Chapter Sixteen
Kayne woke slowly with Chloe’s taste still ghosting on his mouth, sweet and maddening. Her breath was warm where she’d tucked herself into his throat sometime in the night, as if she belonged there. As if she’d always belonged there.
For one rare, dangerous moment, he let himself believe the world might finally be shifting in the right direction. That maybe being with her wasn’t just borrowed time.
Then her phone chimed.
It was a soft, innocent sound that had no business detonating his nervous system the way it did. The polite little ping felt like a gunshot.
And just like that, the world tilted straight back to hell.
“It’s the Children’s Heart Collective,” Chloe murmured, blinking at the screen before bolting upright, the sheet slipping down her back. “Oh no! The charity event is this morning. I completely forgot.”
Kayne sat up as if someone had dumped ice water over him, every muscle snapping online. “What event?”
“It’s a livestream class at Forest Park,” she said, already moving, already gone mentally, the way he learned she would do when locked onto a purpose. “For charity.”
“No.”
She froze mid-motion and turned to stare at him. “What do you mean, no?” She shoved her hair into a ponytail, fingers quick and efficient, cheeks pink with stubbornness. “You can’t tell me no. I committed months ago.”
“You also weren’t being hunted like a hen in turkey season when you agreed,” he shot back, the edge in his voice slipping before he could blunt it.
She crossed her arms and lifted her chin. Steel slid into place behind her eyes. She gave him the look, the one that said she’d already decided and his opinion was just background noise now. “Kayne, the event funds cardiac surgeries for kids. I am not backing out. I don’t care what you say.”
He scrubbed both hands down his face, the tension pressing behind his eyes. It would be an open park with civilians. Variables stacked on variables, all of them capable of going sideways fast. “I haven’t had a chance to adequately surveil the surroundings.”
“You have four hours,” she said calmly, adding a slightly condescending pat to his chest. “Knock yourself out.”
She stalked to the bathroom, pretending danger was an inconvenience she could muscle through with good intentions and a tight ponytail.
Kayne watched her, jaw locked, already mapping exits, sightlines, and choke points, counting angles he didn’t like and contingencies he liked even less.
Hell had tilted back into place, but he’d be damned if it was taking her with it.
#
Chloe had exactly forty-five minutes to transform from the woman who’d woken up snuggling a man who was far too distracting into the woman who led thousands through burpees on camera.
She moved fast.
Leggings first. Black, high-waisted, the pair that didn’t roll or betray her mid-squat.
Sports bra next, then a tank with the charity logo splashed across the chest in cheerful teal letters: Children’s Heart Collective.
Move for a Cause. She tugged her ponytail tighter, the familiar burn at her scalp grounding her in a way meditation never had.
It was a sharp little reminder that she was still in her body and not her head.
Movement she understood. Fear, not so much.
Her phone sat on the bathroom counter, vibrating intermittently as texts rolled in.
Sandy from the web team. A producer from the livestream.
Leo, probably pacing holes through the floor somewhere.
She ignored all of them and focused on mascara, because that was something she could control.
One coat. Two. Blink. Don’t stab your own eye, which would be a truly embarrassing way to get out of the event.
She caught her reflection and paused. Her cheeks were flushed already, pulse ticking a little too fast for someone who hadn’t even warmed up. She told herself it was nerves. Cameras and crowds did that. This wasn’t about the fact that someone out there might want to hurt her.
It wasn’t.
“Chloe.”
Kayne’s voice carried from the bedroom, low and controlled, threaded with tension that made her spine straighten on instinct.
He hadn’t raised it once since she’d dropped the Forest Park bomb, but she’d learned enough about him to recognize danger in the quiet.
It meant he was already ten steps ahead and still unhappy about it.
She walked into the room, sneakers dangling from her fingers. He stood near the window, already dressed, his phone in hand, jaw tight as a winch, and every line of him pulled taut.
“They’re setting up the stage now,” he said. “Anja’s on her way. Leo’s coordinating with park security. I’ve got eyes on entry points and crowd flow.”
Her heart squeezed with gratitude, tangled up with guilt. “You didn’t have to mobilize the cavalry.”
“Yes,” he said flatly. “I did.”
She opened her mouth, then closed it again. Pick your battles, Giordano. This wasn’t the hill.
“I just need you to trust me,” she said instead. “This matters.”
His gaze softened, just a fraction. “I know it does.”
That was the problem. He knew. He understood why she couldn’t cancel, why she wouldn’t hide, why the idea of disappointing kids waiting on heart surgeries felt worse than any threat ever could.
She slipped her sneakers on, tying them tight, and stood. “I’ll be on stage with instructors behind me and loud music blaring through the speakers. It’s controlled.”
“Crowds never are.”
She walked to him then and felt his warmth, his steady gravity, and the way he made chaos feel temporarily negotiable. “You’re here,” she said quietly. “That helps.”
His hand came up, fingers brushing her arm and causing her to shiver. “I’ll be everywhere you aren’t.”
She huffed a small breath. “I can’t decide if that’s creepy or reassuring. Possibly both.”
A hint of a smile touched his mouth. “That’s my brand.”
Her phone buzzed again. It was Sandy this time, with a selfie of the setup already live behind her: You’re going to crush this.
Chloe squared her shoulders.
She wasn’t na?ve or fearless. But she was strong, and she was here. Those kids needed help more than she needed comfort.
“Okay,” she said, drawing in a deep, steady breath. “Let’s go make people sweat for a good cause.”
Kayne reached for the door, then paused to look back at her.
“Chloe,” he said softly. “Eyes up. If anything feels wrong—anything—you stop.”
She nodded. No argument. Not today.
They stepped out into the crisp morning air and drove to the event. Sirens wailed somewhere distant when she slid out of the SUV, a sound that snagged her attention before she forced herself to let it go. Forest Park stretched ahead of them, wide, open, and deceptively peaceful.
And somewhere beneath her calm, her instincts whispered.
This wasn’t just another workout.
#
Kayne hated crowds. There were too many variables, blind spots, and people who assumed nothing bad could happen because someone had filed the proper permits, as if paperwork had ever stopped violence before.
Forest Park stretched out in every direction. Rolling lawns, tree-lined paths, and rooftops peeking through branches like watchful eyes. It was beautiful and open, making it an absolute nightmare to secure.
He stood just offstage, scanning with a predator’s patience as event staff erected tents, checked cables, and shouted last-minute instructions into headsets. His gaze moved constantly, never lingering long in one place, tracking patterns rather than faces.
“At least it’s a nice, sunny day,” Anja murmured beside him.
She was dressed low-key athletic, hair pulled into a tight knot that meant business. She passed him a pair of binoculars without ceremony. “Perimeter’s mostly clean. And before you ask, yes, mostly means I’d bet my life on it, not yours.”
“Comforting,” he muttered, lifting the binoculars.
The crowd swelled faster than he liked with hundreds of people in neon leggings and branded tanks, laughter bubbling, phones already out.
The livestream crew tested sound levels, and the echo of Chloe’s name drifted across the field as someone did a mic check, her voice magnified until it belonged to everyone.
“Five minutes!” a producer yelled.
Kayne lowered the binoculars. Chloe was onstage stretching and laughing with a few of the instructors. It would be easy to pretend she was about to do the most ordinary thing in her world. Instead, she was standing in the crosshairs of someone who wanted her erased.
Sunlight caught in her hair, turning it honey-bright.
She moved with a loose, easy confidence, completely in her element.
His stomach muscles constricted. He’d seen her scared, shaken, furious, and exhausted.
This version of Chloe, the one who commanded space without even trying, was the one that wrecked him.
“She doesn’t even look nervous,” Anja said quietly.
“She always looks calm when she’s terrified,” Kayne replied. “It’s her tell.”
The countdown finished. Upbeat, pulsing music kicked in. The crowd roared as Chloe stepped forward, headset mic in place.
“Good morning, St. Louis!”
The response was thunderous, and Kayne forgot to breathe, the sound washing over him like surf before a rip current.
She was born to do this, launching into an intro that was warm, funny, and encouraging.
She joked about sore quads, reminded people to hydrate, promised sweat, and complained theatrically about burpees.
People laughed and relaxed. They trusted her.
Kayne felt it like a blade under his rib cage.
She demonstrated the warm-up with a weighted plate, explaining form, posture, and breathing. Her voice shifted into steady, authoritative instructor mode. “Engage your core. You don’t need speed. Control is where the magic happens.”
He’d guarded senators, CEOs, and witnesses with price tags on their heads. None of them had ever made him feel as if he was watching something sacred and fragile at the same time.