Dutch had plenty of options to choose from, but when it came to keeping you out of trouble, that list shrank considerably.

Charles and Arthur —the strongest in the gang— were out on business. Micah? Better not even consider him. With few choices left, Javier seemed like the safest bet.

At first, Javier was skeptical. Playing bodyguard? For you? At a high-society party in Saint Denis? How exciting.

Still, here he was, just as he’d promised Dutch. He stayed alert, watchful — but never more than a step away from you, his presence like a shadow trailing you through the sea of finely dressed guests.

Heading to the fancy bar? He was right there beside you. Stepping into another room? He followed without hesitation.

It was clear he was taking his job very seriously. Maybe too seriously.

You didn’t need words to show your frustration; the way you tried to shake him off spoke loud enough.

“Hey,” he grumbled the moment you pushed him aside, wasting no time closing the distance between you again. His dark eyes narrowed, voice low enough that only you could hear over the lively chatter.

“Stop that. I promised Dutch. Dios mío...”