Deeper

10. Chaos in Motion

My legs are shaking. My palms are clammy and useless in my lap. I press them against my jeans anyway, trying to ground myself, trying to feel *something* that isn't fear.

Why is this happening?

Why am I so important to him?

Why did I meet him in the first place?

Josh just told me how he feels. As in, really told me. And I barely had time to process it before Monica, his crazy, powerful ex, turned our lives into a war zone.

Gunfire. Screams. Blood on the marble floors of his office lobby.

It all happened so fast.

I can't stop replaying it, those few seconds when everything snapped from romance into nightmare.

I knew Monica had influence. I knew she had money, friends in the right places, connections she wielded like weapons. But I didn't know she could pull something like *this.*

I didn't know she had *killers* on her payroll.

I didn't know I'd be the reason people died.

I lost count after the third body dropped.

Three. Then four. Five? I don't even know.

All I know is that Josh and Frederick, his ever-silent, ever-deadly bodyguard, reacted like trained machines. They moved as one, guns raised, shielding me. Shooting to kill.

All for me.

Why?

What the hell makes me worth that?

The car jolts over a pothole and I nearly fly off the seat. I've been too stunned to even notice we were speeding through traffic. My chest feels tight, like my ribs are made of steel bars. My heartbeat is out of sync with everything around me, rapid and wild and disconnected.

My breath hitches. It's not even crying, just that panicked, shallow inhale you do when your brain has too many tabs open and no one's manning the controls.

The gunshots are still in my head, echoing like thunder on loop. Every sharp sound, horns, tires screeching, cars honking, makes me flinch. The city is alive around us, but in the worst way. Chaotic. Frantic. Ruthless.

The engine growls beneath me. The car swerves again. I hear Frederick bark a short order at Josh, his voice low and sharp like broken glass. I don't catch the words.

Josh doesn't respond. He just tightens his grip on the steering wheel.

He's scared.

I can see it in his face.

Not the kind of fear that makes you freeze, but the kind that makes you *move.* The kind that makes you drive like hell through a city with no clear destination, just the need to survive.

There's blood on his collar. I don't know if it's his.

My stomach turns.

I want to ask if he's okay, but I can't make my mouth work. The words are there, but my tongue feels like lead.

We weave through traffic like we're invisible. Josh drives like a man with nothing left to lose running red lights, jumping curbs, barely dodging pedestrians. Somewhere behind us, the last of Monica's men are still following.

I glance over my shoulder.

Two cars now. One of them a matte black SUV with windows too dark to see through.

They're not giving up.

I fumble for my seatbelt, my fingers shaking so badly it takes me three tries to snap it in. The second it clicks, Josh jerks the wheel hard, making a turn so sharp I slide across the backseat like a rag doll. My shoulder slams into the door. Pain flares, but it grounds me.

"Hold on," Josh says, his voice rough, breathless. It's the first thing he's said in minutes.

I obey.

The chase feels endless, like some twisted loop of a nightmare I can't wake from.

Then suddenly hit a stretch of open road. The traffic thickens behind us, swallowing the tailing cars like a wave.

I lean forward, peering through the back windshield. One car tries to follow, but a delivery truck blocks it. The other one takes a wrong turn.

Gone.

Just like that, they're gone.

For a second, everything is quiet. Still.

My head thuds back against the seat. I don't realize I've been holding my breath until I let it out in one ragged exhale.

Josh doesn't slow down, but his knuckles ease slightly on the wheel. Frederick relaxes a fraction too, lowering whatever weapon he had drawn just out of sight.

I finally speak, my voice hoarse and thin. "What the hell just happened?"

Josh doesn't answer.

Not immediately.

He keeps driving, eyes locked on the road like it's the only thing keeping him from unraveling.

Then, softly, he says, "She wants to destroy you. Because she thinks having me means she owns me. And she saw the truth in my eyes today."

I blink.

"What truth?"

He glances at me in the rearview mirror. His eyes are red-rimmed. Wild. Honest.

"That I'm in love with you."

The car goes silent again. Except for the sound of tires humming across asphalt and my own heart trying to beat out of my chest.

I don't know what to say. Not after what we just survived. Not with my nerves hanging by threads.

Josh looks away, like he doesn't expect an answer.

"I'm sorry," he mutters. "This shouldn't have happened. Not like this. Not to you."

I want to say it's not his fault.

I want to say something.

But I just nod, staring out the window as the city rushes by. A blur of lights, shadows, and noise.

Somewhere in the distance, I hear a siren.

We're not safe yet.

I can feel it.

Monica isn't done.

Not even close.