Page 2 of Chase’s Kind of Trouble (Obsessive Protectors #3)
TWO
Chase
Tonight is the first night I’ve been close to her since the gas station incident. One thousand four hundred sixteen hours, to be exact.
Two months since I almost crossed the imaginary line I’ve drawn, that she has no idea about.
She’s still too young. I’m still too…dark. Too unhinged. And definitely still too battled-hardened.
No, this beautiful woman is light and soft smiles, an even softer voice, and everything that I can’t let myself have.
I hunt people for a fucking living.
There’s no way her normal world can coexist with my gritty, tainted world.
But something is wrong tonight. She’s?—
Wait…
I hinge forward, spine snapping straight, vision honing like a falcon’s until only my beautiful obsession exists.
Are those tears in her eyes?
No. Fuck. NO. Someone as beautiful and sweet as my waitress shouldn’t be crying.
But she is.
Before I can drag another breath of curry-scented air through my constricted throat, there is only one singular focus in my world: her pain.
The rumble of voices surrounding our dining table fades. Nothing else exists but her distress.
My mission comes into crystalized clarity: destroy whatever upset her.
“Everything okay?” The SEAL sitting across the table from me asks, his gaze on pivot as he scans the small restaurant.
He’s been around plenty of men like me before in his time in the Teams. Recognizes the warning of the thundercloud growing exponentially by the second over my head.
“Not sure.”
But I’ve seen enough.
My arm muscles are twitching as I shove back from the table, the sound of wood scraping loudly on tile, as my chair nearly crashes over. “It’s the waitress,” I rasp, “the one who has the flowers tattooed on her arm. I saw something I don’t like.”
“What exactly did you see?” another of our SEAL buddies, Kane, asks.
Something she read on her phone upset her.
That message was bad. Something painful. Or disappointing. Or worse…threatening.
Already moving, I call back to my dinner companions over my shoulder, “Don’t know, but I’m about to find out.”
Right. Now.
A sliver of light passes through the exit just before the door closes behind her small frame. Her slight, feminine form pushes out into the dark alley.
Fuck. Don’t go out there, princess.
Not alone. Not upset.
Seconds later, I’m bursting out of the door. The crash bar clanking loudly, my hands slick from cold sweat as I shove the metal door open.
Having her out of my sight is…painful.
I need to know she’s okay more than I need my next breath.
No…I need to make her okay.
But darkness closes in around me in the alley. Empty. Eerily still. The stench of degrading food clings to the stagnant air.
Goddammit. And I don’t even know her name to call out to her.
Starting my search, I stride toward the north end of the alley first, searching behind the large dumpster, each step making me more and more frantic. By the time I reach the end of the alley, I’m a band of vibrating muscle.
How the hell did she get away so fast?
“Hey!” I shout desperation destroying my vocal cords, my sixth sense clawing up my spine like an animal scrambling up a tree. “Are you out here?”
Nothing.
Fucking nothing.
My boots scrape and thud loudly, rocks grinding beneath my tread as I sprint to the other end of the narrow street.
The narrow corridor is ink-black, cluttered. Someone knocked out the bulbs. A haven for trouble. Bad men. The kind that hurt women.
“Dammit!” I roar, hands fisting over and over again, vision throbbing with the timing of my pulse.
Come on, angel. Where are you?