Chapter 556:
Beside her, Zander—his clothes rumpled and hair in disarray—stiffened at the sight of the crowd. The urge to shrink from view was written plainly in the tightness of his jaw.
Rylie, knowing full well that his public image mattered and that every camera phone in the crowd could threaten it, caught his wrist without a word and pulled him toward her motorcycle.
As Brad and his team pushed open the factory doors, the first thing they saw was Rylie fitting a helmet onto Zander’s head. Her fingertips, in the process of settling it into place, slipped briefly through his slightly tousled hair, the gesture effortlessly hiding his face from the crowd and shielding him from the harsh flare of police lights.
Sunlight traced the clean lines of Rylie’s focused profile as she fastened the strap beneath his chin, a simple act, yet one that landed in Brad’s chest like a blade turned sideways.
Brock felt it instantly—the sudden drop in the air, a pressure so sharp it seemed to press into the skin. Instinctively, he drew his neck in.
Brad’s face, usually an unshifting mask, was tight now, jaw locked. In the depths of his eyes, a storm gathered—cold, possessive jealousy, honed to a dangerous edge—never once leaving Rylie’s hand as it brushed another man.
Rylie had never treated him this way before.
Brad strode forward, the sharp strike of leather soles against cracked concrete cutting through the noise, each step carrying the weight of command. He was ready to ask about Rylie’s situation, yet the words snagged, unspoken.
Rylie’s voice reached him first—steady and brisk, edged with authority. “I’ll take you to the hospital on my motorcycle. The operating room is still being prepared.”
From beneath the helmet, Zander’s reply came muffled, carrying a frail reluctance. “Can’t it be tomorrow?”
Rylie didn’t so much as blink. “Do you want those doctors to make a wasted trip? Or do you think I have time to spare?”
Explore the world of fiction at gⱯlnσν𝒆ℓs․com
She turned her questioning gaze toward Brad, who had stepped closer, but before he could speak, Zander interjected, his voice muffled beneath the helmet. “I mean… shouldn’t we give a statement to the police?”
“Save your voice first,” Rylie said with decisive finality. In one swift motion, she swung onto the heavy motorcycle, the engine rumbling low and steady. She tapped the back seat. “The treatment I prepared contains active growth molecules. They survive for only ten hours. Miss that window, and there’s no second chance.”
“Then let’s go!” Zander’s hesitation vanished, replaced by urgency. He knew nothing outweighed the chance to reclaim his voice. Clambering onto the motorcycle’s back seat, he wavered slightly, the bike’s height and his own frailty making him unsteady. Almost without thinking, his arms slid forward, encircling Rylie’s slender waist in a firm, instinctive hold, the contact both to steady himself and anchor him against the low, steady growl of the engine. The moment Zander’s arms slipped around her, it was as if the final matchstick touched the fuse.
Brad closed the distance in a few sharp strides, his hand clamping onto Rylie’s arm. His voice, low and dangerous, was aimed squarely at Zander. “Let go.”
Caught off guard by the glacial edge in Brad’s eyes, Zander instinctively released his hold. “Mr. Morgan…”
“You should be the one letting go.” Rylie met Brad’s cold stare, her eyes narrowing in faint puzzlement. “I’ve already taken down the criminals here,” she replied evenly. “Since you followed me, take them in for questioning. I’ll head to the police station later and settle everything.”
.
.
.