Page 21 of Hide From Me (Chaotic Love #3)

People surge in and out of the bar's cramped doorway, a chaotic flow of laughter and shouts, but I don’t have time to linger in line like everyone else.

I stride straight to the bouncer, flashing Jimmy one of my trademark boyish grins, the kind that usually works wonders, and just like that, the velvet rope parts for me.

Any previous thought I had about this being a good place for a date is quickly squashed as I'm reminded that I hate bars like this—overwhelmingly sweaty, deafeningly loud, and the air thick with the pungent mix of stale beer, cheap body spray, and a sense of lingering desperation.

Yet none of that matters the instant my eyes land on her.

She stands out effortlessly—my own personal sunbeam, radiating warmth and light in a sea of flickering neon colors and shifting bodies.

I feel an irresistible pull toward her, as if some cosmic force is guiding me forward—until my gaze lands on the man seated at her table, casting a shadow over the brightness she brings.

My stomach drops, and my steps come to a halt.

A group of girls crashes into me, shrieking with laughter as they dance, pulling me away from the sinking feeling in my stomach and forcing me to veer into the shadows.

I find a spot in the corner of the bar and lean against the wall, my jaw tight as I watch.

I could go to the security room, pull up the camera feed, and track every moment of this night. But I don’t. I want to be here. I want to feel this.

I don’t know what this emotion is—jealousy? Resentment? A weird, twisted understanding? I’m not exactly around much. I disappear without explanation. I lie for a living. And still, I can't imagine looking at another woman the way I look at Raylen—yet here she is with another man.

I slip a five-dollar bill on the counter, and the bartender slides over a drink that glows under the flashing lights. I take a sip and nearly gag.

It’s strong and bitter— fitting .

Even over the loud bass and bustling crowd, I can hear Raylen’s laughter echoing.

It sounds wrong—tight and forced. It’s nothing like her genuine laughter, the kind she offers when her walls start to crack, when I say something that pulls her from the storm in her mind.

I grind my teeth in frustration. I should have just broken in and gone through her drawers; it would have saved me a hell of a lot of trouble.

As I shift for a better angle, the man comes into view— Dale Mauve.

Out of everyone, of course, it had to be him. How bloody ironic.

Small-town rule: everyone knows everyone.

And Dale? He’s the worst kind. A local cop with just enough charm to mask a history of bullshit.

Everyone looked the other way when he first joined the force.

Then the reports started—missing evidence, felons slipping through the cracks, drugs disappearing.

We couldn’t pin it all on him, not yet. But Caspian, Sam, and I all know.

We’ve just been waiting for the right moment.

She gave me hell to earn a date—yet here she is, letting this piece of shit breathe her air after all the things she said about not trusting law enforcement.

I sip my drink, fighting the burn as I watch him lean in. Raylen leans back, her brow furrowing like she’s already regretting this.

Good .

I already know how this ends.

He’s not going home with her. He won’t even get close. Call it possessiveness or call it sick, but I can see the way she looks at me, hear it in her voice when she says my name. He doesn’t make her smile like I do. He doesn’t understand her like I do.

If I needed any proof, I get it when I pull out my phone and type a quick message:

I'm home, sunshine.

She shifts in her seat, her hand instinctively reaching for her lap.

My heart thuds once.

Then again.

Finally, she checks her phone. Her lips twitch—barely—but enough to let me know I'm not completely insane.

There’s my girl .

Dale says something else, and she nods absently while typing her response under the table. She doesn’t even look up as her fingers fly across the screen, trying to hide the fact that she’s replying.

Where are you?

Oh, I like that. She seems eager, or perhaps worried—maybe it's both. For me .

Haha. Fuck you Dale.

I can’t help but grin as I reply, keeping my focus fixed on their table.

Where do you want me to be?

Her response is immediate.

My house.

I don’t hesitate.

On my way.

Do I feel guilty? Not at all. She won’t find out, and even if she did, what would she do? Yell at me? That’d just be foreplay.

I glance up just in time to see her stand while Dale follows her like a pathetic puppy. Ducking my head, I slip behind a group of drunk girls to stay out of sight. My patience is already thin, but I force myself to wait just a few more seconds.

Still, my jaw tightens. What if he touches her? What if he tries to kiss her?

No. Not tonight. Not ever.

I can’t even begin to describe how quickly I fly out of the bar. My head is on a swivel, scanning like a madman for any sign of her—or him—or any indication that she didn’t leave with him.

Then I hear it. A yell. It’s loud enough that my heart slams against my ribs and plummets into my gut. I can’t tell if it’s a man or a woman, but I don’t need to know. If something has happened, if she’s hurt—I’ll never forgive myself.

I sprint toward the sound, rounding my car, only to duck back down the instant I see Dale stumbling backward from Raylen, his hand pressed to his face.

His nose is gushing blood. She’s scrambling into her car as if her life depends on it.

That’s not playful. She hit him—hard. And Raylen… she’s never once hit me like that. She holds back, even when she wants to hurt me. Which means…

I'll fucking kill him.

I shake my head, trying to quiet the devil on my shoulder so I can think clearly.

No. No—breathe. Be smart about this, Moe. You can’t just walk up and put a bullet in his skull. You need a reason, a cover, a distraction.

My fingers twitch against the trunk of my car as I glance around, my heart racing and my vision narrowing.

I'd love to run him over, but that’s no longer an option—Bill, the chief of police, is already patrolling the lot.

His flashlight cuts through the shadows like a blade.

That scream probably drew him in already.

Wait… I can make this work. Before my better judgment takes over, I slip my sidearm from my waistband and fire a single shot toward the police ranger.

It's just a warning shot, a spark—enough to throw smoke over the scene. I’d never hurt Bill; he’s a teddy bear with a badge—but I’ll be damned if I let this bastard walk free.

Bill spins around, his gun half-drawn and his flashlight swinging wildly. I take off at full sprint, racing around two cars straight into Dale. We crash to the ground, and I feel his ribs cave under my weight.

“You okay?” I shout, trying to sound like just another concerned citizen.

“You spoiled little prick!” he bellows, stomping toward us like a pissed-off bull. “I knew you were trying to kill me! Ever since I started your case, you’ve been after my arse!”

I grab the back of Dale’s neck and shove him face-first into the gravel. My knee drops between his shoulder blades, pinning him.

“His case?” I echo, glancing at Bill.

“Fired days ago,” Bill mutters. “Firing a weapon with intent to kill. Piece of shit’s lucky we didn’t lock him up already.”

Dale grunts, his voice muffled by the dirt. “It was a misfire—”

“Tell it to the judge,” Bill snaps.

“Or…” I smile as I search through Dale’s pockets, and soon I find the handcuffs, his badge, a taser—everything. Fired and still armed, this jerk was hunting.

“I can take him in. We can figure out what else he’s been doing. I know you guys had drugs going missing—”

Bill sighs as I cuff Dale, fatigue radiating from him. “Forged reports, complaints from women on the force—the list goes on, Moe. I’ve just been waiting for something to stick.”

“Then let me help you get it,” I say, yanking Dale upright. He squirms, limp like a drunk. Pathetic.

Bill places a heavy hand on my shoulder. “One favor?”

“Name it.”

“Let Sam do the interrogating.”

That makes me pause. Sam has a history with Dale—an ugly history. Dale crossed a line, and Sam didn’t push back because of protocol. But I’ve seen what Sam can do when he's given permission.

“Sure,” I say, shoving Dale into the backseat of my car. “But if he bleeds on my seats, I’m leaving him in the woods.”

Dale's features pale, and my grin widens as I slam the door and round to the driver's side.

“Boy, I’ve got to say I’m glad you were around,” Bill finally exhales, his shoulders slumping. Do I feel guilty for manipulating this situation? Let me think. Nope. Not one bit. In the end, I’m doing the world a favor.

“I’ll see you around, Bill. I’ll have one of my superiors update you on any new case information.”

“You’re a good lad. Now get his arse out of here before I change my mind.”

I laugh, slipping into my seat without wasting a second to head back toward the base.

Pulling out my phone, and ignoring Dale’s kicking, I read Raylen’s latest text:

I'll be home in a moment. Spare key’s under the mat if you get there first.

Damn it. I could’ve easily gone in, but then again if I’d never showed up and seen who she was with her, then I’d never had witnessed whatever the fuck that was.

Maybe she’ll tell me what happened later and I can kiss her—I groan in frustration—scratch that.

I can kiss her skin senseless and tell her how fucking proud I am.

Looking up from my phone, I jerk the wheel finding myself veering off the road then look back down.

“I didn’t fire a fucking shot. I’m being set up.” Dale hisses.

“Shut up.” I groan. His voice is annoying and I’d rather it not kill my mood right now.

“Fuck you! I was leaving my date. I have a goddamn alibi!”

My brow raises and I meet his stare in the rearview mirror, flicking my focus to his busted nose.