Page 3 of Tice's Kind of Trouble
She sounds surprised. “You’re close already.”
After running a few people off the road, yeah—I’m close. But not close enough. Not until I have her within arm’s reach.
“Right around the corner now, baby girl.”
She inhales sharply, then goes quiet.
“What’s wrong?” I bark—too loud. Damn it. “Sorry. I raised my voice.”
Death-gripping the steering wheel, I breathe. In. Out.
She sounds breathless. “It’s just that… you sound so protective.”
Damn rightI sound protective. Even though I’ve never met her, she’s Kane’s sister. She’s a woman. That’s all it takes.
Protect. Defend. Honor.
She’s just some random woman. Right.
A devil taps my shoulder:You’ve been hooked since the photo, and you know it. You’re a creep.
Fine. I’ll own it. I’m not right when it comes to Bethany.
“That’s because Iamprotective.” My voice is gravel. “Born this way. It’s in my marrow.”
“I... I like that a lot, Tice. My brother’s like?—”
She cuts off. A new voice replaces the café background.
“I noticed you sitting by yourself. Can I buy you a tea or something?”
“Fuck no!” I bellow into the phone as I plow over a planter of something red, jump the curb, and slam my truck to a stop in front of the Mellow Mug.
Which is about to be theoppositeof mellow once I walk through that door.
TWO
Bethany
What?!?
There’s a collective gasp as everyone in the place realizes at the same time there’s a truck racing toward the front of the building.
Chaos immediately follows.
Plants fly everywhere, red blossoms sailing, the wooden planter exploding like toothpicks out of a cannon, as the gigantic murder-black Ford lurches to a stop.
Oh my god. What. Is. Happening?
The driver’s door flies open and a man—no, not a man, a chiseled warrior hell-bent on battle—leaps out.
Decked in dark cargo pants, a snug ink-black T-shirt hugging monstrous biceps, he strides toward the door. Laser-focused.
The phone, forgotten in my hand, is silent. The man who asked if he could buy me a cup of tea is staring mutely as the door is flung open so hard the doorknob falls off, clanking to the painted concrete floor.
“Bethany.”
That single growled word causes me to drop the phone.
