Chapter 337: My Ex Husband’s Bodyguard

The sedan finally gave up.

There was no explosion. No last heroic surge. It just died under Lucas in a rough, uneven shudder, rims scraping one final time before the whole machine sank into stillness in the middle of a quiet stretch of road. The engine cut out with a weak, almost embarrassed sound, like even the car was ashamed of how far it had been pushed.

Lucas kept both hands on the wheel for a second longer than he needed to.

Then he checked the broken side mirror.

Through the cracked glass he saw the cluster of police lights farther back. The jeep was boxed in. Units all around it. No more movement. No more chase. The men who had spent the night trying to erase them were finally pinned under sirens and weapons.

He stared until he was sure.

Only then did he let his head fall back against the seat, breathing hard. Rechelle was still beside him. Shaken. Quiet. Alive. That was the part that mattered.

He looked at her carefully.

She had come back to herself more than before, but her eyes were somewhere else. The aftershock sat heavy on her face. Bullets. Glass. The understanding that someone had truly wanted her dead. It was all still landing.

Lucas did not push her.

He knew what it felt like to be hunted. For him it was manageable. For her it was different. She was not built for nights like this, and he was not about to demand composure from someone still climbing out of pure fear.

He reached for the door handle and pushed.

The door did not open so much as surrender.

Whatever scrap of metal had been keeping it attached finally quit. The whole thing dropped outward with a heavy clatter and hit the road flat, one hinge still hanging from the frame like a broken jaw. Lucas looked down at it, then at the rest of the ruined sedan, and gave a short bitter smile.

"Of course," he muttered. "Even the door wants out."

From the passenger seat, Rechelle blinked at the fallen panel.

"Did... did you mean to do that?"

"No."

"Oh."

A small pause.

"It’s very broken."

"Yes," Lucas said. "It is very broken."

He stepped over the fallen door and onto the road. Rechelle followed right after him. The moment her feet touched the ground, she closed the distance and caught his hand tightly, fingers locking around his like the contact itself was the only solid thing left.

Lucas glanced down at the hold, then at her face. Still pale. Still marked by fear. Still working through thoughts she had not found words for yet.

He gave her a small smile anyway.

Not wide. Not forced. Just enough to tell her she was not alone on the walk.

Together they moved toward the circle of police cars surrounding the jeep. Behind them, the dead sedan sat with one door already lying in the road like it had abandoned ship first.

---

One of the officers broke from the cluster and came straight toward them. His eyes moved between Lucas, the woman holding onto him, and the wreck they had left behind.

He stopped.

Looked past them at the sedan.

Then at the door on the asphalt.

Then back at Lucas.

"That your vehicle?"

"Tonight it was."

The officer’s mouth twitched despite himself. "It’s missing a door."

"It wanted freedom," Lucas said flatly.

Rechelle made a small sound that might have been a shocked almost-laugh, then immediately pressed her lips together like she had not meant to let it out. The officer cleared his throat and returned to business, though the corner of his eye still flicked once more toward the abandoned door.

"You the one they were chasing?"

"Yes."

"You’ll need to come with us to the station. Victim report. Statements. We’re locking this down now."

He kept talking in the practical tone of a man who had seen too many nights end in paperwork and blood. Lucas listened with part of his attention.

Beside him, Rechelle had gone still.

---

Near the jeep, several of the hunters were already face-down or kneeling in cuffs while officers searched them and the vehicle. Magazines. Spare ammunition. Gloves. Nothing that left room for innocent explanations.

Rechelle’s eyes stopped on one of them.

Raymond.

For a second her mind refused the match. The man on the asphalt, wrists locked, cheek near the road under police lights, could not be the same man who stood by the mansion gate. The same man who opened doors for her. The same man she had trusted enough, on more than one personal trip, to ask to come along because his presence made her feel safe.

But it was him.

Their eyes met.

Raymond did not look away first. Even in cuffs, even under arrest, something cold and unfinished moved through his face. Not panic. Not shame. A quiet, ugly promise. The look said this was not over. That if the night had gone differently, she would already be gone. That there would be another chance.

Rechelle’s body reacted before her voice did.

Her hand clamped around Lucas’s with sudden force, fingers digging in so hard the pressure shot up his wrist. She held on like the ground itself had tilted.

Lucas felt the pain and turned at once.

"Rechelle?"

He followed her stare to the cuffed man, then looked back at her face. The fear there was different from the chase fear. This was recognition. Personal. Close enough to make the whole night rearrange itself.

He leaned in slightly, voice low.

"Hey. He’s done. Police have him. He can’t touch you."

Rechelle did not loosen her grip.

Her other hand lifted only enough to point without drawing the whole street’s attention, a small hidden gesture meant for Lucas alone. When she spoke, the words came out barely above a breath.

"That’s Raymond."

Lucas waited.

Her fingers tightened again, almost desperately.

"My ex husband’s bodyguard.

The sentence sat between them for a moment, heavier than the sirens and the radio chatter around them.

Lucas looked back at the man on the ground.

Raymond was still watching Rechelle. Even with officers moving around him, even with cuffs biting into his wrists, that same unfinished look stayed on his face. Not broken. Not finished. Like a job interrupted, not a job failed forever.

Lucas shifted half a step, placing more of his body between Rechelle and that stare without making a show of it. His voice stayed quiet.

"You’re sure."

"Yes." Her throat worked. "He stays at the house. He... he’s always there. If I went anywhere and felt unsafe, I asked for him." A thin, disbelieving breath left her. "I asked for him."