When you visit our website, if you give your consent, we will use cookies to allow us to collect data for aggregated statistics to improve our service and remember your choice for future visits. Cookie Policy & Privacy Policy
Dear Reader, we use the permissions associated with cookies to keep our website running smoothly and to provide you with personalized content that better meets your needs and ensure the best reading experience. At any time, you can change your permissions for the cookie settings below.
If you would like to learn more about our Cookie, you can click on Privacy Policy.
“So, what made you become a bodyguard?” I asked Hunter as we walked the streets of Paris back to the hotel. “I was in the military and one of the guys I was stationed with got me into it,” he explained, his gaze still alert and his body ready to strike as he looked for any signs of danger. I wondered if Hunter ever relaxed or if, with his training, he was always looking for threats. As a bodyguard, it was a useful habit, but I was sure it would be exhausting if his brain never switched off and was always in a state of stress. There were a lot of people walking on the street around us, but it was similar to being in New York– crowded and fast-moving. I felt bad for making us walk, since it made his job more stressful, but I had thought it would be more pleasant than driving around every