Her eyes flicked up to mine again, an easy openness in her expression, as if it were the simplest thing in the world to answer.
“Childhood accident,” she replied with a shrug. Then her lips served into a rueful smile. “I was a clumsy toddler—much to my mother’s frustration—and I fell and hit my head on the corner of a table. Nothing serious, but it required a small surgery to fix.”
There was no hesitation or defensiveness in her tone. The ease of her reply made it seem perfectly believable. But a flicker of awareness tightened in my chest. Something wasn’t lining up. Everything I’d clocked so far, and the way her hair had grown around it suggested an injury much earlier than toddlerhood. A wound from infancy. This scar wasn’t from a simple childhood accident but something far more complex.
I didn’t let a hint of that skepticism reach my face, though. Didn’t challenge her story or raise any questions she likely couldn't answer if she was simply repeating the story she’d been told her whole life. Outwardly, I remained steady, my expression professional and unbothered. Internally, though, a red flag waved in my mind. My gut was rarely wrong, and this felt like something I needed to understand fully if I was going to keep her safe.
I straightened, letting her hair slip gently back into place and covering the scar once more. She watched me quietly, cautious curiosity shadowing those dark-green eyes.
I stood smoothly, then reached down and gently took hold of her arm and helped her up. “Come on. You’re coming with me.”
She hesitated, looking at me with confusion and a little resistance flickering in her eyes. “Wait, what? I’m fine. I don’t need?—”
I cut off her protest with calm authority. “I’m not asking, Hadley. I’m telling you. I need to run some imaging to rule out internal damage from the impact.”
That wasn’t entirely untrue, but it wasn’t my only reason. I also wanted a closer look at that scar—more than what the harsh floodlights of Break Point Run could provide. She didn’t need to know that, not yet.
For another heartbeat, Hadley searched my face, clearly debating whether to argue further. Something in my unwavering gaze must’ve convinced her it wasn’t worth it, because she finally sighed, relenting. Her hand slipped into mine, and a protective heat surged in my chest at the feel of her fingers wrapped securely in my grip. That powerful urge I’d felt earlier returned with renewed intensity—the need to shield her from whatever danger might be lurking in her shadows. It warred for supremacy with the heated desire coursing through my veins and the need to stake my claim.
3
HADLEY
The world still felt a little muffled around the edges, but I didn’t have time to dwell on it. Not when my focus was on the man who had come to my aid.
He was a good half foot taller than me and muscular, but that didn’t set him apart from the other guys in the racing pit. His unyielding stare had captured my attention, even through the haze of my injury. His eyes were the most fascinating blend of blue, green, and gray. They were technically hazel, but the word wasn’t enough to describe how stunning they were.
His dark hair was short and ruffled, as though he’d run his fingers through it. The angular planes of his masculine face made my fingers itch to trace his jaw and cheekbones, but I’d probably start with the black ink on his arms if I ever got the chance. The tanned skin of both arms was covered in full-sleeve tattoos, from the wrist up, disappearing into the short sleeves of his black T-shirt. And the leather vest he wore over it declared him a member of the Redline Kings MC, same as Nitro.
People moved out of our way as he guided me through the crowd, one big hand on the small of my back. I should havepulled away, but I found myself moving with him, my steps automatically matching his longer stride.
We were halfway to the parking lot when a younger guy jogged up beside us and wordlessly handed over the small black crossbody I’d brought with my laptop, wallet, and the emergency charger I never left home without. Cage took it without breaking his stride and slung it over his shoulder.
“Thanks,” I managed, my voice coming out softer than I intended. “You really don’t have to?—”
“Don’t talk yet.” His commanding tone brushed past my ear as we kept moving.
I pressed my lips together, feeling flustered. If someone spoke to me like that at home, I would have smiled politely and found a graceful way to redirect. But with him acting like my health was the most important thing, I felt cared for in a way that had nothing to do with who my parents were.
The realization sent a little flutter in my stomach. I wasn’t used to being handled like I was something worth protecting instead of being displayed. My parents’ world ran on appearances and careful distance. This man didn’t seem to care about either.
I snuck a look at the patch on his leather vest. Cage.
It was a safe bet that the meaning behind his road name was far removed from the gilded one I’d been raised in.
The roar of engines continued to echo behind us as the race continued without missing a beat. My head throbbed in time with my pulse, but the dizziness had eased enough that I could walk straight without assistance. But I didn’t tell him that as we kept walking, I liked the feel of his hand on the small of my back as he guided me through the thinning crowd.
I glanced sideways and decided to test the waters. “Are you always this bossy with strangers, Cage?”
“Only the ones bleeding on my track.”
A surprised laugh slipped out of me before I could stop it. His straightforward humor cut straight through the fog in my head. I opened my mouth to tease him back, but he spoke again before I could.
“And my name is Thayer.”
I blinked up at him. “But your patch says?—”
“No buts. You call me Thayer.”
