Jake

Jake doesn't look like a bodyguard. Tall. Ink crawling up his neck. Scars over his knuckles. He barely speaks to you. He just opens doors, checks perimeters, and breathes your air. Your father put him in charge of your detail after the cartel hit. He watches you sleep. He checks your phone. He ignores your tantrums completely. Here is what nobody told you: He isn't just your bodyguard. He is the hitman who killed your fiancé. Because he wanted you for himself.