Collision Course
1028 Words
Blaze Reigns signed another poster, his smile bolted on like armor. God, he was tired. Six hours in a metal tube, recycled air, and now this — a wall of screaming, grabbing, crying girls who thought they owned him. He wanted to snap. To yell _back off_. But he couldn’t. Blaze Reigns was the city’s heartthrob. Heartthrobs didn’t have bad days. They didn’t crumble. They smiled until their cheeks hurt and waved until their wrists gave out. That was the deal. Fame for freedom. He was two autographs from losing it when he saw her. A woman cut through the crowd like it parted for Moses. Long legs. Emerald dress. Chocolate curls bouncing with each measured step. Dark shades hid her eyes, but her mouth — that mouth — was set in quiet determination. _Wait._ He knew that face. He’d seen it on billboards. On his brother’s arm in last night’s leaked wedding photos. Chloe Adams. Before he could process, she was beside him, close enough that he caught her scent. Vanilla. Trouble. “Hello, everyone!” Her voice rang out, sweet as honey, loud as command. “I’m Joanna Gaines, Mr. Reigns’ manager and handler.” Blaze’s head snapped toward her. _What the hell?_ “As you can see, our idol is exhausted after a long international flight.” She laid a hand on his arm, light, but it felt like a brand. “Let’s give him the day to rest, yes? Tomorrow there’s a press conference. You’ll get your questions, your photos, your time. But today? Today, he’s off-duty.” The crowd murmured. Some pouted. But they bought it. They always bought a pretty face and a calm lie. They parted. Like she said. Like she still had that aura. Blaze let her guide him out, too stunned to speak. Ten steps from the terminal doors, he yanked his arm free and stopped dead. “What the hell do you call what you did back there?” Chloe halted too, turned. Her shades still on. Unreadable. “Oh, that? I call it *ss saving.” “*ss… what?” “Saving,” she repeated, lips curving. “You’re welcome.” She pulled her shades down, just enough for him to see her eyes. Tired. Guarded. And something else — steel. “The name’s Chloe Adams, by the way. Your pickup driver for today.” She stuck out her hand. No tremor. No fear. Blaze stared at it like it was a snake. “Chloe Adams? Rose’s murderer?” The smile didn’t leave her face. It just changed. Emptied out. “Yes. Rose’s murderer.” Bitter now. A wound talking. “Sorry, forgot the tag. Hard to keep track these days.” She dropped her hand when he didn’t take it. “Not only did you kill Rose,” Blaze spat, the grief he’d bottled for twelve hours ripping open, “you married her fiancé. Aren’t you ashamed?” “Should I be?” She tilted her head. “I’ve sacrificed enough, don’t you think? My name. My career. My money. Everything. To be a stay-home wife for your self-centered brother, Liam Reigns.” On the last two words, she jabbed a finger into his chest. Hard. Blaze blinked. He didn’t know where this fire came from, but it burned. He took a step back on instinct. She took a step forward. He stepped back again. She followed. His calves hit metal. The _mini car_, as he’d called Daisy’s compact, stopped him cold. Chloe was in his space now, her nails barely grazing his shirt over his sternum. “Not only are you shameless,” he hissed, trapped between her and the car, “you’re sharp-tongued too.” Chloe gave a mock bow, shades glinting. “What can I say? I’m honored.” --- The ride home was war. Chloe drove like the car was made of glass. Twenty-five in a forty. Two hands on the wheel. Checking mirrors every three seconds. Blaze sprawled in the passenger seat, jet lag and irritation gnawing at him. “Are you always this slow, or is it a special performance for me?” “I borrowed this car,” Chloe said, eyes on the road. “I can’t afford to scratch it. And I’m a law-abiding citizen. This is the speed limit.” He growled. “Are you that poor you can’t afford a car?” Her eyes flicked to him. Sharp. Amused. “Yes, Blaze. I’m that poor. How about I become your driver? You can pay me daily. Since your brother took my bank accounts.” “Humph.” Chloe smiled to herself. Point to her. She adjusted the rearview mirror, trying to catch his expression, when headlights flared behind them. A black SUV. Tinted. Too close. She’d seen it at the airport. And at the last light. And now. “Uhm… Blaze. Do you have company?” “No. Why?” “Do you recognize the car behind us? They’ve been tailing us since the terminal.” Blaze twisted in his seat. His face went dark when he saw the plate. “Dammit.” Chloe’s knuckles went white on the wheel. “What’s wrong?” “Step on it. We need to lose them. Now.” She didn’t ask twice. Her foot slammed the pedal. The little engine whined, protesting, but the car leapt forward. She swerved left, took a service road she barely knew, away from the Reigns mansion route. Her heart hammered. Clause 5: _Party B is forbidden from going out without notifying Party A._ Too late for that. Another SUV shot out from a side street. Black. Identical. It cut across their path. Chloe screamed and slammed the brakes. The car shrieked. Tires smoked. The seatbelt locked against her chest. They stopped inches from a T-bone. Silence. Dust settled. Blaze was already out, door open, body coiled. “Stay in the car,” he ordered, voice low. Lethal. Chloe’s hands shook on the wheel. Her breath came in short gasps. Through the windshield, four men in suits stepped out of the SUV. No guns drawn. Yet. One of them smiled. And it wasn’t friendly.
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