Page 76 of Her Remarkable Protector

“I’m killing you for me.”

“What have I done to you, Honor?”

I shake my head slowly, keeping my gaze fixed on him. “You shouldn’t have left any witnesses, Chase.”

His face slackens, a violent shift as if the weight of the revelation is dragging him down. “My God… you’re that little girl?”

“That little girl has a name,” I snap, my voice like a blade. “Her father had a name. Her mother had a name.”

He staggers back, his expression collapsing into something hopeless. Leaning heavily against the shower panel, he whispers, “Honor… it was you?” The words come out fragile, like they might shatter midair. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry that happened to you.”

I scoff. “Yeah, you said it then, too. Innocent people don’t say sorry. You killed my father.”

“I’m not innocent,” he says, his voice trembling, “but I didn’t kill your father. I swear it, Honor.”

I step closer. “You could’ve shot Stone instead of my dad! You made your choice.”

“Honor, I swear, it wasn’t me. Bomber shot him. Bomber, I mean?—”

“I know who Bomber was, Chase,” I cut him off. “I remember every single word you three said back then.”

He exhales shakily. “I shot your father to distract Damon. He was thorough, Honor. He was checking your mother’s body. He was going to find out you were still alive. I swear, your father was dead when I shot him.”

“You said it yourself—my dad moved!” My voice cracks, anger and anguish colliding.

“It was a lie!” His words tumble out, desperate. “It was a lie, Honor. I swear, Bomber got him straight in the heart.”

My body trembles as his explanation sinks in, vivid, but offering no solace. Tears spill down my face. “It’s my dad you’re talking about, Chase. How would you feel if I talked about yours like that?”

He winces, his face crumpling. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I just want you to know the truth.”

“I don’t believe you,” I grit out, my breaths shallow and ragged. “But let’s say that’s true. Then answer me this—why did you shoot Bomber but not Stone?”

He freezes, his mouth opening, then closing. No words. Just silence.

“Answer me!” I scream, my grip tightening around the weapon in my hand.

“I don’t know!” he blurts.

“Don’t you fucking say, ‘I don’t know!’” My voice is an unbridled roar. My finger moves on the trigger. He has to see it—he’s a former SEAL, a rescue-and-protect specialist. He knows what’s coming. He must know.

But he doesn’t move. Not an inch. He just stands there, staring at me, as if accepting whatever comes next.

Slowly, he restarts, “Damon Stone saved my life once. I was sixteen—no loyalties, bouncing between gangs. Not that there were many in Bozeman. Everyone knew everyone. But I crossed the wrong one, pissed off their leader.”

“And Damon Stone came to you like your knight in shining armor?”

“He risked his life to get me out. We’d known each other then, but we belonged to two different gangs. Perhaps he just saw a potential in me, to exploit it for his own gain. Or maybe there was a human side to him then.”

“There was never a human side to Damon Stone,” I snap. “And you? You were too weak to save yourself?”

His lips draw into a line, disappointment shadowing his eyes. “Really? Must you play the sarcastic angle?”

“So youwereweak and scared.”

“I had this tough-guy act down during my rebellious years, but I was just a kid—sixteen and scared out of my mind. I was on the verge of being sliced alive. I’m not exaggerating, Honor. I was facing three men with carving knives in their hands.”

His description lands hard, stirring a pain eerily close to what I feared when this man first invaded my life.

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