Page 163 of Protective Heroes

He’d accepted his best friend’s request of being best man with all the love for the man, but he had his own reasons and every single one of them started and ended with Shay Torres.

Her soft lips turned up in a radiant smile that lit her beautiful chocolate-colored eyes with a tenderness at something someone said to her.

Anticipating Shay’s path, he pushed through the growing crowd, his target the bar in the corner, conveniently situated next to an exit he intended to use to his advantage.

“Hey there.” Dyson leaned on his elbow and flashed a grin at the bartender. No matter where in the world the job took him or his unit, the grin worked in any language. “You gotta have something better than this glass to drink out of, right?” He passed over the little burro double shooter, hoping for the best.

“Hmmm…let me check for you, señor.” The faux redhead attempted to flirt with a few bats of her lashes and a sweet smile as she gathered his used glass.

It did nothing for him. Nothing and no one did after he had a taste of Shay. That made him sound pussy whipped but he liked to think of it as having the best of the best and he didn’t see any reason for going back to anything less.

“Gracias. Anything you have back there will do, and if you could make it two?” Dyson glanced to his right, quickly locating his target. He followed her slow progress in his direction. Or he tried. Would’ve been easier, but some slick with a fine taste for custom-made suits well above his own pay grade blocked his view.

He pushed up from the bar and eased around for a better look. Hands Dyson bet were as greasy as the stranger’s slicked-back hair stroked the outer part of Shay’s arm, slowly making a move farther south.

The stranger worked his arm around her waist, pulling her close as he guided them onto the dance floor.

Dyson cocked his head. Son-of-a-bitch. Anger clawed at his insides as recognition dawned. If his talent for facial recognition held any salt, the man currently pawing Shay was a wanted man.

He turned for a better angle.

Holy shit.

Only one man has that unique square jaw with dark, deep-set eyes. Memorizing every fucking line of it came with the job requirements. They’d hunted him down for acts of terrorism and for being the mastermind behind a crew running powder across the border and into the US a little less than a year ago.

Their CO had labeled the mission textbook. Get in, get their man and get out. That was before Bautista took a young woman as leverage to help facilitate his exit strategy when they pinned him down in what was thought to be an abandoned condo complex.

Anger singed the insides of his veins.

After suiting up, they’d pinpointed the dirt-bag’s location in less than an hour. Between his captain and himself, they’d dropped five hostiles, both men taking a bullet in the process.

He’d been the first one through the door. They’d fanned out, searching for Bautista, but what they turned up was a whole different nightmare. Three women with their bodies split open from breastbones to pelvises. Traces of powder provided proof of what Bautista had used them for. Mules for his product. Once they served their purpose, he moved on.

They hadn’t.

Dyson’s stomach pitched with barely contained vileness as he watched the hunted man place a hand on Shay’s delicate shoulder and lead her onto the dance floor.

Red picked that moment to slide a double shooter across the bar filled with Mexican gold. He caught the shot and tossed back its contents, the warm liquid immediately going to work on his nerves. He didn’t know if the woman could read minds or if his face had murder written on it, but her timing was impeccable.

“His name is Alek Bautista.” She confirmed what he already knew.

Dyson nodded. While they’d taken down the puppets who worked for the drug lord, the head of the organization had slipped past them and it fucking boiled his blood, but his hands were tied. Starting something in the middle of his friend’s wedding where more innocent lives on his conscience is not what he needed either.

“If he is dancing with that woman,” Red gestured toward Shay. “…errr, that, mí amigo, is a problema.”

He heard the worry in the bartender’s tone.

“Con cuidado, señor. Be careful, if he’s dancing with the woman you haven’t taken your eyes off since she walked in, there’s going to be a problem. That man is a jealous one. Everyone around here knows he gets what he wants. I’m a woman and I see. He wants her. Just walk away.”

Not a chance in hell. There were two rules he lived by. Never get close to lovers. A rule he broke hard and fast with Shay. And protect the innocent.

Till now the second rule held strong. Walking away would mean letting the murderous drug lord have his way.

Danger was nothing new to him, but there’d never been someone he cared about caught in the middle. He knew he should back off, wait and watch, but that was never his style to begin with. On leave and in Mexico, there wasn’t really a damn thing he could do about it.

But that didn’t stop him.

Red poured another double before walking off to tend the other guests. Time to see what his woman had stepped into and ruffle some local feathers in the process.

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