Page 23 of Chad's Chase
Chad tipped his head. “Why would she leave you? Did you do something wrong? No. You didn’t. You did something right, and that’ssurvive—when you weren’t supposed to. You need to tell her. She needs to know why you have to live a hidden life. The only thing she’ll feel for you is sympathy. If she’s gonna hate anyone, it’ll be me. I’m the monster.”
“Yeah, but what if she decides she wants a husband who can travel with her, go to his son’s baseball games, his daughter’s ballet acts? A husband who can walk the earth without hiding from God knows who.”
“If she really loves you, she’ll understand.” Chad took another sip. Swallowed. “Besides, she’s already carrying your child. Where’s she gonna run to?”
The man sucked in another deep drag, contemplation pirouetting across his eyes. He nodded. “Yeah. You’re right. But—”
“Tell your wife who you are,” Chad reiterated cogently, done with this topic. Moving over to the desk, he eased down in one of the brown, leather club chairs. “I’m here on more pressing matters.”
“Pressing?” the man asked, instantly edgy. He was the most easily frightened, paranoid person Chad had ever known.
“Someone’s trying to kill me.”
At this, the man erupted into a roar of coarse, tobacco-laced laughter. “And this is something new?”
“This time, yes, it is.”
The man’s brows furrowed, confusion written in the creases. “What could possibly be new about someone trying to snuff your lights out? Do what you do. Meet them halfway and kill them first.”
“This one’s already gotten close. Close enough to succeed.”
The man looked completely thrown. “Okay, Chadrick, I’m lost here.”
“This one’s a woman.”
“Annnnd since when did gender matter?” Then he laughed and waggled his brows in jest. “What, you got the hots for this killer chick or something?”
“Yes,” Chad confessed. “I do.”
Real fucking bad.
The man puffed out his cigar smoke in an array of circles. “So? Fuck her, then kill her. It’s a win-win. Hey, you can even pretend to be a Dom—”
“Ricardo,” Chad said, cutting him off, “this one’s yoursister.”
Chad only half-listened as Kevin Bates yapped on excitedly with his presentation of potential bike concepts for Red Rhage—a rudimentary sports bike business he co-owned with his right arm, Jahleel aka JK.
Kevin Bates—short, average, with black-rimmed glasses and a mouth that spat a thousand words a minute—was from a small manufacturing company they planned on using to build the bikes, and, while he flipped through different concepts, dumping information overload, Chad sat loosely in a rather comfortable chair around the long, glass conference table, with his head tossed back and his gaze trained on the ceiling. White, plain, boring.
For the presentation, they were occupying a conference room at the Viscas Hotel, because Chad had a few bigger, momentous meetings after this one. But for this hour, it was just him, JK, and Kevin, along with Kevin’s preppy, wimpy sidekick.
Chad couldn’t focus for shit, though.
Far away from this room, his mind was onher. The little black Byrd was all up in his thoughts. Her essence still clinging to him, stuck to his skin, a distinct mixture of vanilla and lemon.
He could still taste her on his tongue. Could still feel the soft and suppleness of her lips against his. Howrightshe’d felt on top of him. Even when she was about to snap his neck, he’d been high on her. Willing to die by her cruel but delicate hands.
That night, Chad could’ve fought back and knocked her out easily, but he hadn’t. Because she was right: her kicking the rotting shit out of him had given him the hardest fucking hard-on he’d ever had. Big time.
For the whole time, all that had been on his mind was how badly he wanted to fuck her so fast and so hard she’d forget who and where she was.
But when she started offering herself to him, reality had kneed him in the balls, stealing his hard-on, and he’d had to back off.
Of course, having her in a room alone, for himself, he’d wanted that shit more than anything. However, havingherin a room alone withhimwas precisely the thing that could not happen.
Goes without saying that he couldn’t trust her. If her sole purpose was to eliminate him, then voluntarily getting in a room alone with her would mean lust-blindingly handing his life over to her on a silver platter. While he’d be losing himself in euphoric pleasure, she’d be trying to find the best angle to take his breath away. Literally.
Since that night, three weeks had zoomed by, and he’d made sure to keep his distance. Careful never to let her get so close again. Not until he figured things out.
