Total pages in book: 45
Estimated words: 41825 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 209(@200wpm)___ 167(@250wpm)___ 139(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 41825 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 209(@200wpm)___ 167(@250wpm)___ 139(@300wpm)
“You good?” I murmured, breaking the brief silence.
“Yeah.” Her eyes were alert, waiting for me to make the next move.
I shifted slightly, my fingers moving to her other wound, carefully lifting the edge of her hair again. It wasn’t strictly necessary since I’d already assessed it, but Hadley didn’t know that. It gave me the perfect excuse to keep her exactly where she was for a few moments longer, giving me more time to study that scar in detail.
I kept my tone relaxed, casual curiosity coloring my words rather than suspicion. “This scar here. How’d you get it?”
Her eyes flicked up to mine again, an easy openness in her expression, as if it were the simplest thing in the world to answer.
“Childhood accident,” she replied with a shrug. Then her lips curved into a rueful smile. “I was a clumsy toddler—much to my mother’s frustration—and I fell and hit my head on the corner of a table. Nothing serious, but it required a small surgery to fix.”
There was no hesitation or defensiveness in her tone. The ease of her reply made it seem perfectly believable. But a flicker of awareness tightened in my chest. Something wasn’t lining up. Everything I’d clocked so far, and the way her hair had grown around it suggested an injury much earlier than toddlerhood. A wound from infancy. This scar wasn’t from a simple childhood accident but something far more complex.
I didn’t let a hint of that skepticism reach my face, though. Didn’t challenge her story or raise any questions she likely couldn't answer if she was simply repeating the story she’d been told her whole life. Outwardly, I remained steady, my expression professional and unbothered. Internally, though, a red flag waved in my mind. My gut was rarely wrong, and this felt like something I needed to understand fully if I was going to keep her safe.
I straightened, letting her hair slip gently back into place and covering the scar once more. She watched me quietly, cautious curiosity shadowing those dark-green eyes.
I stood smoothly, then reached down and gently took hold of her arm and helped her up. “Come on. You’re coming with me.”
She hesitated, looking at me with confusion and a little resistance flickering in her eyes. “Wait, what? I’m fine. I don’t need—”
I cut off her protest with calm authority. “I’m not asking, Hadley. I’m telling you. I need to run some imaging to rule out internal damage from the impact.”
That wasn’t entirely untrue, but it wasn’t my only reason. I also wanted a closer look at that scar—more than what the harsh floodlights of Brake Point Run could provide. She didn’t need to know that, not yet.
For another heartbeat, Hadley searched my face, clearly debating whether to argue further. Something in my unwavering gaze must’ve convinced her it wasn’t worth it, because she finally sighed, relenting. Her hand slipped into mine, and a protective heat surged in my chest at the feel of her fingers wrapped securely in my grip. That powerful urge I’d felt earlier returned with renewed intensity—the need to shield her from whatever danger might be lurking in her shadows. It warred for supremacy with the heated desire coursing through my veins and the need to stake my claim.
3
HADLEY
The world still felt a little muffled around the edges, but I didn’t have time to dwell on it. Not when my focus was on the man who had come to my aid.
He was a good half foot taller than me and muscular, but that didn’t set him apart from the other guys in the racing pit. His unyielding stare had captured my attention, even through the haze of my injury. His eyes were the most fascinating blend of blue, green, and gray. They were technically hazel, but the word wasn’t enough to describe how stunning they were.
His dark hair was short and ruffled, as though he’d run his fingers through it. The angular planes of his masculine face made my fingers itch to trace his jaw and cheekbones, but I’d probably start with the black ink on his arms if I ever got the chance. The tanned skin of both arms was covered in full-sleeve tattoos, from the wrist up, disappearing into the short sleeves of his black T-shirt. And the leather vest he wore over it declared him a member of the Redline Kings MC, same as Nitro.
People moved out of our way as he guided me through the crowd, one big hand on the small of my back. I should have pulled away, but I found myself moving with him, my steps automatically matching his longer stride.
We were halfway to the parking lot when a younger guy jogged up beside us and wordlessly handed over the small black crossbody I’d brought with my laptop, wallet, and the emergency charger I never left home without. My rescuer took it without breaking his stride and slung it over his shoulder.