Page 23 of Her Remarkable Protector

Chase doesn’t flinch, saying, “We know exactly how the Circle works, Ms. Deveraux.” Then he adds, “Have you ever heard of The Mosaic?”

I blink, disbelief battling through the pain. “Everyone knows The Mosaic,” I hiss. The name conjures images of Montana’s darkest empire—fentanyl kings thriving on fear, money, and death.

“Ethan was one of them,” Chase says flatly. No hesitation. No shame. “He got out. Turned his life around. And now he’s with us.”

For a second, I stare at Ethan, his quiet strength suddenly carrying new weight. Maybe the big man standing before me has done the same. Maybe he’s more than the Circle made him.

“Trust me,” Chase adds, his voice softer now, but no less firm. “We know what we’re doing.”

I swallow hard, turning back to Oakley. “Go with Ethan.” I rub his arm, trying to pour every ounce of reassurance I can muster into the gesture.

“Honor?” Oakley whispers but his voice is fierce. “Have you forgotten? Mom sent them!”

“I’ve changed their minds.” My voice breaks slightly. “Trust me. These are good men.” I grip his arm tighter. I’ve got to make him believe, or he may do something stupid. “Now go.”

Oakley hesitates, his face etched with fear, but slowly, he lets me go. Chase tosses Ethan the car keys, and the younger man moves to the door, one steady hand on Oakley’s shoulder.

“Promise me,” Oakley says, his voice trembling as he looks back at me. “Promise me you’ll come get me. After the baby.”

I force a smile that feels like breaking glass. “I promise.”

The door shuts behind them, sealing us in.

The scream tears out of me—a sound I’d swallowed down for Oakley’s sake, but I can’t hold it anymore. I don’t want Chase to hear it either, but the dam breaks, and so does everything else. My water.

Chase is at my side in an instant. For all his size and unshakable calm, I see it—the flicker of fear, raw and startling. He’s a man who looks like he’s faced down hell and walked away victorious, but the puddle spreading on the floor and me, in labor, unravel him.

“You keep him safe.” My voice comes out low, a growl tangled with pain as another contraction claws through me. “Do you hear me? Not to Stone. Or I swear I’ll haunt you for the rest of your life—starting now.”

I mean every word, and maybe he knows it, but he doesn’t answer. There’s something else brewing in his stormy eyes—shock, confusion—and somehow, I forgive him. Not because he deserves it, but because for all his bravado, he looks like a man who’s never been here before.

Another wave of agony rips through me. I clutch the couch, my knuckles white, and scream, “Get me to a fucking hospital!”

“Right… right,” he stammers, his voice unsteady in a way I never thought possible.

Then, as if someone flipped a switch, Chase moves—strong, measured, and decisive. He helps me up, his arms solid as steel, but careful, too. It’s only when I hook my elbow around his biceps that I feel it—corded, unyielding muscle, so defined it feels like I could hang on forever and never fall.

“Easy. Easy,” he murmurs, like he’s guiding a fragile thing that might shatter at the slightest misstep.

He carries me out, and as the pain pulses through me in waves, I force myself to look at him. I know his résumé. I know what he’s capable of. But there’s so much I don’t know. When did he join a rescue company? Does he have a kid of his own? A family?

I cling to him tighter, the moral dilemma gnawing at the edges of my mind as another contraction crashes through me. From his initial shock, I’d like to believe he doesn’t have children. It would make things simpler—cleaner. When the time comes, when I destroy him, I won’t leave a child fatherless. Unless, of course, he’s like Damon Stone. Damon, who wouldn’t blink at a woman bleeding out on the floor.

But then Chase opens the car door, his arms strong as he lowers me into the seat with such care, I falter. He may be a beast, but he’s not Damon. Not even close. The gentleness he shows can’t be faked.

He drives. The hum of the engine barely registers over my ragged breathing. The doctor warned me to keep my blood pressure in check, but how? None of this is how I imagined it—alone, yes. Angry, yes. But with a man like him by my side? Never.

A hand brushes mine. I jump, startled.

“It’s okay,” he says.

I grip his hand instinctively, desperate for something to anchor me. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t pull away. He just holds on, firm but careful, as if my hand is something worth protecting.

Damon Stone would never do this—not in a million years. Damon wouldn’t see me, wouldn’t care if I was dying. But Chase? I feel it in the strength of his grip, the way his eyes flick back and forth—road to me, road to me—as if afraid to miss a second. He’s scared out of his mind, I can see it, but he’s here.

“Hang on,” he murmurs, his tone soothing even as tension bleeds into it. “We’re almost there.”

For just a second, I let myself believe him.

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