“I’m not sure if this helps you at all, but here are my messages to the person who posted the ad.”
I take his phone from him and scroll through the messages. I stop when I see the pictures he was sent. They are all recent photos I’ve posted or been tagged in from the last few months, on my private accounts.
A sharp screech splits the morning open, and my head snaps up just in time to see Lucian’s black SUV tear into the lot like the universe hit fast-forward. The doors fly open before the engine even settles.
They’re out immediately.
Rowan reaches me first, his shoulders tight, eyes burning with a kind of fear that looks a lot like fury. He doesn’t slow. He just wraps me up in a bear hug, one arm locking around my shoulders, the other cupping the back of my head like he’s bracing me against impact.
“What happened?” His voice is low, shredded at the edges. “The guy said he was calling the police. Are you hurt?”
“It wasn’t James.” The words scrape out of me, raw. “He didn’t break into my rig. Someone else did.” Heat coils under my skin as I explain everything that’s happened since I left Linkin’s rig this morning. “And they’re escalating.”
His face drains of color, as his breath leaves him in a harsh exhale. When he breathes in, the sound is ragged. He drags a palm over his mouth, pacing a tight, frantic line in front of me like he’s trying to keep from exploding.
He pulls out his phone with a jerk so sharp it’s almost violent. His thumb flies across the screen.
“Contact legal,” he snaps the second someone answers. “I need NDAs sent to the Kansas City police department immediately. No, not later—now. There’s been an incident involving Umbra.”
He ends the call and turns back to me, chest rising and falling too fast, eyes bright with something raw and terrified.
I look for Lucian to find him and Alex are squared off, with a tense heat radiating off them in waves. Alex’s hands are up, palms out, trying to explain something. Lucian towers over him, his shoulders rigid. Their voices are low but sharp, slicing through the air. Whatever Alex is saying isn’t helping.
Rowan follows my gaze, jaw clenching so hard I hear the grind of his teeth.
A siren wails in the distance, growing louder, then cuts off as a cruiser rolls into the lot. Red and blue lights wash over everything, reminding me just how close I was to being—
But I wasn’t. And I focus on that.
Lucian turns toward the officer, gives a curt nod, then glances back at me. For a heartbeat, his eyes soften. A flicker of something warm, protective, devastatingly gentle.
Then it’s gone as I watch his whole body shift into the quiet, immovable force he becomes when the world threatens something he cares about.
And I know with absolute certainty that once this is over, he’s not letting me out of his sight again.
* * *
I’m vibrating in the seat, but not with the same fear that crawled up my spine back at the park.
This is something different. This isragecrawling its way up my throat like it wants out.
My knee won’t stop bouncing in a jittery and uneven tempo, like my body is trying to outrun memory. My jaw aches from clenching it. One hand is curled into a fist so tight my nails biteinto my palm. The other is trapped in Lucian’s grip—or maybe I’m the one trapping his. I honestly can’t tell. I just know I haven’t let go since we walked away from the police.
And he hasn’t let go either.
“When we find who did this, I want—no, Ineed—them to pay,” I say, the words slicing out of me before I can soften them.
“They will.”
“I’m not some fucking prop to play with,” I snap, turning toward him. My voice cracks from fury. “Someone told him I wanted it to be real, and he thought I was into it. He laughed when I fought back. What would have happened if, instead of Alex, it were someone else and they didn’t stop?”
The memory slams into me, and I feel sick. I spit the words out like poison, because keeping them in feels worse.
Lucian doesn’t flinch; he just absorbs every word. I secretly love how steady and immovable he is in this moment, like he’s bracing himself so I don’t have to. He’s allowing me to experience all my feelings, knowing he will be there to catch me when I’m done.
“You did everything right,” he says, voice low. “You fought like hell, and you made it out.”
He squeezes my hand, and I wish I could squeeze back. I’ve been holding on to him so tightly my fingers feel numb, but I still can’t make myself let go. It’s the only thing keeping me tethered and keeping me from floating off into the panic and rage battling at the edges of my mind.
