noise in my head. "I...I..." I slump, trying to get something out, to explain any of it...all of it?

A band comes across my chest and takes me a moment to figure out he's buckled the seat belt and then pulled it tight. Then he wraps my hands around a silver flask.
"Drink this, Angel. It'll help you get back to yourself." He guides my hands, still clutching the flask, up to my mouth.

I stare into his eyes as I take a heavy swallow. It's some kind of whiskey, and it burns all the way down to my belly.

The heat cuts the cold, firing a path through the chill and the haze. He's right, it helps. This time I take another long gulp without his assistance and cough through the resulting burn.

I hand him the flask and sink against the leather at my back. My fingers are still trembling, but the rest of my body seems to have calmed down.

The SUV pulls away from the light of the hotel, casting shadows across the car. I risk a look at his face. His full lips are set in a grim line, and the stubble on his chin is thicker than the last time I saw him. His hair is messier than usual as if he's been shoving his fingers through it over and over. The dark waves are unruly but not as crazy as my curls are after days of ignoring them.

I turn my attention out the window and focus on the lights. Now that we are alone together, panic begins to thread through the shock. I called him, and I know I shouldn't have. At the time, I didn't even remember making the call, but something in my head told me he was the best option.

Now, alone with him, anger practically wafting across the back seat, I'm rethinking my choice. I left for a reason, and I'm not sure the trade is worth it. No, I know it's not. The second he learns the truth about his mother's death, I'm dead, his son is dead, and he won't be able to live with himself after that.

In one moment of fear and shock, I've doomed us all.
Something cold touches my cheek, and I jerk backward, bumping my head against the window. He's cleaning my cheek with a wipe he pulled from God knows where. I lean in this time so he can get better access, even as my mind screams to get out of the car and run.