Page 50 of Her Remarkable Protector

He laughs, a bright, confident sound. “City life’s got you all cushy, Katniss!”

So he has caught up. But something stirs in the back of my mind. Not Katniss, but a name he mentioned earlier.

“Wait a second,” I say. “Ethan’s mom—her name’s Ivy?”

“Uh-huh. She used to be some politician. That’s what Ethan said. But, like, she’s cool,” he adds, as if making sure I don’t judge her too harshly.

I tilt my head, and then it clicks. Ivy Forbes, now Ivy Connor. The former attorney general of Montana.

Pride swells in my chest. “You’ve got some pretty incredible people looking out for you.”

“They’re just normal, you know? And Noah’s been teaching me this card game—Magic: The Gathering. Have you heard of it?”

That’s exactly how a thirteen-year-old boy should sound—happy, carefree, safe. I grin to myself. “No, but it sounds like you’re having a blast.”

My worries about Oakley ease, but Chase is a different story. He’s out there, about to face the one man that may be capable of hurting him: Damon Stone.

18

CHASE

The office comes into view, but so does the chaos brewing outside it. Damon Stone stands in the front, gripping a bat and swinging it with casual menace, each arc coming dangerously close to the office windows. My stomach tightens, though my face doesn’t show it. One of my men, Eric, blocks the door, his stance unyielding despite Damon’s antics. And then there’s Mira, lounging on the edge of a planter like she’s watching a particularly riveting soap opera.

Damon spots me before I even step out of the car. His grin is the kind that makes you want to check your wallet—or your weapon.

“Chase! Hello, old friend,” he calls, dragging out the words.

I walk up, eyes on him but my command is for my man. “Eric,” I say, “I’ve got this. Go inside.”

Eric hesitates for a second, glancing between me and Damon, but he knows better than to argue. “Yes, sir,” he says, disappearing into the building with one last wary look at Damon.

Damon’s grin stretches wider as I approach. His gaze drifts down, giving my suit a once-over, his lips curling with mock amusement.

“Well, well. Mira said she had a chat with you, but I called bullshit. Chase Samson, back from the dead. Navy special forces, wasn’t it? Heard you got fried in some chopper crash over Kabul.” His tone drips with theatrical disbelief, his grin widening. “Oh wait,” he says, snapping his fingers. “That’s my little rewrite.”

He chuckles, then continues, “Now you’re playing superhero with—” He pauses to glance at the office sign above. “Red Mark Rescue and Protect?” He draws out the name like he’s tasting something sour.

“Go home, Stone,” I assert. “I’ve got nothing for you.”

His gaze flicks to my tie, then back up, his smirk deepening. “And this getup? What’s the play here? Big boss man with the suit and shiny shoes? You got the office, the minions, the whole nine yards.” He tugs at his collar like he’s choking on the idea. “Didn’t think you’d ditch the camo for corporate chic. Or, did Red Mark run out of tactical gear?”

“Gimme that,” I say, stepping right into his space. I don’t wait for him to comply—I grab the bat mid-swing, pulling it from his grip with a sharp tug.

For a second, his eyes flash, the grin faltering just enough to reveal the simmering rage beneath. But then he lets it go, the bat slipping from his fingers. “No need to be so pushy,” he says, brushing imaginary dust off his shirt. “I was just testing the structural integrity of your precious windows.”

I plant the bat against the ground, leaning on it like it’s mine now. “And what structural integrity does your skull have, Damon? Careful—this place is built to last.”

He laughs, an obnoxious sound that grates on every nerve. “Always so charming, Chase. Aren’t you going to invite me in? It’s rude to keep an old friend standing outside.”

Mira smirks, her eyes flicking between us like she’s placing bets.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “Lobby only,” I say, motioning them inside.

Damon steps forward, his movements like the kind of predator who knows he has the upper hand—or thinks he does. His gaze flicks back to my suit as he smirks. “Seriously, though. You’re rocking that suit. Did they hand those out as a ‘welcome to middle management’ gift? Or did you just want to look extra sleek for me today?”

I keep my expression neutral, but the jab lands exactly where he wants it. Damon’s always been about pushing buttons, testing limits. Not this time.

As they step into the lobby, I glance back at the bat in my hand, a quiet reminder of just how thin the line is between annoyance and outright danger. Damon may think he’s in control, but he’s about to learn that I didn’t build this place—or myself—just to watch him tear it down.

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