Page 75 of Her Remarkable Protector

My cheeks burn. “I know what I asked for, Chase. I wanted it, okay? I wanted you. To feel you. To—dammit—to fuck you! But that’s all it was.”

His laugh is jarring. “Oh, that’s rich. I’ve been through ambushes that stung less.”

I cross my arms, refusing to back down. “I never made you any promises.”

“No, you didn’t. That’s the beauty of it, isn’t it?” His words are like a lash, biting. “No promises, no guilt. You’re not responsible for anything. But don’t stand there and lie to my face. You wanted me. You loved me. Hell, you still do!”

I flinch, but I recover quickly. “I don’t love you, Chase. I never did.”

His expression hardens, and for a moment, the air between us feels like it could split. “That’s a lie, and we both know it,” he says, his voice low but vibrating with conviction. “But fine. Let’s call it what you want—a mistake. Just don’t insult me by pretending you didn’t feel a damn thing.”

Laramie’s cries pierce the quiet as Chase swings the door open for us. Without a glance his way, I stride to the first bedroom I see, cradling her close. I don’t care if Chase had plans for this room—it’s mine now.

“Shh, baby, don’t cry. Momma’s here,” I murmur, swaying gently as her tiny fists grab at my shirt. Her sobs tear at me, raw and unrelenting, echoing how I feel inside.

My life is a collection of boxes, stacked and tucked away. I’ve emptied so many over the years, shredded their contents, but one refuses to budge—the one that holds the truth. Chase Samson, the killer. No matter how much I pretend otherwise, it’s still there. And I have to destroy him before I can do anything else.

Laramie’s cries hitch, a shuddering sound that feels ominous. Maybe it’s this new place unsettling her, or maybe she can sense it—sense me. Sense what’s coming.

Chase appears in the doorway, dropping my bag and Laramie’s things at my feet without a word. His jaw is tight, his eyes unreadable as they flick toward me, then away. He walks off, his footsteps retreating down the hall, leaving silence in his wake.

It takes an hour—an eternity—before Laramie finally calms, her tiny body slack in. Gently, I lay her on the bed.

The house feels oppressive, the walls pressing closer. I hear the faint sound of running water. Chase is in the shower.

I don’t think. I just move. It’s ironic. The bag he just set down like a final offering contains the very thing that will end him.

I carefully push the bathroom door open.

Steam clings to the shower glass, swirling out in lazy wisps, blurring the defined lines of his silhouette. The water is off, but the heat lingers. His shoulders are tense, his head bowed, a quiet groan escaping him. Is it relief? Frustration? Anger? I can’t tell.

And yet, I can’t look away.

As soon as he opens the shower door, I straighten my arms, my Glock in hand. A wave of humid air pushes between my skin and the cold metal, trying to sway my resolve.

“Honor? What is this?” Chase stands before me, staring in disbelief. His flawless form glistens with droplets of water. Naked. Magnificent. His semi-hard cock juts out from between his powerful thighs, a maddening display of his masculinity.

Even in this moment when I’m poised to end his life, I can’t help but appreciate the sheer beauty of this man.

But this moment has been coming, it’s time he appreciates who I really am. “Look at me, Chase.”

“So, not only have you played me, now you’re betraying me too?” He steps out of the shower, the steam parting like a curtain to reveal him, primal and furious. His gaze burns, but beneath the rage, I see something deeper. So this is what Chase Samson looks like when he’s broken.

“Not another step,” I snap, holding my ground.

His hands curl into fists at his sides. “My God, Honor,” he says, his voice heavy with disbelief. “You’ve been pretending—pretending to need me, to be hopeless—and all the while, you were on his side?”

I growl. “I was never needy, Chase. Never. But I was onyourside—for a time.”

“For a time?” He laughs, harsh and bitter. “You love him, don’t you? Damon Stone?”

“No.”

“Bullshit,” he spits. He steps closer, ignoring my warning. “I know his type. The charmer. Comes off all smooth and tame, purring like a house cat—until the claws come out.”

I meet his glare head-on, refusing to back down. “I know exactly where his claws are, Chase,” I counter. “I fucked him only to get to you, if you must know!”

His eyes narrow in rage. “Now you want to kill me forhim?”

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