Chapter Six Emmy #2
The second I swing a leg over the bike and settle behind him, his body shifts back, closing the distance until there’s no space left between us.
Heat floods every place we touch. He reaches back, adjusting my position with one firm hand at my thigh, guiding me closer until my chest brushes his back.
“Hold on,” he murmurs.
I wrap my arms around his waist. My injured hand pressing against his abs. Blood slowly soaking into his t-shirt.
The engine roars to life, vibrating straight through me, and when we pull away, the city blurs into streaks of light and shadow. The wind rushes past, but Khai shields me from most of it, his body solid and unyielding in front of mine.
Every lean into a turn presses me closer. Every shift of his weight makes me acutely aware of where I end and he begins. My grip tightens without permission, fingers curling into his shirt, my cheek hovering just behind his shoulder.
I shouldn’t feel this.
I feel all of it.
“You’re still not telling me how my car’s getting home,” I shout over the wind, trying for steadiness.
“I told you,” He replies calmly. “It’ll be there.”
“That’s not an explanation.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting.”
The certainty in his voice settles low in my stomach, equal parts fear and something far more dangerous. The ride feels both endless and far too short, the tension building with every second my body stays aligned with his.
When the bike finally slows, my apartment building comes into view.
He cuts the engine and stays still for a moment, as if listening. Watching.
Then he dismounts and turns, hands firm at my waist as he helps me off. He doesn’t step away. Doesn’t break the moment.
Instead, his hands remain at my waist, steady and grounding, as if letting go simply isn’t an option he’s considering. For a moment, neither of us moves. The night hums around us, quiet and watchful.
“I can go from here,” I say, even as my body betrays me by leaning just slightly into his touch.
“No,” he replies.
Not sharp. Not loud. Absolute.
“I live right there,” I add, nodding toward the entrance. “You don’t have to,”
“I know where you live,” he cuts in calmly.
My breath catches. “You do”
His gaze holds mine, unflinching. “Second floor. Apartment nine.”
The words land heavy.
His thumb shifts at my waist, a slow, grounding slide that sends a shiver up my spine. “I sent you flowers,” he says quietly, like it explains everything.
Heat curls low in my stomach, unease and something dangerously close to thrill tangling together.
Before I can find a response, he’s already guiding me toward the building, his hand firm at my lower back, steering me with quiet inevitability. There’s no rush in him. No hesitation. Just purpose.
The stairwell echoes with our footsteps as we climb. Every step tightens the space between us, the awareness. By the time we stop in front of my door, my pulse is racing for reasons that have nothing to do with the earlier attack.
Apartment 9.
I turn to face him, keys clenched in my hand. “You really don’t need to,”
He steps closer.
Not touching. Not yet. Just close enough that the air between us feels stretched thin, electric. His gaze drops, slow, deliberate, to my mouth. Lingers. Then lifts back to my eyes.
One hand rises, fingers gliding along my arm, careful of my injured hand, tracing warmth into my skin. His other hand braces against the door beside my head, caging me in without actually trapping me.
My breath stutters.
For a heartbeat, I’m certain he’s going to kiss me.
The thought is terrifying.
The thought is inevitable.
His face lowers, close enough that I can feel his breath against my cheek, he smells like danger wrapped in restraint.
“Go inside,” he murmurs, voice low, intimate.
I don’t move.
His gaze flicks to my lips again, dark and unreadable, as if he’s weighing a choice he’s already made not to take. Slowly, painfully slowly, he pulls back just enough to break the moment without shattering it.
“Go inside,” he says again.
This time, there’s no softness in it. No room for interpretation.
I swallow, fingers tightening around my keys as I turn toward the door. The lock clicks under my trembling hand, the sound far too loud in the quiet hallway. I push the door open and take a step inside,
And suddenly, his arm wraps around my waist.
I gasp as he pulls me back toward him, the movement swift and controlled, my back pressing into his chest. He pulls me close, close enough that I can feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the warmth of him seeping into my skin.
His hand slides from my waist to my side, firm, anchoring me there.
“Khai,” I breathe.
He leans in, his mouth brushing close to my ear, his voice dropping to a murmur meant only for me.
“Sweet dreams, Little Heaven,” he whispers.
The words send a shiver straight through me.
“Wrap that hand,” he adds quietly, like it matters. Like I matter.
Then he lets go.
Just like that.
The space he leaves behind feels cavernous as I stumble back into my apartment, my heart racing. I turn quickly, locking the door with a sharp click, my forehead resting against the cool wood as I try to steady my breathing.
On the other side, I hear his footsteps.
Unhurried.
Measured.
Moving away down the hallway.
I stay there, listening until the sound fades completely, my pulse still thudding too hard, too fast.
And as I finally push myself upright, one thought settles deep in my chest,
He didn’t kiss me.
But he didn’t let me go untouched, either.
Khai
The door clicks shut.
Soft. Final.
I stay where I am for a moment, staring at the wood like I can still feel the heat of her through it. Like the space she left behind hasn’t already carved itself into my chest.
Inside, I hear the lock turn.
Good.
I step back, boots quiet against the concrete, every sense tuned sharp as I scan the hallway. Too quiet. Too clean. The kind of place people assume is safe because nothing bad has happened there yet.
My phone vibrates in my pocket.
I ignore it.
Instead, I lean against the opposite wall, arms folding across my chest as I listen to her movements inside, to the building settling, to the echo of my own restraint pounding behind my ribs.
I’d been a breath away.
Closer than I should have allowed.
The taste of it still lingers, her breath hitching, her pulse racing beneath my hand, the way she’d leaned toward me without even realising she was doing it. That’s the part that gets to me.
Not fear.
Choice.
I drag a hand through my hair and force myself to step away from her door. Slowly. Deliberately. Like if I rush, I’ll turn back.
The stairwell swallows my footsteps as I descend, my presence fading into shadow. Outside, the night greets me like an old friend, cool air, distant traffic, the low hum of the city breathing around us.
I pull my phone out now.
One message already waiting.
Unknown
Car’s moved. Dropping it in ten.
Good.
I type a response without slowing my stride.
Khai
Make sure it’s clean. Same spot.
I mount the bike but don’t start it yet. Instead, I look up at her building, eyes tracing the second floor until I find it.
Apartment 9.
A light flicks on.
My jaw tightens.
She’s safe.
For now.
The bike rumbles to life beneath me, a familiar vibration grounding the part of me that wants to go back upstairs and knock. To test how close she’d let me get again.
I don’t.
Instead, I pull away from the curb, the night opening up in front of me.
Sweet dreams, Little Heaven.