Page 11 of Bred By the Mercenary

The blonde finally makes it to the door. She pauses, glancing back as if she’s got something else to say. I’m not in the mood to hear about all the strip clubs she’s danced at and how she could use her skills at the bar.

“Kerry, please tell Amelia she’s next,” I call out, dismissing her and lowering my gaze to my phone on the desk in front of me.

Just saying her name has me pulsing with need. I’ve been waiting for my little dove all evening. Called her in after her shift started, but she’s been a no-show. It’s getting late, and still, she hasn’t appeared. I don’t want to come off as pushy, but I need to keep it professional until I make her understand why I had to take off.

Though, if I’m honest, all I want is to pull her into my arms. And I can’t exactly do that at her workplace with everyone watching me, their new boss, like a hawk.

I’ve got to treat it carefully to not scare Amelia off… if I haven’t done it already.

I keep staring at that damn door, frustration and anticipation boiling inside me.

To hell with it.

I’m damn tired of doing things professionally, especially when it’s clear Amelia is avoiding me. I won’t spend another second waiting.

Up on my feet, I take two steps when a knock comes at the door. My heart gives a powerful thud in my chest. Is it her? I’m suddenly sweating, smiling, and fucking excited.

“Enter,” I answer.

The door opens, and the blonde from earlier sticks her head in.

An internal sigh escapes me. “What’s up, Kerry?”

“Sorry, boss, but Amelia’s left for the day,” she says.

Those words hit me like a punch to the gut. My insides twist into anger and guilt, rolled up into one. I’ve wasted my whole fucking day, and for what?

“Okay, fine,” I snap, turning away from her. The door shuts, and when I find her gone, I dive into the company files in the cabinet behind my desk. My fingers move rapidly as I search for Amelia’s home address and number. I’m not above snooping to get what I want.

Talking to her outside of work hours seems like the only option left.

With the details secured, I grab my keys and phone, then march out of the office. With a quick detour into the bar area, I notify the bar manager that I’m leaving for the night and to lock up after closing. I head out the front door, where I’ve parked my Mustang right near the entrance.

The moment I step outside, a cool breeze slams into me, picking up speed and sending trash swirling around the dimly lit driveaway. There are only a few spots out the front, all taken, and the main street has the occasional car zipping past.

This part of the city is seedy, giving the bar a great location for customers, but it’s not the safest location for Amelia.

Without a second thought, I hop into the car and punch in her address into my GPS. Reversing the car, I hit the gas. I’m eager to speak with her. As I rush through the city, my mind replays the moment I crossed paths with Amelia at the bar today. It’s on repeat, and it’s killing me.

There I am, emerging from my office, and she’s there, a few feet away, frozen like a deer caught in headlights. My little dove.

She’s even more beautiful than I remember, and seeing her there, it’s like my heart stops beating for a moment. My hands tingle with the need to feel her again. For the past three months, I’ve been fucking dying to contact her, but dangerous circumstances made it impossible. And I sure as fuck wasn’t bringing her into my troubles and putting her life at risk.

“Little dove,” I say, my words just spilling out.

Instead of responding, she recoils as if I’d struck her, then she rushes into the bar. Her departure shreds my heart. I want to follow her and explain everything, but I stop myself.

What then?

Cause a scene for her in front of her peers? That’s not my style. Besides, I’ve never been one to broadcast my emotions or personal life. But Amelia… she’s got me wired and fucking desperate for her.

Seeing her run from me stings like hell.

Swallowing my pride and the hurt, I march back to my office, telling myself I can’t rush her, that I have to give her space.

Shaking away the memory, I focus on the road ahead of me, gripping the steering wheel with my knuckles white from the tension.

I scoff at myself. “Yeah, right,” I mutter. So much for leaving her alone. Here I am, driving to her house in the middle of the night like a madman.

---