Bodyguard: A Bad Boy Stepbrother Romance (Snake Eyes Book 1) by Tabatha Kiss Page A

salty sweat through the tiny, open wounds between stitches.
    My skin pulses with each thump my heart makes. Any moment now, my skin will split open and everything will tumble free— or so it feels.
    I put my hand on my chest to feel it and take a long, steady breath in. It’s an old theater trick a director taught me during my first TV job when I got nervous between takes. Put your hand on your heart and remember that it’s all just a machine in there. Machines can be studied and controlled. You’re the master of your machine, not the other way around. It’s silly and not very scientific, but I’ve always used it to calm my nerves when they start to take control of me.
    I focus on my breathing for several minutes but I feel no more in control of it than when I began.
    That guy was a hack anyway. The show got canceled after three episodes.
    I pat my face dry with a towel and step back out into the room.
    The television is off. I don’t blame him, I guess. I wouldn’t want to look at me either after that.
    I part my lips to say his name but as I scan the room, I notice he’s gone.
    I don’t really blame him for that either.
     
    ***
     
    Botsford Plaza Hotels are quite possible the gaudiest looking places I’ve ever stayed at — gold fucking everywhere — but the staff is always pleasant no matter the location, so it’s a fair trade. This particular location is known for its dual tower design. There must be some kind of local festival happening tonight. I look up into the sky and see long wires connecting the towers with large, colorful lanterns hanging between them. Gaudy as fuck, I say.
    Fox pops the trunk and lowers his head down to sift through the black duffel bag of weapons and ammo. He grabs the Model 60 revolver and slips it into his belt. I hold out my hand and he exhales hard before finally handing me the Glock.
    “Keep it out of sight,” he says.
    Five words. It’s the longest sentence he’s said to me all day long. Seven hours on the road and the most we could manage was brief nudges and monosyllabic mumbles. I suppose it’s better than the awkward alternative of talking about last night.
    I hide the gun under my shirt and we make our way across the parking lot towards the hotel.
    I glance around the lobby as we step inside and Fox’s shoulders go tense. There’s a party happening tonight and the entire lobby is packed to the brim with people in cocktail dresses and tuxedos. It’s not even nine o’clock yet and their cheeks are already pink with caviar and alcohol.
    I follow Fox, lingering a few feet behind him with my sunglasses on, as he wanders over to the front desk in the corner.
    “We’d like a room, please,” he tells the girl behind the desk.
    She smiles wide and her eyes shift between us. “One bed?” she assumes.
    “Two,” I mutter. “For the love of god, two .”
    Fox forces a grin. “Two beds, please.”
    She returns the smile and taps away at her computer. I feel his eyes on me, but I keep my head down like he asked me to. This isn’t a diner on the highway. It’s a big hotel in the middle of a city. Excellent chance for me to get recognized.
    “Room 2617, sir.” She slides two key cards across the counter and Fox takes them. “Do you have any bags?”
    “No, ma’am.”
    “Have a good night.”
    “Thank you.” He nudges my elbow. “Come on.”
    “Holy shit! Fox!”
    His grip latches around my arm but quickly drops again as he recognizes the voice. We turn around to see a short man in a deep blue suit with thick-rimmed, black glasses walking towards us with his arms stretched wide.
    “Boxcar!” Fox smiles wide as they throw their arms around each other. I stand back to keep from getting hit by their sloppy man hug.
    “I was starting to think you wouldn’t show…” Boxcar grins at him. “You didn’t even show up to your own funeral, after all.”
    “I sent flowers,” Fox jokes.
    Boxcar laughs and his eyes fall to me. His eyes twinkle in recognition