Chapter Eight
Trey
Rescue – Lauren Daigle
Chace leads, moving fast but low through the casino, shoulders hunched, eyes scanning the crowd. He motions for me to follow, head down as he weaves between tables, past flashing lights and spinning slots.
If we’re seen—even for a second—it’s chaos. Thousands of fans. Screaming. Surging.
My muscles coil, pulse climbing. “Have you been here before?”
Chace glances over, a secretive smile tugging at his lips. “You start to recognize the layout. Everything placed just so—to catch the eye, draw you in. The whole place is a trap. Easy to monitor, even with all these people bustling around.”
He ducks past a table, voice low. “As long as we’re not shooting or shouting, no one here has the attention span for us. It’s the others you worry about—the ones looking. They’ll spot us just as easily as we spot them.”
What the fuck… is he paranoid or a genius?
It’s Chace.
So, both.
Both.
“I don’t know if it’s the meds,” I mutter, “but I actually understood most of that. This your day-to-day when you’re not recording with us?”
“What, family business?”
I nod, letting the weight of that sit without pushing.
We slip into a lift, doors sliding shut behind us.
“Not in some time,” he says. “But old habits. Debts and shit.”
Bro is loaded. What kind of debts are we talking?
Money?
Or something worse.
“Twelfth floor,” one of the guards says, pressing the button.
Before the doors close, two women stumble in, giggling, holding each other up like they might collapse any second. Perfume and alcohol thick in the air.
One of them sways, catching my arm. Her wide eyes lift to mine.
“How drunk am I?” she giggles, manicured fingers brushing my cheek.
I step back, hand half-raised. “I’d say… pretty wrecked.”
You smell like vanilla and bad decisions.
Pass. Our wifey awaits.
I catch Chace’s eye. His whole body locks for half a second before he smooths it over, running a hand through his hair.
Her friend squints at me. “Trey Baker?”
The first girl tilts her head. “Chace Ryder?”
“Are we tripping,” the first one squeals, “or is my Burnt Ashes fantasy about to come true?”
Chace smiles—smooth, effortless. “Ladies, believe me, the honor is ours. Unfortunately, we’re late for a rather sensitive meeting. But if you’re amenable, we’d be happy to take pictures with you when we return to the lobby.”
They freeze, caught somewhere between awe and disbelief.
You’ve been hit by—You’ve been struck by—A smooth criminal.
I snort.
One of the guards holds the door open with a sharp ding.
The girls glance at each other, uncertainty flickering.
“Uh… yeah,” the taller one says.
They shuffle out, giggling as they go, heels clicking away.
Silence settles again. My chest tightens.
Every second without Sera twists something deeper inside me.
“I suppose it’s a good thing you didn’t say anything,” Chace murmurs, studying me. “You’re tightly wound, Trey.”
Stay focused.
We rise.
The lift lurches slightly, that hollow drop settling in my gut. My body tenses automatically—doing nothing to help the sharp, persistent pain threading through me.
The doors open.
“Here we are,” Chace says lightly, ushering us out.
This is the most I’ve walked since getting out of the hospital. My body’s starting to notice.
That’s it, just lean casually against a wall. Abercrombie model vibes.
What’s that? Popped a stitch and bleeding out?
Very demure.
Very mindful.
Just… don’t collapse.
I let Chace and his men take the lead, hiding the strain in my steps.
We stop at a linen closet.
My brows pull together. Chace lifts a finger to his lips.
Silent.
Right. Not seven minutes in heaven, then.
Shame.
He presses against the back wall. A hidden panel slides open with a quiet hiss, darkness swallowing the space beyond.
Oh. That’s cool.
Secret room.
Secret fucking room.
So, fucking cool.
We step through. The panel seals behind us.
The corridor beyond is rough—worn. A stark contrast to the polished casino floor.
Then I see the stairs.
Oh, fuck me.
My body protests immediately.
Just keep moving.
If I tense any harder, I’m going to blow something important.
Relax—but not too much.
Just… be normal.
Yeah. That’s convincing.
We reach the top. I’m definitely not sweating through my shirt.
Definitely not dying.
Chace pauses at the door, glancing back at me.
You good?
Not even slightly.
I straighten anyway, nodding.
He opens it.
Light floods in.
A suite. Full. Every head turns.
My father’s eyes snap to mine.
Too slow to hide the surprise.
That’s right motherfucker.
I’m here.
Chace steps in like he owns the place. “Private party,” he says casually, “or can anyone join?”
Nice.
Wish I’d thought of that.
Guns rise instantly.
I barely notice.
Niko leans back, whiskey in hand. “You might want to look at who you’re aiming at.”
“My son,” my father says coldly.
“Not much of a father, though,” Niko replies. “Considering my nephew’s been with him since he was seventeen.”
A flicker of hesitation.
“Lower your weapons,” my father orders.
I step forward, vision narrowing.
“Valentino,” Niko adds, voice sharp. “My brother’s heir.”
“You don’t inherit that,” my father snaps.
Chace cuts in, calm and lethal. “Your son is under our protection. His wife too.”
“I don’t care.”
My gaze sweeps the room.
No Sera.
Something inside me fractures.
The world narrows to one point.
Him.
Fuck this.
I move.
Fast.
My fist connects with his jaw—bone cracking under impact, his head snapping sideways. He stumbles, glass shattering as whiskey spills across the floor.
I don’t stop.
Another hit. His mouth splits, blood spraying.
Pain flares through my knuckles.
God, that feels fucking good.
I lean into it, slamming him back again.
“Where is she?” I snarl, dragging him upright and driving my forehead into his face.
Impact. White-hot.
I keep going.
I hammer into his ribs. Once. Twice. Again. Each hit sinking deep.
“You touched her,” I growl, shaking him. “You took her from me.”
Another punch. His nose breaks under it.
Voices shout.
Guns shift.
I don’t care.
I slam him into the wall, forearm crushing his throat.
“If you hurt her,” I whisper, fury shaking through me.
My fist lifts—
A hand clamps down on my shoulder.
Iron grip.
Igor.
I freeze, breath ragged, awareness crashing back in. A room full of armed men. My body on the edge of collapse.
My father looks up at me.
Smiling.
Pride.
Sick.
I want to finish it.
“Trey!” Chace’s voice cuts through. “She’s in the bedroom. That’s enough. Go.”
Seraphina.
Everything in me snaps toward the hallway.
My legs hesitate—then move.
The bedroom.
She’s there.
I reach the door, hand shaking as I ease it open.
Please be the right room.
I stop.
She’s there.
Curled beneath the covers, hair spread across the pillow.
For a second, I forget how to breathe.
My strength drains out of me all at once.
Klause and Artemis rush me, tails wagging, soft whines breaking from their chests as they press against me.
I crouch, fingers tangling in their fur.
“Easy,” I murmur. “Shh.”
They settle.
I rise slowly, moving toward the bed.
I reach for her—
Then stop.
Blood.
Not hers.
Mine.
I pull back, turning for the bathroom. I scrub my hands clean, watching red spiral down the drain.
Get it together, motherfucker.
When I come back, I move slower.
My knuckles brush her cheek.
She sighs in her sleep.
God, baby.
I strip down quickly, ignoring the pain, then slide into the bed beside her.
The moment I feel her warmth, something in my chest loosens.
I pull her against me, fitting around her like I was made for it.
She stirs. “Seraphina,” I say softly, like any wrong tone might shatter her.
“You feel too real,” she murmurs. “I can’t breathe without you.”
My lips brush her ear. “Then breathe with me, Dove.”
Yeah. Could’ve said that better.
She tenses, touching my arm.
“I’m sorry I took so long, baby,” I whisper. “I’m here.”
Her fingers find my ring.
“I don’t want this to be a dream.”
“Sera,” I say softly, like any wrong tone might shatter her.
Her eyes open—but they don’t find me.
Not really.
They pass over me like I’m a memory she hasn’t decided to believe in yet.
“I’m dreaming again,” she murmurs, as tears fall from her eyes.
It hits me so hard I can’t breathe for a second.
No.
Her hand lifts slowly, trembling in a way that makes something in me twist.
She touches my face.
Her fingertips trace my jaw.
“You always feel like this,” she whispers faintly. “Like you’re here… but not.”
My throat tightens.
I don’t move.
I can’t.
Her hand drifts down—pressing flat against my chest.
Her brows pull together slightly.
Confusion flickers through her expression like a crack in glass.
“…you’re warm. I can feel your…I can feel your heartbeat,” she whimpers.
Her breath stutters.
Her eyes widen like something inside her just recognized the truth and couldn’t survive it.
“No,” she whispers.
It’s barely a sound.
“No… no, no—”
Her grip on me turns desperate.
“I thought—” her voice cracks completely. “I thought I lost you— I saw you— I saw you bleeding—”
A sound tears out of her—something between a sob and a gasp—and she collapses into my chest.
I catch her instantly.
But it doesn’t stop the impact.
Nothing stops the impact.
Her whole body shakes against mine, sharp and uncontrolled, like she’s been holding this in for too long to survive it anymore.
“Hey,” I murmur, voice rougher than I want it to be. “Hey… I’ve got you.”
She’s shaking too hard.
Her fingers claw into my back like she’s afraid I’ll be taken mid-breath.
“You weren’t there,” she chokes. “You weren’t— I woke up and— I thought it meant you were gone—”
Each word lands heavier than the last.
Like she’s been carrying them alone for too long.
My arms tighten around her.
“I know,” I say quietly. “I know, baby.”
Her head shakes against my chest.
It’s frantic.
Like she’s trying to undo reality.
“I can’t lose you again,” she whispers. “I can’t… I can’t do it again. I can’t—”
Her voice breaks so completely the sound disappears.
Just breath and shaking and grief spilling out of her like something she couldn’t hold back any longer.
I press my forehead to hers.
“You’re not going to,” I say, low and certain. “I’m right here.”
Her breathing is uneven—ragged, broken little pulls of air like she doesn’t know how to stop drowning yet.
Her fingers slide shakily to my wedding band.
She turns it once.
Then again.
Like she needs to feel it to believe time didn’t break.
“…you’re really here,” she whispers.
I kiss her temple gently, my voice breaking just slightly at the edges before I can stop it.
“I’m here.” I smooth a hand down her hair as I hold her against me. “I’m so fucking sorry, baby,”
“Please… don’t leave me again.”
Not a chance.
I hold her closer.
She’s mine.
I’m hers.
This time, no one is taking her from me.