Page 2 of Relinquish

My mouth drops open. Bystander apathy is one thing, but this is ridiculous. “What’s wrong with you people? What is this world coming to? Not only am I the only one helping this woman, but now you’re turning on me, too?”

I shift my stance toward the driver and glare. “And you. You’re the worst. First, you hit this woman with your car, and then you have the nerve to yell at me for securing a robbery suspect. I hope you’ve called the police because I’ve got plenty to say.”

“Get off me. Are you crazy?” His voice is muffled with his face smashed into the pavement.

A dark shadow spreads over the ground in front of me. Before I can glance up, something heavy smashes into the back of my head. “Fuck.”

“Get off my grandson! I’ve got plenty to say to the cops as well.” A shaky voice comes from behind me.

I partially rise from the ground as I grab my head and twist to face the sidewalk. The little purple-haired woman dangles her purse behind her, holding it in a swinging position. Grandson? Shit. Did she say, ‘Grandson?’

As I jerk upright, my right stiletto slides, causing my ankle to curl and snap the nearly five inch heel. Fu-u-u-uck. I teeter sideways, catch myself, overcorrect, and then land in a heap next to the teen who’s still trying to get up.

“Humph!” Pain shoots through my body from my hip to my toes and up to my fingertips.

The woman rotates the purse as if she’s preparing to swing again, and I raise my arm to block her attack. “I was trying to help you.”

Sirens scream in the distance as the crowd scatters like cockroaches when the lights come on. “Young woman, you assaulted my grandson. In my book, I don’t call that helping.”

“Grandma, I’m fine.” The teen sits next to me on the pavement with a bag of groceries clutched in his hand. “But the eggs, they don’t look so hot.” Yellow goo leaks from a tear in the brown paper bag, forming a puddle on the ground.

Heat floods my face. “I’m so sorry. I thought you were being attacked.” I shift my attention to the woman’s grandson. “Are you alright?”

Chapter Two

Cade

Walking toward the stairs leading to our security building, I ignore the mob gathered on the street. This corner is terrible for business. I shake my head. Not that I have problems ignoring the bullshit. I didn’t sign up to take part in the neighborhood watch program.

The sound of the sirens grows louder as yelling voices mutter back and forth. My gaze shifts to the street, but I can’t even avoid the train wreck this time.

Shit. Is that Lola? The woman in question is flat on her ass in the middle of the street–one heel is lying abandoned beside her, and her hair sticks out in all directions. The red of her shoe faces the building. Damn it. That’s her. I’d recognize those shoes anywhere. They’ve wreaked havoc on my dreams for the last week, and no one else would be dumb enough to wear them in this neighborhood.

An older, purple-haired woman dressed in her Sunday suit, in the color of pink cotton candy, dangles her purse behind her. Fuck. My teeth grind together. I told Truman that hiring her was a bad idea, and now look at this mess.

She’s too young. Too attractive. Okay. I didn’t share that newsflash, but anyone who looks at her and doesn’t acknowledge it is lying to themselves. No one will take her seriously. She has no experience in the security field–unless we suddenly need an expert shopper to pick out our company polo shirts.

And if this fiasco indicates her street smarts, she doesn’t have any. Then there’s the small problem of her face being plastered all over the tabloids. She’s a socialite with daddy issues and the last person Truman should’ve hired.

Damn it. It’s not my business. She’s not my business. This is Truman’s shitshow.

I take a step toward the stairs when the police cruiser turns onto the street, sirens wailing and lights flashing. I take one last glance over my shoulder as Lola straightens her once black skirt that’s now covered in dust.

“God, she’s fucking trouble,” I mutter.

My eyes travel lower to her legs and linger there. They happen to be two of her best assets, leading to the sweet swell of the curve of her backside. That ass of hers has been front and center of those fucked up dreams I’ve been having. Which is ridiculous because she might have a mouth that looks like it’s made for sex, but she’s not my type. I prefer my women to be submissive and prepared to do my bidding.

I jog up the steps as sweat trickles down my back. The morning sun beats down on my black T-shirt, making it feel hotter than it is. I stuff my pickup truck keys into the front pocket of my BDUs and swipe my ID through the scanner.

A shudder rips down my back as I open the door. Shit. Truman asked me to keep an open mind. If he finds out I let Lola deal with whatever crap she’s found herself in without coming to her rescue, he’ll be pissed off. Not to mention, the news crews will be here any minute, and they’ll have a field day once they find out who she is.

“Truman, old man, you owe me one.” It’s time to do some serious damage control and get her out of here.

***

Lola

From the corner of my eye, I sense movement. I raise my hand above my eyes and block the piercing glare of the sun as it slips through between the buildings. Cade. Perfect. My humiliation is now complete. Mr. January approaches the scene with a furrowed brow and anger glinting in his eyes. Peachy.

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