Bossy Bodyguard: Bodyguard/ Ex’s Dad Age Gap Romance (Dominating Desires Book 3)
Bossy Bodyguard: Part 1 – Chapter 12

Before

“What the fuck?”

I didn’t know if I uttered those words, or if Caleb or Aaron did. I blinked. Confused, hurt, sad, and raw. I felt like I was split open from my heart. Well, at least Caleb had succeeded in giving me what I needed.

He had officially distracted me from my mother’s funeral.

I turned, ready to leave—

“Em, wait!”

I glared at him, not caring that he was doing his zip up. “If either of you ruined my Egyptian cotton sheets, I’ll sue you. Clean up your own mess and get out.”

I left the room and locked myself in the nearest washroom.

My knuckles turned white at how hard I was clutching the sink. I ignored the pleading voice of Caleb, squeezing my eyes shut and lowering on the floor, covering my face.

This wasn’t how my mom’s funeral was supposed to go.

This wasn’t perfect.

I should’ve been able to give a speech about how sweet, nice and caring she was, lying with my tears and fake smile. Nod prettily and accept the handkerchief from creepy old directors and wipe my tears, hug my friends and lock myself in my room with Caleb, get drunk and fall asleep, cuddling him until every emotion for my mother washed away.

Bile rose in my throat, images of Caleb with someone else other than me flashing in my head. I scrambled towards the toilet and threw up my morning smoothie into the bowl. Tears burned my eyes as I cleaned myself up, making sure my dress wasn’t ruined, and retouched my makeup after brushing my teeth.

I needed to be alone right now. I needed to stay alone.

Just like my mother.

Now

My head was throbbing. It felt like someone was hammering away at the back of my skull, my lids feeling heavy as I tried to open them. My entire body hurt and limbs felt sore. Maybe I was run over by a truck. At least three times.

I heard sounds and my name being called.

“Emma! I think she’s waking up.”

“We can all see that, Sherlock.”

I groaned, twisting on the bed that felt too soft and fuck—my arms hurt. With much effort, I opened my lids, flinching at the headache, and looked around the unknown room—

“Are those chains?” I asked, my voice groggy, staring at the heavy chains dangling from the wall. “Why are there chains on the walls?”

“How are you feeling?”

My eyes averted from the chains to the person I least expected to ever be concerned about me, ask me that question. I giggled, covering my mouth and looking away from him.

“Like you care.” I met Mia’s and Summer’s worried eyes. They were both still in their black dresses. “What happened?”

I frowned at the bedroom I was in and knew that this was definitely not my room. I was still wearing my black dress. My heels were missing from my feet and placed on the side of the bed with an empty bucket. My pink Manolo Blahnik heels.

“Did I get drunk?” I muttered, scratching my head. I remembered getting in a car, asking my car driver to take me to the Vixen Club. I talked with Joe, had drinks and then… Panther! I remembered that man. Asian, tattoos, all black hair with a very light sprinkle of grey, his hands holding me upright. I remembered him. Cillian. Piercings. Sex. Lots of orgasms.

Quite a dirty little mouth you have.

“Where’s that man?” I asked, noticing his large frame was absent. “H-he was with me. Where did Cillian go?”

“He saved you,” Damon said, his face poker.

“He did? But I remember he was with me and then—”

“You were roofied, Emma,” Damon gritted, my eyes snapping at his face. My palms felt clammy all of a sudden. I knew I didn’t feel right. “Someone slipped a rohypnol in the champagne bottle and that man saved you.”

I shook my head, the curled ends of my hair brushing my shoulder and making me shiver. “N-no, I wasn’t. I’m sure.” My voice was shaky, and I didn’t believe that I was roofied. Someone tried to…

“Em…”

I didn’t like the sound of pity from Mia. Flaring my nose, I stood up and glared at all three of them. “I wasn’t roofied. I was just drunk. Ask Joe, I drank a lot of glasses of negroni. Then I had champagne with Cillian, but…” My feet still felt wobbly, but I took my heels and my purse, ignoring their burning stares on me. “I’ve a headache. I’m gonna go home.”

“Emma.” Damon wrapped his hand around my wrist, stopping me. His gaze was concerned, and it made me feel like shit. Who was he to care about me? No one. “We already talked with Joe. Maybe you should—”

“Nothing. Happened,” I said, yanking my hand from his hold. “I’m fine.”

I didn’t wait to hear any more fake concerns from someone who had ignored my existence for the past nineteen years. My friends didn’t deserve my anger, but they were being too anxious about some stupid little thing. I wasn’t roofied. I was just drunk.

Because I remember Cillian entering the room after I had found his ring. Holding me when I wasn’t feeling well and laying me down on a bed. Yes, he cursed a lot, but he took care of me.

I would feel better once I sleep it off.

My driver didn’t ask me questions as I settled in the car’s backseat. I sighed, closing my eyes and massaging my temples. It was a long fucking day.

My phone pinged with a text. I checked it and froze, uneasiness spreading over my body, stiffening my hands.

Unknown: It’s okay, don’t be sad. I’ll take care of you. I left you a nice present. See you at home soon, love.

It was an unknown number, and I didn’t know what the sender meant. A present?

Shaking off the stupid thought, I rubbed the goosebumps on my arms and asked the driver to hurry. I wanted to shower again or maybe take a warm bath and sleep for a week straight.

I went to my room as soon as I got home, ignoring how empty it felt compared to that morning. Throwing my phone on the bed, I stripped out of the dress and ran a hand through my hair before entering the washroom—

A gasp left my mouth. This time fear with uneasiness rolled over me, buckling my knees. On the white marble sink were my panties covered in—

Bile rose in my mouth as I averted my eyes to read the message on the mirror written with a red lipstick.

‘I bought a new pair, don’t worry. Hope you like the present.’

There was a heart, too, and true to the words, there was a pastel box placed beside the bath. I didn’t want to open it.

I rushed out of the washroom and covered myself in a robe, eyeing my room, the closed closets, and quickly I dialed nine-one-one.

Maybe… just maybe, Damon was right. I was roofied.