Chapter Eight
Chloe gripped her seatbelt so tightly that her fingers ached.
She didn’t want to need Kayne this much.
But the near miss kept replaying behind her eyelids in a loop she couldn’t shut off: the headlights appearing out of nowhere, the scream of tires, the impossible speed, Kayne’s arm locking around her waist as he spun them out of harm’s way.
If he hadn’t reacted instantly—she squeezed her eyes shut. Don’t think it. Don’t go there. Don’t let that thought finish.
The SUV hummed beneath them, the heater battling against the early-fall chill.
Outside, St. Louis’s leaf-clogged sidewalks and early evening headlights blurred past. People were out walking, laughing, and living completely normal lives while her world quietly and decisively slipped out of alignment.
Kayne didn’t speak at first. He drove one-handed, the other relaxed loosely on his thigh, every line of him calm where hers felt like a bundle of exposed wires someone had forgotten to cap.
She hated that her breathing was still uneven, that her heartbeat refused to settle. Hated even more how much she wanted to lean sideways and rest her forehead on his shoulder like some helpless damsel who couldn’t keep herself together.
No. Nope. Absolutely not.
Her body didn’t care. She drifted a fraction closer before snapping upright and pressing her spine into the cold leather. Of course Kayne noticed. His eyes flicked toward her, quick and assessing.
“You’re quiet,” he said softly.
She swallowed. “Just thinking.”
“You’re shaking.”
“I’m cold.”
“It’s seventy-two degrees in here.”
She clenched her jaw. “Kayne, please don’t fuss.”
“I don’t fuss,” he scoffed. “I observe.”
“Same thing.”
“No.” A slight correction, gentle but immovable. “Fussing is annoying. Observing keeps you alive.”
A tremor ran down her arms. She tucked her hands under her thighs so he wouldn’t see.
He saw anyway.
“You okay?” he asked.
The question was too polite and perceptive. It was too much.
“Fine,” she lied.
He hummed under his breath, a sound that translated to, I don’t buy that for a second, and kept driving.
The silence stretched, charged but comfortable. It was how the air felt right before a lightning strike. She stared out the window, seeing nothing.
“Do you think it was random?” she whispered.
“No.”
She sucked in a breath. “You didn’t even hesitate.”
“Because hesitation is how you end up hit.”
She jerked her gaze toward him. “You think it was about me?”
His jaw hardened. “I think you know the answer.”
Her stomach plunged. Because deep down, beneath the optimism and the stubborn cheer, she did. Someone wanted her rattled. Someone wanted her scared.
His tone softened. “Look, Chloe, I don’t want to scare you.”
“Then don’t.”
“I can’t lie to you either.”
Something in his voice tugged a thread loose inside her. She blinked quickly, refusing to cry. Panic she could manage. But crying? No thank you. She cried in private, in showers, in parking lots when she was PMSing, not in front of dangerously handsome men with Cajun accents and savior complexes.
His hand shifted on the wheel. “Chloe.”
She looked over. Mistake. His green eyes were warm and steady and impossibly understanding.
“You don’t have to pretend you’re okay for me.”
Her throat closed. It irritated her that he could see through her so easily. Worse, it made her feel safe.
“You don’t know me,” she whispered.
“I know enough.”
Her breath hitched. “What does that mean?”
He didn’t look away from the road, but his jaw flexed. “It means I see you,” he said quietly. “I see how strong you are. And how scared you are right now. Both can be true.”
Her chin wobbled. “I don’t want to be scared.”
“That’s fine. I’ll be scared for you.”
A weak laugh escaped her, part disbelief, part gratitude. She had a feeling this big, strong, unshakeable man feared nothing. “That’s not how fear works.”
“It’s exactly how protection works.”
Her eyes burned. Damn it.
The streetlights strobed across Kayne’s face, golden, then shadow, as if the universe couldn’t decide if it wanted to reveal him or keep him hidden. Fitting, since she couldn’t decide either.
She dragged her gaze back to the window, but her reflection gave her away: wide eyes, pinched mouth, the unmistakable sheen of fear she refused to show.
“Chloe,” he murmured, not quite a warning, not quite a plea.
“I’m fine,” she said again, gentler this time, because even she could hear the lie thinning at the edges.
His fingers flexed on the steering wheel. Not tense but controlled. Always controlled. “You keep saying that,” he said. “And all I hear is how not-fine you are.”
Heat crawled up her throat. “What do you want me to say? That I’m scared out of my mind? That I can’t stop replaying it? That I—” She bit the words off before they got reckless.
“That you trust me,” he finished softly.
Her pulse jolted. “Kayne . . .”
“Cher, you grabbed onto me as if I were the only solid thing in the world. That’s trust.”
“That was survival.”
“Same thing.”
His voice slid under her defenses as if it had been built for that exact purpose.
“I don’t want to depend on you,” she murmured.
“You already do.” No hesitation. No apology. “And since someone just tried to run us over, I’m not losing sleep over that.”
The SUV slowed at a light, humming steadily while her pulse did the opposite. Kayne finally looked at her fully, turning just enough that she felt the weight of his attention settle over her skin like a physical touch.
His voice dropped, thick with something that wasn’t just concern. “Talk to me.”
“I don’t want to fall apart right now.”
“Who said anything about falling apart?” His gaze flicked to her mouth briefly before returning to her eyes. It was devastating to her equilibrium. “I’m asking you to let me in before something worse happens.”
Her breath snagged.
A horn blared behind them, shrill and jarring. The light had turned green. He didn’t move right away. He just watched her; the air between them thinned to something dangerous.
Then, with a slow exhale, he faced forward and eased the SUV through the intersection. “We’ll talk when we get somewhere safe.”
“Safe,” she repeated, barely audible. “Right.”
Except safe felt relative when the man driving was unraveling her with every low, measured word.
She folded her hands in her lap to stop the trembling. A moment later, his arm lifted from his thigh and he reached over—not to touch her, not yet—but to rest his hand on the console between them. Close enough that heat drifted toward her, inviting and unsettling in the same breath.
“I’ll know if you start shaking again,” he said quietly. “And I’m not above pulling over.”
Her heart slammed. “To do what?”
After a beat, he said in a voice warm enough to melt steel, “Whatever it takes to calm you down.”
Oh. Okay, that was helpful, not at all.
She turned back to the window, swallowing hard, because the city blurred outside but the danger inside the SUV was suddenly the thing stealing her breath.
And the worst part?
She didn’t want him to stop.
#
Kayne had seen close calls before. Plenty. Too many to count. But nothing had affected him the way that damn sedan aiming for Chloe had. It was as if someone had jammed a crowbar into his ribs and twisted.
She sat in the passenger seat now, buckled in tight, still breathing too fast. Her hands trembled as she tried to convince the world, and herself, that she was made of iron. She wasn’t fine. A suffocating pressure welded him to the spot at the realization that neither was he.
He kept one hand steady on the wheel, the other resting on the console, ready. Always ready.
“Just breathe,” he said softly.
“I am breathing.”
“That’s panting, cher.”
She shot him a glare. He welcomed it. Anger meant she was clawing back control. He preferred her pissed over terrified.
“You’re impossible,” she muttered.
“And you’re adorable when you’re lying to yourself,” he countered, steering them through the quiet intersection at Belmont.
Her eye twitch was spectacular. Truly impressive. If she weren’t shaken, he had no doubt she would’ve rolled her eyes so hard she sprained something.
For one second, things felt normal. Streetlamps glowed. Leaves dusted the pavement in bursts of autumn colors. Chloe’s hair had half-fallen from its ponytail, soft blonde waves brushing her cheek and absolutely wrecking his concentration.
Then his instincts screamed.
Headlights surged at them from the right, too deliberate to be anything but intentional.
“Hold on,” he shouted.
He slammed the accelerator and yanked the wheel left. The SUV shot forward just as the attacking car barreled through the red light and clipped their bumper with a violent thunk.
Chloe shrieked, a sound that hit him dead center.
He corrected the skid automatically—counter-steer, brake pump, stabilize. His body made decisions before his brain caught up. The tires squealed, the seatbelt locked across his torso, and the SUV straightened out, inches from a streetlight pole.
There was no crash, no metal carnage or shattered glass. No injuries. He’d take that win, even if his pulse was trying to punch through his throat.
He exhaled hard. “You good?”
Chloe stared at him, wide-eyed. “Was that the same car? It was the same car.”
“Yeah.” His jaw locked. “I know.”
The sedan peeled out, disappearing into the night like a shadow with no plates, no hesitation, and absolutely no fear.
This wasn’t random or distracted driving. This was another attempt.
Not on my watch, he vowed silently. Over my dead body.
“You okay?” he asked again, gentler.
Chloe nodded, or attempted the general shape of a nod. Her chin wobbled. “I think so.”
He reached across the space without thinking, wrapping his warm fingers around her cold ones. When she squeezed back, something in his gut clenched painfully.
Great. Exactly what he didn’t need. Feelings. Not now, Serruto.