Saved || Bodyguard Connor x Reader

Chapter 24: Interrogator

Why the hell is he so obsessed with me?

Was it really just about my father?

Connor is by your side immediately. "Are you okay?"

You nod, still catching your breath. His fingers gently lift your hands. "You're injured," he states quietly, eyes fixed on your reddened, swollen knuckles.

You blink, then let out a soft, breathless laugh.

Sirens wail in the distance—flashing blue and red lights spill through the windows. Heavy footsteps thunder up the front porch, and the door bursts open.

"DETROIT POLICE!"

You exhale, tension slipping from your shoulders. Connor must have alerted them.

Hank pushes through the officers as he takes in the scene—the shattered mug, the gun discarded on the floor, the stalker groaning in pain, and you and Connor standing over him.

Hank exhales sharply through his nose. "Holy shit."

He waves the officers forward. They waste no time, yanking the stalker off the ground. He barely resists, body too wrecked to put up a fight. Blood drips from his split lip, one arm hanging limp from Connor's brutal disarm.

"Finally," you mutter, watching as they shove him against the wall and snap cuffs onto his wrists.

"Damn," one of the officers murmurs. "You really did a number on him."

Hank steps forward, his usual scowl softened with something almost like concern. "You alright?"

The adrenaline still crashes through you in waves. You exhale, running a shaky hand through your hair. "Yeah."

Hank nods, then turns to Connor, clapping a heavy hand on his shoulder. "You've done a good job, son."

Before the officers can drag the stalker away, Connor moves.

He steps forward, slow and deliberate, crouching in front of the bastard. His LED pulses a deep, seething red.

The stalker flinches, trying to shift away, but the officers hold him still. A flicker of nervousness passes over his face as Connor's shadow looms over him.

Connor tilts his head. "You broke into her home before, didn't you?" His voice is eerily calm. "Not the one sending letters. That's someone else. But you... you were the one inside."

The stalker shifts, his eyes darting away. Connor notices. Of course, he notices.

Connor's eyes flicker over his face. "You knew the alarm system was deactivated that night. No forced entry. You had inside information."

He leans in slightly, gaze hardening. "Who told you?"

In a blink, he snatches the guy by his collar, yanking him up just enough to make him panic. The stalker lets out a choked noise, hands scrambling against the officers holding him.

"Talk." Connor's voice is cold, stripped of any artificial warmth. The same tone he must have used when he was a android detective. "Or I'll make you."

Your breath catches.

"I don't know what you're talking about," the stalker wheezes, but his voice wavers.

Connor doesn't let go.

"Lying." His LED flickers, his grip tightening just slightly. "Your increased heart rate, defensive shift in posture, and microexpressions indicate distress. You're scared." He leans in, his tone dropping into something that makes even you shiver.

"Who gave you the information?"

The stalker clenches his jaw, refusing to speak.

"WHO GAVE YOU THE INFORMATION?" he repeats, shouting.

"Jesus, it's giving 28 stab wounds all over again," Hank mutters under his breath.

You turn to Hank, confused. "Huh?"

He just sighs and shakes his head. "Nothin'."

Connor exhales slowly through his nose, his LED still a burning red.

"Fine." His grip loosens slightly. Just enough for the guy to think he's catching a break—

Then Connor slams him back against the wall.

You jump at the sound. Even Hank mutters a low, impressed "Shit..."

The stalker groans, wincing. "Fuck—you—!"

Connor stares at him for a long second before releasing his grip. He stands up. Then, as if nothing happened, he straightens his tie.

The officers haul the stalker up, shoving him toward the door.

Hank exhales, rubbing a hand down his face. "Jesus. Remind me not to get on your bad side, Connor."

Connor straightens, rolling his shoulders back.

But you barely register the exchange.

Your hands are trembling and the room feels heavier than before.

He's back at your side in an instant. "You're still shaking."

You blink, staring at him.

His LED has faded back to blue. His brows furrow slightly, searching your face, and—just like that—he's Connor again.

Not the cold, calculating machine who just interrogated that guy.

Just Connor.

You let out a tiny gasp when he tilts your face up with a finger.

"You're not scared of me, are you?" Connor says quietly.

Your lips part slightly, but no words come out at first. The weight of his gaze, the quiet intensity in his voice—it makes your breath hitch, but not out of fear.

"No," you whisper.

His fingers linger against your skin, warm despite their synthetic nature. His LED stays a shuddering blue, but there's something else in his eyes. Something unreadable.

"I'm not scared of you, Connor." You exhale, grounding yourself. Your knuckles throb, your pulse still unstable, but your voice is steady. "I just... I've never seen you like that before."

Connor doesn't look away. "He was a threat," he states simply. "I neutralized it."

A shiver runs down your spine—not from fear, but from something deeper, something that unsettles you in a way you can't quite place. The way he said it. Like it was nothing.

Your fingers twitch at your sides. "You were... angry," you say finally.

Connor blinks, as if processing the word. "I was."

"You never get angry."

His brow furrows slightly, almost like he's searching for the right answer. "I do. Sometimes."

You swallow, your throat dry. "Why?"

For a moment, he doesn't answer. His fingers, still barely touching your chin, drop away.

Then, quietly—almost too quiet—you hear him say:

"Because it was you."

Butterflies erupt in your stomach.

Hank clears his throat loudly, snapping the moment like a brittle thread. "Alright, lovebirds, wrap it up. We've got work to do."

Heat rushes to your face. "Oh, my God—"

Connor straightens, his expression returning to its usual neutrality, but the way his fingers flex at his sides tells you otherwise.

You glance at Connor one last time. His LED is a steady, calm blue now, but your heart is anything but.

Connor isn't just protecting you because it's his mission anymore. He's protecting you because he wants to.

Damn.

You like him.

...You really fucking like him a lot.