The Fake Boyfriend Gambit - Chapter 14: Chapter 14
You are reading The Fake Boyfriend Gambit, Chapter 14: Chapter 14. Read more chapters of The Fake Boyfriend Gambit.
Jason was trying to lock me up again—just like before. But this time, I wasn't going down without a fight.
A sharp sting shot through my lips as the metallic tang of blood flooded my mouth. My fingers closed around the spring knife hidden in my pocket, and before he could react, I drove it straight into his chest.
Big mistake.
In one fluid motion, Jason seized my wrist, slowly twisting the knife handle back toward me with terrifying control. "That all you got?" he sneered.
I should've known. Jason wasn't just dangerous—he was completely unhinged.
The car suddenly decelerated, brakes screeching loud enough to rupture eardrums. My body pitched forward from the momentum, only to be yanked back as Jason wrapped an arm around me. The movement must've torn at his wound because he let out a pained growl, snapping at the driver: "You trying to finish what she started?!"
"Sir—there's a car forcing us off the road!"
I caught a glimpse of black luxury through the window. A Maybach. Lucas.
The pursuing vehicle moved with terrifying precision—aggressive yet calculated, leaving just enough space to avoid actual collision. Like watching a predator herd its prey.
Absolute madness.
But Jason? Next-level crazy. "Ram them!" he barked. "Call his bluff—nobody's that suicidal."
He forgot one thing: our driver valued his life more than Jason's ego. At the last possible second, the man wrenched the wheel hard, sending us careening into a roadside greenbelt as the vehicles scraped metal.
Before the dust settled, Lucas was already at our door. His eyes burned with barely contained fury as he yanked it open. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly when he saw me unharmed. Wordlessly, he shrugged off his coat and wrapped it around me. "Stay here," he ordered, voice dangerously calm.
Then hell broke loose.
Lucas dragged Jason from the wreckage and unleashed everything—every ounce of rage, every sleepless night of worry—into his fists. No taunts, no monologues. Just brutal, efficient violence.
Jason never stood a chance. Between my knife wound and the crash (where he'd somehow still shielded me, leaving his leg twisted at a sickening angle), he could barely lift his arms to defend himself.
A cold realization hit me: if Lucas didn't stop, he'd kill him. And I couldn't let Jason's death destroy Lucas too.
"Hold on."
I reached out, grabbing Lucas's clenched fists with both hands, my fingers pressing into his tense knuckles.
"Lucas, we need to go home."
The driver wasn't badly hurt, thankfully.
Within seconds, he had already dialed for an ambulance, and they rushed Jason—still unconscious—to the hospital.
A sharp sting shot through my lips as the metallic tang of blood flooded my mouth. My fingers closed around the spring knife hidden in my pocket, and before he could react, I drove it straight into his chest.
Big mistake.
In one fluid motion, Jason seized my wrist, slowly twisting the knife handle back toward me with terrifying control. "That all you got?" he sneered.
I should've known. Jason wasn't just dangerous—he was completely unhinged.
The car suddenly decelerated, brakes screeching loud enough to rupture eardrums. My body pitched forward from the momentum, only to be yanked back as Jason wrapped an arm around me. The movement must've torn at his wound because he let out a pained growl, snapping at the driver: "You trying to finish what she started?!"
"Sir—there's a car forcing us off the road!"
I caught a glimpse of black luxury through the window. A Maybach. Lucas.
The pursuing vehicle moved with terrifying precision—aggressive yet calculated, leaving just enough space to avoid actual collision. Like watching a predator herd its prey.
Absolute madness.
But Jason? Next-level crazy. "Ram them!" he barked. "Call his bluff—nobody's that suicidal."
He forgot one thing: our driver valued his life more than Jason's ego. At the last possible second, the man wrenched the wheel hard, sending us careening into a roadside greenbelt as the vehicles scraped metal.
Before the dust settled, Lucas was already at our door. His eyes burned with barely contained fury as he yanked it open. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly when he saw me unharmed. Wordlessly, he shrugged off his coat and wrapped it around me. "Stay here," he ordered, voice dangerously calm.
Then hell broke loose.
Lucas dragged Jason from the wreckage and unleashed everything—every ounce of rage, every sleepless night of worry—into his fists. No taunts, no monologues. Just brutal, efficient violence.
Jason never stood a chance. Between my knife wound and the crash (where he'd somehow still shielded me, leaving his leg twisted at a sickening angle), he could barely lift his arms to defend himself.
A cold realization hit me: if Lucas didn't stop, he'd kill him. And I couldn't let Jason's death destroy Lucas too.
"Hold on."
I reached out, grabbing Lucas's clenched fists with both hands, my fingers pressing into his tense knuckles.
"Lucas, we need to go home."
The driver wasn't badly hurt, thankfully.
Within seconds, he had already dialed for an ambulance, and they rushed Jason—still unconscious—to the hospital.
End of The Fake Boyfriend Gambit Chapter 14. Continue reading Chapter 15 or return to The Fake Boyfriend Gambit book page.