Chapter 338: Favorability: 80

The confirmation settled in Lucas’s mind with a hard, clean click.

Not Durnik.

This was not the old bastard reaching across the city with hired guns for Switch or pride or business. This was personal. This was Rechelle’s ex-husband putting men in the street with live ammunition and a bodyguard she used to trust.

Lucas’s eyes sharpened as the pieces rearranged themselves.

So the man had skills after all. Or money. Or both. Enough to turn a private grudge into a public hunt. Enough to put Raymond in a jeep with weapons instead of at a mansion gate. Enough to nearly end her life on an ordinary night.

It made sudden sense why she had been at the club in the first place. Issues at home. Pressure that followed her even after the marriage ended. A need to clear her head for a few hours. She had walked into a bar looking for space, not knowing the people closest to her old life were already moving into position.

Lucas kept his voice steady.

"Don’t worry," he said quietly. "I’ll handle it."

He was not saying it to sound heroic. He was saying it because she needed something solid under her feet while the fear was still fresh. Her hand was still locked around his, and every few seconds her eyes dragged back toward Raymond like her body could not fully accept the cuffs yet.

Around them, the police work continued. Evidence bags. Radio chatter. The helicopter still somewhere above, its light sweeping wider now that the jeep was locked down. One officer kept glancing at the sedan door on the asphalt with the offended expression of a man personally betrayed by mechanical failure.

Lucas gave Rechelle’s hand a firmer squeeze.

"Station first," he said. "Then we talk. Properly."

She nodded, small and tight.

They followed the officers toward the waiting units while the four captured men were loaded into another car. Raymond went last. Even as he was pushed inside, that unfinished look stayed on him, like arrest was only an inconvenience in a longer job.

Lucas watched until the door shut.

Inside his head, the plan was already forming.

First she needed to settle. First the statements, the report, the immediate safety. Once the shock loosened its grip and she could speak without that tight, hunted edge in her voice, then he would get every useful detail about the ex-husband. Name. Habits. Money. Protection. Weak points.

Then he would deal with the bastard.

Because this was no longer only about getting her through one night. A man who could send a trusted bodyguard into a gun chase would not stop because one team failed. He would adjust. He would send more. And Lucas had no intention of letting Rechelle remain a moving target while that happened.

Also ~ and this part sat lower and meaner in his thoughts ~ the Bugatti was gone.

That beautiful machine had been forced into a war it was never meant for and left dead on a ramp because some bitter ex decided his former wife should not live through the week. That alone was enough to earn a special place on Lucas’s list.

He guided Rechelle into the police unit, expression calm, mind already cold and clear.

Station first.

Truth second.

The ex-husband after that.

The station swallowed them into hard light, cold benches, and the steady rhythm of procedure.

Forms. Questions. Repeating the night in pieces that never felt neat enough for paper. The officers wanted times, directions, descriptions, the moment the chase started, the moment the shooting started, the moment the jeep finally went down. Lucas handled most of it. His answers stayed short and clear. When they asked for details Rechelle could not yet shape into full sentences, he filled the gaps without making a show of protecting her.

She sat beside him through all of it.

Every time Raymond’s name almost rose in the room, her shoulders tightened. Every time an officer looked at her too directly, her fingers found the edge of the chair like she needed something solid. Lucas noticed and kept the focus on facts that mattered for the report without forcing her to relive more than she could carry in one hour.

By the time they were done, the night outside had grown quieter and heavier.

They stepped out of the station with no car waiting and no clean next move already in place. The ruined sedan was evidence now. The Bugatti was gone. The street in front of the building held only patrol units, a couple of tired officers, and the low hum of a city that had already moved on from their chaos.

For a moment they simply stood there.

Rechelle pulled in a breath and looked at him.

"I’ll book a ride," she said. "We can go to my apartment."

Lucas nodded. Right now he had no better plan and no reason to refuse a roof that was not a police bench.

She still looked shaken, but guilt was starting to mix with the fear. It sat in the way she glanced at him, in the way her voice softened when she spoke again.

Then the system notification cut cleanly across his mind.

[Ding!]

Rechelle’s Favorability +10.

Rechelle’s Favorability +10.

Rechelle’s Favorability +10.

Rechelle’s Favorability +10.

Current Favorability: 80

Lucas’s mouth almost curved.

Eighty.

Before he could dwell on it, Rechelle turned fully toward him.

"I’m sorry about your car," she said.

There was no exaggeration in it. She did not need anyone to explain the scale of the loss. She knew cars. She could tell the difference between a disposable sedan and a machine that meant something. Even if she also understood he was rich enough to own places like Lanai, that did not make the wreck nothing. A loss was still a loss.

"I’ll compensate you," she added. "This was because of me."

"No."

"Lucas~"

"You didn’t send those men."

"They came for me."

"And I chose to stay in front of them," he said. "That part is mine."

She looked ready to argue harder. The insistence was already rising in her face, equal parts pride, guilt, and the need to put some order back into a night that had stripped her of control.

Then headlights washed over them.

The ride had arrived.

Lucas nodded toward it at once.

"It’s here. It’s late. We should go."

He said it lightly, almost casually, but the timing was deliberate. The car gave him a clean exit from a money argument he did not want and she was not ready to win. Rechelle caught it too. He saw the understanding flicker through her eyes as she stopped mid-push and looked from him to the waiting car.

She did not call him out.

She only exhaled, quiet and tired, and followed him toward the vehicle.

Both of them got in.

As the door shut and the station lights slid away behind them, Rechelle sat with her hands together in her lap, still carrying the weight of Raymond’s face and the apology Lucas had refused. She understood exactly what he had done with the ride’s arrival.

He had not dismissed her.

He had simply refused to let the night turn her gratitude into a bill.