“I see,” Chace replies, cutting in before my dove can finish. There’s something in that quiet acknowledgment that feels like a promise—one that won’t end well for someone.
This is a side of Chace he kept buried for a long time… but it was always there, waiting. Like a sleeping wolf.
Maybe I should stop cracking jokes before he decides I belong at the bottom of the ocean.
…Nah, fuck that. He’s always been who he is. We’re good.
Though—fuck—he’s kind of hot when he looks like that, right?
He presses another button, and the lift resumes its descent. When the doors open on the floor below ours, he does not hesitate.
His hand remains wrapped around Anastasia’s wrist before sliding to the nape of her neck, guiding her forward with a possessive steadiness, sharpened into something lethal.
Uh-oh, kinda grabby there, broski.
“I’ll meet you later,” he says without looking back. “I have business to attend to.”
Getting down to business… or, you know, finger-blasting a cheerleader?
Nah. He’s not about to fuck—he’s about to fuck someone up.
The doors begin to close, sealing them off from view.
And because I am physically incapable of resisting the opportunity.
“Bro, save the cheerleader, save the world.” I salute and nod, as if I have a deeper understanding.
Chace goes still for half a heartbeat, just long enough to register that he heard me.
Then the doors close completely.
It is likely for the best.
The tension in that confined space was volatile enough to spark violence, and I am not entirely certain what has just ignited, but I have never seen him look that furious.
“Save the world?” the large brute of a guard asks, and I nearly jump out of my skin.
“You know, from the TV show? Heroes.”
He shakes his head. So does Seraphina.
Right. That’s going on in the room later. Sorry, Geordie Shore.
Seraphina exhales softly beside me, her voice gentle when she speaks.
“It’s her birthday today. I hope he makes it better for her.”
Oh, he gonna make it all better, baby…
I glance down at my wife, her compassion as instinctive as breathing, and I cannot help the faint smile that touches my mouth.
If circumstances were different, and she hadn’t just turned eighteen, I would say he absolutely intends to.
Then again, knowing Chace, circumstance has never dictated his decisions.
Cheerleaders, though?
That detail gets filed away carefully—because I have no doubt it’ll come in useful one day.
