I disarmed him in a matter of seconds. I’ve fought worse. I’ve done worse. The dude was high as a kite and easy to handle.
I didn’t expect the gratitude. My mind was already on the woman I was protecting because when my boss found out about the asshole’s threats, we’d all pay a price. And we did.
But at that moment, my protégé was safe, outside the shelter with my partner, so I indulged in an innocent hug with the woman I’d just saved. Really, a girl. Twenty, perhaps?
Right after I had tied up the idiot who threatened the tenants at the shelter, I helped her stand up. She caught me off guard by wrapping her arms around my waist, holding on to me for dear life.
She was in shock after being held at gunpoint while her dickhead ex-boyfriend tried to force her to return to him. Her shock was the only reason I hugged her for a bit longer.
Or so I keep telling myself.
Sasha.
The way her body felt against mine. Her large eyes full of relief and gratitude. Her luscious lips, still shivering. Fuck. All of her was shaking and for some fucked-up reason I enjoyed it. Not her suffering, but the feel of her in my arms.
It was six fucking months ago. Yes, some weird hero/victim bond might have formed that night, but I don’t believe in that bullshit. I don’t. So why am I still protecting her?
Why am I stalking her like a fucking psycho?
Why am I making sure she’s all right?
I got her a job, so she can move out of that dreadful shelter. The house that will forever remain the place where we first met.
Forever? First met?
I fucking need a therapist. That’s what I need. It was stupid to look her up after my boss’s death. It’s been even stupider to follow her from afar to make sure she’s okay.
And it was most definitely a moment of insanity when I confided everything to Jason. I told him about my weird attraction. Scratch that. My unreasonable obsession. A burning irrational bond.
I brace for another bout of verbal abuse as I put my wallet in my back pocket.
Jason’s eyes are trained on me.
I have a knife strapped to my ankle and a gun behind my waistband. I don’t take gigs anymore, but some habits die hard. I used to work for a mob boss, after all. Right now, I’d like to use a weapon to wipe away his smirk.
“Going for a walk?” Jason puts his feet up on the desk. Our office is private, but the club music can be still heard through the closed door. We run a successful security company and this bar, a courtesy of our former boss.
Rocco Da Bonno took good care of us and helped us invest. Now, we’re finally free to actually enjoy our money. In fact, neither of us needs to work another day in our life, but what’s the fun in that? The Da Bonno family no longer requires our services.
So here I am, a successful business owner but still stuck with the man who saved my life a few times—which I reciprocated, but who’s counting?—my best friend and my biggest pain in the ass.
The problem when you do business with your friend is that the lines between professional and personal blur.
“Don’t start, asshole.” I turn back from the door. I hate that he’s right about the whole thing. It is insane.
“I just don’t understand why you don’t talk to her. Ask her out. This lurking in the shadows makes no fucking sense. It’s creepy, if you ask me.”
“Well, I’m not asking you, am I?” I growl. “I won’t ask her out. She is too young. I never planned on keeping up with it. I wanted to make sure she was okay and then—”
“Then you intervened to get her a job in the diner and an apartment and now you’re walking her home after every shift. From afar. Real fucking guardian angel. Dude, you’re out of control.”
He’s right. And yet, I can’t stop.
For some outlandish reason, I went to check on her six weeks ago. And then…well, after all I ended up doing—interfering with her life—I can’t just appear to say hi and justify my sick behavior.
“She would file a restraining order if she knew, so I don’t see how I can just waltz into her life now.” I shrug and pour myself an inch of whiskey.
“You’re right—it’s much healthier to stalk her.” Jason drops his legs and opens the door. “Look, I know you wish your sister had someone to look after her when she was in trouble, but this deranged fairy godfather routine won’t bring her back. Either start dating the woman or call it quits. You helped her enough.” Fuck. And he only knows half of it. “Whatever you decide, it would be nice if I could take a night off occasionally.”
After Rocco Da Bonno’s unfortunate accident rendered us both unemployed, we found out from his lawyer he left us this club. As if the man planned for his death, he had a will that actually included us. Our agency keeps us busy, but out of some misplaced respect for our late boss, we couldn’t sell the club. We’re stuck with it until we find someone reliable to run it for us.
Jason is right though—I’ve been missing in action.
Time to do something about that.