Force him into the darkness behind them.
His scent.
His warmth.
The steady strength of him as he holds me close.
A tear slips free, sliding into my hair.
I don’t wipe it away.
I’m too tired to think.
Too drained to be afraid.
Too full of him to feel anything else.
Sleep pulls me under quickly.
Back to him.
Back to the only place I feel safe.
Even if it’s only for a moment.
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.”
