Page 12 of Bred By the Mercenary

With the urge to speak with her and not have her run away, I speed forward.

CHAPTER THREE

AMELIA

Leaving the bar tonight feels like escaping a labyrinth.

I’ve been beside myself all day, barely sleeping a wink last night after learning Daxton’s my new boss. And today, with his plan to interview everyone, it just added to the chaos churning inside me. Part of me had worked up enough courage to walk up to his officer once I arrived at work to get it over with.

Until he stepped out of his office, and I froze.

Panic washed over me with an overwhelming sensation that left me completely immobile.

This isn’t me. I’m not the kind of person who runs away. But the truth is, I let myself like him too quickly at that party. Then he pulled that ridiculous stunt, and now he’s what… my boss? And none of our past encounters matters?

Sure, I haven’t given him a chance to explain, but can I believe whatever he’s going to say? It’s more than just skepticism—it’s seeing him again that threw me off balance.

In front of him, I lost my voice and felt my heart thundering against my ribcage as if it was trying to break free.

And the worst part?

I felt that same burning arousal from him that I had at the party. What is wrong with me?

I’m worried I’ll fall for that handsome face, and I’ve promised myself not to let another guy walk over me again. So, I ran away.

But now, with him gone home from the bar for the night with a little help from my friend, Kerry, telling him a small white lie, I gather my backpack and head out the back door to my car. My mind is completely consumed with thoughts of Daxton.

I keep telling myself I’ll speak with him tomorrow.

The cold night hits me as I step outside into the parking area, which is dimly lit by only a few working street lamps. My car sits alone under a flickering one. As I hurry, my steps feel heavy, each one echoing in the late-night silence.

The dark area always puts me on edge when I leave late and alone. It’s not just the shadows that unnerve me, but the knowledge of the kind of people who lurk around here—creeps and drunks from the bar. My pace quickens as I dig through my bag for my keys. That’s when I hear it—footsteps, growing louder, closer.

I spin around, and my breath catches in my throat.

A figure emerges from the shadows, and for a horrifying moment, my mind jumps to the worst possible scenario—a serial killer. Then the figure steps into the light; it’s Ryker.

“Hey, Amelia,” he says darkly, his hands buried in the pockets of his jeans.

“Fuck, why are you acting all creepy in the shadows? What are you doing here?” My voice trembles as the panic still clings to my ribs.

“You haven’t been answering my calls,” he says, stepping closer.

“Yeah, because we’re over, or have you forgotten?” I snap, squaring my shoulders. I really don’t need to deal with him again.

“Couples have disagreements, Amelia, but that doesn’t mean things are over.” He’s studying me with a strange expression, one that always made him unpredictable.

The hairs on my arms lift. Having my ex waiting for me in the dark in the middle of the night is freaky.

“Ryker, fuck. It’s been over three months. We’re not together.” I can’t believe I have to spell it out for him.

He laughs, the sound strained and hollow. It sends shivers running down my spine. As he moves closer, my fingers, still in my bag, finally close around my keys. I grip them tightly, the metal cold and reassuring against my palm.

His presence, his refusal to accept our breakup—it’s all too much. I take a step back, ready to turn and bolt for my car. My mind’s churning with dread about how to get away from him safely. He’s giving off all kinds of crazy vibes.

“I think you’ve had your fun, and I’m tired of waiting for you to come to your senses. We are meant to be together, so how about you stop this bullshit and come home with me?”

“Fuck you. You don’t get to say that after what you did to me.”

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