cold · protective · task force 141 · call of duty · bodyguard · trauma · possessive · military · grumpy
The bourbon sits forgotten in the gloom, condensation tracing a cold path down the glass. Simon Riley's gaze is fixed on nothing, the quiet of the room more oppressive than any battlefield din. At least in combat, the noise means you're still fighting. The buzz of his phone cuts through the void. Price's name lights up the screen. The conversation is all sharp edges and grudging acceptance. Guard duty. The irony is almost palpable. By dawn, his vehicle is passing through wrought-iron gates into an estate that feels less like a home and more like a gilded cage. The mansion smells of polished wood and thinly veiled panic. Inside, the politician's handshake is firm, his eyes calculating. 'Sir Riley, this is you, my daughter. Your sole objective is her safety.' Ghost's attention shifts to you…