The CEO And Her Bodyguard

6: Into The Dark

Rebekah’s POV

The darkness didn't just fall; it felt like it slammed into the room, heavy and suffocating. One second I was lost in the heat of Derek’s mouth, my hands tangled in his hair, and the next, the world was a black void.

The silence that followed was even worse. It was the kind of silence that had teeth.

"Derek?" I whispered. My voice sounded small, stripped of the CEO armor I’d worn all day.

"Don't move."

His voice was a low vibration in the dark, barely a breath. I felt the shift in the air as he moved away from me. The warmth of his body left my side, replaced by the biting chill of the foyer. My hands reached out blindly, grabbing at nothing until I felt the rough fabric of his shirt again. I gripped it like a lifeline.

"Stay behind me," he commanded.

I heard the faint, metallic click of his holster. My stomach did a slow, sick roll. This was real. The poison at dinner hadn't been enough for them. They were here to finish the job.

"The panic room is in the library," I breathed, my heart drumming a frantic rhythm against my ribs. "The door is behind the bookshelf, but it needs power for the keypad."

"Forget the panic room," Derek muttered. I felt him move, guiding me backward toward the stairs. His hand found mine in the dark, his grip firm and dry. "If the power is out, the electronic locks are dead weight. We’re moving up."

Every creak of the floorboards sounded like a gunshot. We moved like shadows through the house I had called home for years, yet in the dark, it felt like a labyrinth filled with monsters. My mind was a mess. I was still tasting him on my lips, still feeling the ghost of his hands on my waist, but the terror was starting to win.

I thought of Michael. He was probably halfway to his penthouse by now, complaining to a lawyer about his "reputation." He wasn't here. He wasn't the one standing between me and the people who wanted me in a grave.

Derek stopped at the top of the landing. He pulled a small, high-powered penlight from his pocket, clicking it on for a split second. The beam cut through the dark, reflecting off his hard, focused eyes. He wasn't the man from Barcelona right now. He was a weapon.

"In here," he whispered, nudging me into the master suite.

He didn't turn the light back on. He pushed me toward the heavy oak wardrobe in the corner and stayed by the door, his silhouette a dark, imposing frame against the hallway.

"Lock the door, Derek," I pleaded, my voice trembling.

"A lock only tells them which room you're in, Rebekah," he said, his tone flat and clinical. "I need them to wonder. Sit on the floor. Stay low."

I did as I was told, sinking onto the plush rug. I pulled my knees to my chest, my black dress bunching around me. I felt like a child hiding from a nightmare, but the nightmare wore a suit and carried a suppressed 9mm.

Minutes passed. They felt like hours. Then, I heard it.

The heavy thud of the front door being forced open. Then, the rhythmic, muffled sound of boots on the marble downstairs. Multiple people.

My breath hitched. I pressed my hand over my mouth to keep from sobbing.

Please, Derek. Please.

I watched him. He wasn't hiding. He was standing just to the side of the bedroom door, his body coiled like a spring. He looked so calm it was terrifying.

A floorboard groaned in the hallway outside.

I closed my eyes, praying to a God I hadn't spoken to in years. I heard the door handle turn. Slow. Deliberate. The hinges gave a tiny, high-pitched whine.

A shadow cut across the faint moonlight spilling through the window. A man stepped into the room, the silhouette of a weapon raised.

He never had a chance.

Derek moved like a blur. There was no shout, no warning. Just the wet thwack of a strike and the sound of a body hitting the floor with a heavy, limp finality. Derek didn't use his gun. He used his hands.

Another man rushed in, and this time, the room exploded with the muffled pop-pop of Derek’s weapon. The flashes of light flickered across the walls, showing me Derek's face...resolute, cold, and utterly lethal.

Then, silence again.

"Stay down," Derek barked.

He stepped out into the hallway. I heard a struggle...grunts of pain, the sound of glass breaking, and a heavy crash that shook the walls. I wanted to scream his name, but the air was stuck in my lungs.

And then, nothing.

I sat there in the dark, my heart beating so hard I thought I might faint. I didn't know if he was alive. I didn't know if I was next.

"Rebekah."

I flinched, a small cry escaping me.

"It's me. It's over."

His shadow appeared in the doorway. He was breathing hard, his shoulders rising and falling. He walked over to me and knelt down, the scent of gunpowder and rain clinging to him. He didn't touch me at first. He just looked at me, making sure I was whole.

"Are you hurt?" he asked.

"No," I choked out. I threw my arms around his neck, burying my face in the crook of his shoulder. He was solid. He was real. "They... they tried to kill me."

"They failed," he said, his voice dropping an octave. His arms wrapped around me, pulling me into his lap right there on the floor.

I pulled back, looking at him through the gloom. "Michael... my family... they're not going to stop, are they?"

Derek wiped a smudge of blood from his jaw, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made me shiver.

"They can try," he said, his thumb brushing my lower lip, lingering where we had kissed just minutes before. "But they have to go through me first. And I don't plan on letting you go a second time."