Page 32 of Instant Bond

When I reached the restaurant, I found a parking spot right in front, so close I could see inside the windows. Pulling my phone from my coat pocket, I swiped away the notifications of missed calls from my mother. I opened up a news app and scrolled through articles, glancing up occasionally to see if Cameron was walking my way yet. The last time I glancedup, I saw a rush of chaotic movement inside the restaurant. Something weird was going on.

Slamming my car door behind me, I rushed up to the entrance. When I yanked open the door, the scene before me was hectic and loud. When my searching eyes could finally zero in on Cameron, adrenaline roared through my blood with so much intensity I felt like I could rip the door off its hinges.

He was pressed against a table, trapped by a stocky man in a bulky coat. The man was clawing at him as he struggled, like he was trying to hold him down. Another man, wearing the same work uniform as Cameron, rushed toward them from the back of the restaurant, trying to wedge between them and peel the attacker off.

Before I could fully process anything, my legs were pushing me toward them. I tackled the stranger, sending us both tumbling to the ground. Cameron yelped as the tight grip on him held for a split second, yanking him forward a bit before the man’s hands loosened as he was pulled away.

My lips peeled back in a snarl, exposing my teeth as I dug my fingers in the back of his neck, holding his head to the ground. A growl I couldn’t control rose up from my chest.

“I-I called the police, they’re on the way!” A panicked female voice sounded out from somewhere behind us.

Keeping my hand locked in an iron hold on the attacker’s neck, I did my best to twist around so I could see Cameron. He was panting. The guy who’d tried to help was asking him if he was okay.

The man under me started wiggling, trying to buck me off.

“Stay still or I’m going to rip your head off your shoulders,” I threatened him between my clenched teeth.

“Karter.” Still somewhat breathless, Cameron took a few steps forward to touch my shoulder. “Don’t hurt him. He’s on something, or I don’t know, but something’s wrong with him.”

“What the fuck is going on?” I couldn’t help but ask, but Cameron only shook his head at me, nearly doubled over with the effort to try and catch his breath.

“I don’t really know what happened,” he admitted.

“Alright, alright, break it up.” A short beta woman with broad shoulders and a smoker’s rasp came out from the kitchen door. Cameron eyed her cautiously. I had to imagine she was his boss.

“Sharee, I’m sorry, I don’t know what happened.”

“Nothing to be sorry for, kid. Go wait in the back for the police.” She pointed him to the door. “And who are you, exactly?” Her question was directed at me now.

“I’m with Cameron.”

“He’s Karter Morrison!” Cameron’s friend, the girl I’d talked to the day I’d come in, very unhelpfully supplied my identity. Sharee, as Cameron had called her, didn’t look too impressed with the exclamation.

“Sam, make sure this fella doesn’t go anywhere,” she pointed down at the man still pinned to the ground by me. “And you, Mr.Karter Morrison,” she said my name like it was something made up by an imaginative child. “To the back with me.”

It took every ounce of willpower in me to unclench my fingers, releasing the nape of his neck and removing my knee from his back. My instincts were torn between staying and ripping him to shreds and following behind Cameron to make sure he was okay.

Heading through the swinging door, I realized I’d never been in the kitchen of a restaurant. It was hot, loud, and generally unpleasant. Luckily, Sharee led us through the kitchen back to a tiny office, where she pointed to two wooden chairs and told us both to sit. Then she started digging through a desk drawer.

He was still shaking a little. I didn’t care whose boss she was, I couldn’t just sit beside him when he was barely keeping ittogether. Gathering him up in my arms, I pulled him into my lap, holding him against me.

“Do you want to talk about what happened?” I asked him softly, close to his ear.

He shook his head. “I’m not even sure what to say.”

“Well, you’ll have to talk to the police in a couple minutes, so you better start figuring it out,” Sharee suggested. From the desk drawer she’d been rummaging in, she pulled out a bottle of liquor, pouring a small amount into a tiny cup and shoving it into his hands. “Drink that for now.”

Obediently, he tossed it back before grimacing and letting out a sound of absolute disgust.

“And as for you,” she said, her gaze shifting to me. “Mr. Karter Morrison.” Her expression softened a bit as Cameron leaned more into me, resting his head on my shoulder. “I expect you’ll make sure our dear little Cam here gets home safe and of sound mind?”

“Of course.”

She asked Cameron a few questions, questions I suspected she was only asking him to prepare him for the police report. But during the round of practice, I discovered that he vaguely knew the man from his other job, though they’d never had any real interaction outside of drink orders. There had apparently been nothing particularly suspicious or threatening about him until today. The odd addition about money confused me, but we all agreed the man was drunk and likely on some kind of drug.

When the police came, he recited the same answers to them. He was still a bit shaken, but in his own words, not completely traumatized. I could tell part of him was still concerned for the man they’d taken away in handcuffs. I wasn’t remotely concerned for him, but even I could admit it was strange that he would suddenly attack someone he’d had no interest in up to this point.

On the ride home, there were too many things I wanted to say. Most of them were comforting, but I couldn’t control what came out first.

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