Page 44 of Chase

“What happened, Trouble?” he asks, softer than I’ve ever heard him speak. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Not a ghost, a crime lord,” I whisper, and his eyebrows draw together in confusion. I place my hand over his as the heat drains from my body. Icy coolness spreads through every inch of me as panic sets in. My mind swims with so many unanswered questions, yet the discrepancies I’ve witnessed in the hospital since starting my job are suddenly more understandable. The missing paperwork, the confusion from families over their loved ones' requests to be organ donors...

“Trouble,” he prompts, then the handle rattles again. His focus moves to the door, and he wriggles in the bed before hissing through his teeth as pain no doubt surges from his leg. “What did you see?”

“Dr. Rivera,” I whisper. “I think she’s selling organs.”

His expression darkens a fraction, but there’s no hint of surprise there. Astute eyes run over my face as he watches my every move. Uncertainty flickers in my chest, an internal debate as to whether this is information I can trust him with. I know he has a history with the doctor over many years. The connection I have with him is only a matter of months and hasn’t gone beyond simple fascination. It’s fleeting in comparison.

“What did you see?” he asks firmly.

“They’ll be coming. They heard me outside the office.”

“Tell me what you saw, Trouble,” he prompts, his tone even softer.

“Three men,” I begin, but then the door unlocks. I jump to my feet and move to the sink in the corner, pretending to fill a small basin with water. The door opens, and Bryan steps into the room; his focus moves from me to Russell then back again.

“Everything okay?” he asks.

“Yes, all good. I am just going to freshen Mr. Chase up then I’ll be heading off.” Bryan glances at his watch, a clear sign he knows my requirement to be here is over. “I thought you’d gone home,” I add.

“Just about to, I was going to walk you to the station.” Russell tenses, and he openly glares at my friend. “I’ll wait for you.” Bryan turns and walks away without acknowledging my patient's existence. He leaves the door open, and I place the basin back in the sink then walk over, reclose the door, and return to stand at the bedside.

“There were three men,” I start my story again. “They were threatening the doctor, telling her she needs to provide organs to order or they’ll begin bringing her donors to operate on. She has a debt of some kind to pay. They had a knife, and they cut her.”

“Where?” he asks, sharp.

“Behind her ear. It was a warning. They mentioned another name, Winslow, I think.” He narrows his eyes as if searching his mind for when he heard that before. “Do you know him?”

“No, but it’s familiar. I need to think. And where were you when all this was happening?”

“Outside her office.”

“So you’re telling me,” he says, his voice low like a grumbling in his chest. “That you saw three large dangerous men with knives threatening Josie.” Annoyance bites as he uses her first name, the familiarity between them unsettling. I don’t like to think of her with him. “And instead of getting the fuck out of there, you stood around and listened to their conversation.”

I blink at him, startled that out of what I just told him, that me staying within earshot of the incident is what he’s focused on. He reaches for my hand, his fingertips skimming my knuckles. I slip my hand into his, and strong fingers grasp tight. We stare at one another and unexpected emotions rise to the surface of my mind. The terror of the past minutes is coming to a head.

“Trouble,” he says. “Never fucking take a risk like that again. If you find yourself in the path of danger, you get the fuck out of there. Do you understand me? You risk your life for no one.”

“Is that what you would do?” His beautiful brown eyes soften, and he gifts me with a small smile. “Would you save yourself before anyone else?”

“I am selfish enough to do that, yes.”

I drop my eyes away and let go of his hand. It falls to the bed, palm open. I walk over to the windows which look out onto the city. The busy morning bustle is underway, and everyone is going about their daily lives.

“I don’t believe you,” I tell him. “Under all that bravado, I know there’s a gentle soul desperate to get out.” He chuckles, and I turn back to face him. He shakes his head, but hesitation flits across his features, and my heart aches for him. Russell can’t see in himself what I do, that underneath the asshole is a man who cares.

“You have me all wrong, Trouble. Gentle isn’t a word in my vocabulary.”

“Then why do you care what happens to me? I’m not your concern.”

“You were my concern from the minute I laid eyes on you in the boardroom months ago,” he says honestly. “Whether you accept it or not, whether it was what you wanted, as soon as you landed in my life, you became my concern.”

“I am not yours,” I tell him frankly. However, the previous feelings I’ve experienced when a man tried to claim ownership of me don’t surface. The automatic reaction to dispute their claim, to be my own person, and insist that I am no one’s isn’t there. Deep down, the idea of being his is pleasurable. Having someone that obsessed as my guardian is the type of joy I never expected to experience—a man who would look out for me, even when I wasn’t sharing his bed.

“Yes you are, Trouble. And you’re about to learn exactly what it means to be the property of a Chase brother.”

Chapter seventeen

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