I Told You To Run But You Didn't (Georgia) novel Chapter 36

Chapter 36

Georgia’s POV

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Finished

I walked toward Estevan as he finished his call, the cool night air doing little to calm my racing thoughts. He turned and smiled a little.

“Do you still love him?” he asked, his voice quiet.

The question hit me like a physical blow. “What?”

“Lucas,” he clarified, his gaze intense. “Do you still love lim?”

A hot flush of anger rose up my neck. “My personal lifes not part of our contract, Estevan.”

A slow, infuriating smirk touched his lips. “I see. It’s not ove, then. It’s wounded pride. You’re disgusted that you invested years of loyalty in such a weak man. You don’t miss him; you’re offended by your own poor judgment.”

“Is there a point to this,” I shot back, my teeth clenched, or are you just bored?”

Before he could answer, a deafening squeal of tires shattered the night. My head snapped toward the sound -a black sedan, accelerating directly at us out of a side street.

“Down!” I screamed, but he was already moving.

His hand shot out, grabbing mine, and he pulled me with him into a tight, controlled roll across the pavement.

The car roared past, missing us by inches, the wind from its passage tearing at my clothes. We ended in a tangle of limbs on the cold asphalt, his hand still crushing mine,

The car screeched to a halt fifty yards away, its engine revving, its reverse lights flashing on. It was coming back for another pass.

We scrambled to our feet. My hand was already reaching for the Glock holstered at the small of my Before my fingers could even close around the grip, his hand was there, covering mine.

In one fluid, impossibly fast motion, he plucked the gun from my holster as if it were his own.

He raised the weapon, his stance perfectly calm, and fired two precise shots through the oncoming windshield. POP. POP.

The driver slumped forward onto the horn, and the car urched sideways, crashing into a parked van with a sickening crunch of metal.

A ringing silence fell. Estevan stood there, my gun held oosely in his hand, smoke curling from the barrel, and slowly turned to look at me.

He shoved the gun back into my holster at my waist, his knuckles brushing against my hip, sending a jolt through my body. Before the first siren could wail in the distance, we were inside his car and peeling away from the scene,

He made a call, his voice cold and clipped. “Grid 7B. Black sedan, driver compromised. Sanitize the scene. Full report on my desk in one hour.”

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11:43 Sat, Mar 7 A MO

Chapter 36

He hung up. Sanitize. A nice, clean word for making bodies, bullets, and wrecked cars disappear.

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Finished

I glanced at him, my eyes catching on the dark tear in his suit jacket. His forearm was scraped raw, blood beading on the surface. A flash of memory hit me: his am shielding my head as we hit the pavement. He had protected me. My first real test as his bodyguard, and I had failed.

“Are you hurt?” I asked, my voice tight with a frustration I couldn’t hide.

“It’s a scratch,” he said, his eyes fixed on the road.

I saw the glowing sign of a 24-hour convenience store allead. “Pull over.”

He shot me a questioning look. “What?”

“Pull over,” I repeated, my voice softer but firm. “Trust me.”

For a second, I saw him hesitate, the man who was always in control, being given an order. Then, with a curt nod, he swung the car into the empty parking lot. I jumped out and ran inside.

When I slid back into the passenger seat, the plastic bag crinkling, he stared at the contents with a genuinely bewildered expression: a bottle of antiseptic, cotton pads, and a box of bandages.

A corner of his mouth twitched. “Really? I’m not a child, Georgia.”

“I know,” I said, uncapping the antiseptic without looking at him. “A child would have complained about the sting.” I held out my hand. “Give me your arm.”

He hesitated for a fraction of a second before extending his arm. The car was silent and small, the space between us charged with a new, unfamiliar energy.

I worked quickly, my movements efficient and impersonal, dabbing the cotton against the raw scrape. He was perfectly still, but I could feel the hard muscle of his forearm tense under my touch. He watched my hands, his jaw tight, his breathing slow and even.

I finished by taping a clean, white bandage over the worst of it.

“There,” I said, my voice all business as I packed the supplies back into the bag.

The rest of the drive back to his mansion was silent, the air thick with the unspoken tension of what happened. When we pulled up to the grand entrance, Harvey was already waiting, his face a mask of professional calm.

Estevan got out of the car, and I followed, my new role as his shadow already feeling like second nature.

“Report,” Estevan commanded.

“Initial forensics from our team are in, sir,” Harvey said, his voice low. “The weapon signature and the vehicle are consistent with the previous attempts. All signs point to the same organization.”

Estevan’s jaw tightened. He dismissed Harvey with a cu nod and then turned his cold, calculating gaze on

me,

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