Chapter Twenty-Four
Chase
Idon't know how far it would have gone if her phone hadn't rung. At the sound of it, she went rock solid.
Not pushing me away.
Not moving at all.
I panted against her skin, trying to catch my breath, trying to screw my head back on straight. I'd been about to strip her jeans off in the middle of the café. Never mind that we were alone, with the lights on and the front window twenty feet away, we weren't alone enough.
The phone stopped ringing, going to voicemail. A few seconds later, it started up again. Annabelle's face flushed bright red, and she gave up on trying to refasten her bra. She leaned over and snagged the phone off the coffee table. Without looking at the screen she swiped to answer.
I could hear him even from the other side of the couch, hear the slur in his voice as he said her name. The flush of passion drained from Annabelle's face, leaving her bone white.
Without asking, without thinking, I leaned forward and pulled the phone from her hand.
I already knew who it was, but when his slurred, angry voice hit my ear, rage fell over me in a red curtain. I sat completely still, my grip tightening on the phone, listening to Annabelle's ex-husband berate her.
"You fucking bitch. What the fuck? You told Winters I was trying to get an invite to the wedding?
Fucking idiot. You were always a fucking idiot.
You don't get anything about business. Now you pissed them off, and I lost an account over it.
Goddamn fucking whore. You always ruined everything.
I fucking got rid of you and you're still fucking ruining everything. "
I stopped listening. Through my haze of fury, I looked over to see Annabelle, pale and shaking, watching me, her eyes wide. I realized she knew exactly how angry I was.
She wasn't afraid of Tommy and his drunken rant.
She was afraid of me.
Slowly and clearly, I said into the phone, "This isn't Annabelle, this is Chase. Don't ever fucking call her again. Don't call her and don't come near her. If I find out you have, you will regret it. Do you understand?"
"You can't tell me what to do, you fucking—"
"Just tell me you understand," I said, my voice even. Only a drunken idiot could miss my furious composure, but Tommy was a drunken idiot, and he missed it completely.
I ended the call without another word, navigated to his entry in her contact list, and blocked the number. Taking a long, deep breath through my nose, I let it out before I spoke quietly. Gently.
"I blocked his number. If he calls the café, I want you to hang up, okay?"
Annabelle nodded, some of the tension easing out of her tight muscles.
"If he comes by, lock yourself in your office and call the police."
"I can't call the police. The café, my customers—"
"Annabelle, this guy is not stable. So far all he's done is yell at you, right? He hasn't laid a hand on you? He hasn't hit you or hurt you physically?"
Annabelle shook her head, teeth biting into her lower lip until it turned white.
"You're sure?" I asked again. I didn't think she was lying to me, but I didn't want to be wrong about this. I had to know.
She shook her head again.
"Okay. But he doesn't get to talk to you like this. Ever. If you don't want to call the police, call me, or call one of the Sinclairs. If they can't come themselves, they'll send one of the guys."
"I can't—"
"You can. You absolutely can. Any one of those guys would move heaven and earth to help you, Annabelle. They don't talk about you behind your back, but I know from things they’ve said that they would have loved to go after Tommy when you were married.
“They'd jump at the chance to escort him from the café or help you with a restraining order. Promise me if he shows up here and I'm not around you'll call them if you won't call the police."
Another nod, but her teeth eased off her lip and her shoulders relaxed.
"I'm going to stay here tonight," I said, and at the flare of her eyes, I went on, "On the couch. I'll stay on the couch. I don't want you here alone."
"You don't have to sleep down here," Annabelle said, but the uncertainty in her voice, the wariness in her eyes, told me that I absolutely did have to sleep down here.
I slid across the couch until I was beside her and pulled her into my arms, resting my cheek against the top of her head and letting the familiar sugar cookie scent of her drive away most of my anger.
"I do, Annabelle. I want to spend the night with you, you have no idea how much. But not like this. Not when you're scared and off-balance. Go up to bed, and I'll be down here. You'll sleep better if you know you're not alone."
"Okay," she whispered. Leaning in, she brushed a kiss across my lips and it took everything I had not to pull her into my lap and pick up where we'd left off before the asshole had called.
"Thank you. You're a good man, Chase Westbrook. You're a really good man, and I'm sorry I'm such a mess."
My muscles tense with the effort of holding back, of giving her space and security when I wanted to wrap my arms around her and claim her as my own, I pressed my lips to the tip of her nose and said, "You're not a mess.
You're human. Set the alarm and go up to bed, okay? I'll be down here all night."
She did as I said, taking the two empty beer bottles with her. They clanked as she tossed them in the recycling bin. The alarm beeped, set for the night, and she jogged up the stairs, her feet hitting the steps in rhythmic thuds.
The creak of the floor joists when she reached her futon assured me that she was going to bed. She needed her sleep. I knew she'd be downstairs at four to start her baking, and I'd have no problem sleeping through it. Maybe she’d send me on my way with a cookie.
I texted Vivi to tell her I wouldn't be home, knowing she’d read all sorts of things into my message that weren't true. Yet.
Then I kicked off my shoes and stretched out on the couch, lulling myself to sleep with fantasies of all the ways I was going to beat the hell out of Tommy Mosler.
Tommy Mosler lived in a two-story, traditional colonial on the outskirts of Buckhead. Annabelle had said he'd married the woman he'd cheated with, but there was no sign of her car in the garage when I slipped in behind his sedan.
Like most people with their heads that far up their own asses, Tommy Mosler had no situational awareness. He had no clue I was behind him until I hooked my arm around his neck and dragged him off his feet, cutting off his oxygen and scaring the shit out of him.
He struggled for a minute. I let him, enjoying his fear. His panic. He deserved a lot more than that for everything he'd put Annabelle through.
When I got bored, I hissed in his ear, "Calm the fuck down. I just want to talk."
A lie, but he didn't need to know that yet.
He went still, his heart thudding in his chest, pulse beating frantically against my skin.
My voice so low it was almost silent, I said, "I'm here to deliver a message. Stay away from Annabelle. Don't talk to her. Don't come to see her. Don't fucking think about her. You are a memory to her. Get it?"
No response.
"Nod if you get it," I growled.
A quick jerk of his head. Thinking to take me by surprise, he twisted his shoulders, trying to yank his way free.
Tommy Mosler hadn't grown up as the odd man out, hadn't grown up being picked on and beat up by the bigger kids. Tommy Mosler never had to learn to fight.
And Tommy Mosler was way outclassed with me.
I threw a punch into the side of his head, not hard enough to cause permanent damage, but hard enough to hurt like a son of a bitch. Normally, I didn't enjoy fighting.
I'd done it when I was younger to save my own ass, but I'd never gone looking for a fight.
This was different. All I had to do was think about Annabelle, pale and shaking, her teeth cutting into her lower lip, still so afraid of this man, still so damaged by him that she couldn't even call the police to protect herself.
Not my Annabelle of the bright smile and boundless energy. My Annabelle was loyal and loving and sweet. This asshole didn't get another second of her life. If she couldn't deal with him, I would.
Dazed from the punch to his head, Tommy's knees turned to water and he folded, letting me take his weight. He was tall but skinny, and he didn't weigh much.
I held him easily and said in that same low, menacing voice, "You going to leave her alone?"
He nodded frantically.
I thought for a second. Nope, Tommy was a weasel, and weasels lied. A simple warning wasn't going to be enough. I'd thought this through. He might end up suspecting I'd assaulted him in his garage, but he wouldn't have proof.
The security camera only caught the front of the house. I'd scoped that out earlier in the day. I'd shoved a balaclava and a pair of gloves in my pocket before I left the house and slipped them on as I'd snuck in behind Tommy's car.
Not only couldn't he see my face, I wouldn't shed any hairs inside his garage. The only thing I’d touched was Tommy, and by the time I was done with him, no one would be able to pull a scrap of evidence off his skin.
Done with this, I tossed him away from me, hooking my foot around his ankle. He lost his balance and pitched forward, hitting the floor of the garage face first.
I was on him before he could get his bearings, swinging my fists into every part of him I could reach. I'd learned in the schoolyard exactly where to throw a punch to cause pain but no damage.
I wasn't going to kill him. Wasn't going to break his nose or his cheekbone or bruise his kidneys. But a dick-weasel like this didn't need to be permanently damaged.
He only needed to feel pain and fear more of it.
That I could do.
I hit him until blood streamed from his nose and several cuts on his face, until he curled on his side in a ball and wept, bubbles of bloody snot running down his cheek.
He begged, "Please, please. I won't bother her. I swear. I'll never see her again. Please, stop."
Satisfied, I stood and walked to the back of the garage where Tommy conveniently had a shop sink.
As I washed the blood from my gloved hands I said, "You'll be fine.
But remember this. Remember every second.
Because if you come anywhere near her, I will find you again.
And this? This will be a fond memory compared to what I'll do to you. Got it?"
"Got it. I've got it, I swear," Tommy blubbered.
I checked my shirt and jeans, but the fabric was dark enough to hide any stray drops of blood, Tommy had been thoughtful enough to keep most of those on his own clothes. I let myself out the side door to the yard, flipping the lock on the handle to secure it behind me.
When I was standing on the lawn, still hidden by the shadows of the house, I pulled the balaclava off my head and shoved it in my back pocket along with the gloves. A moment later I was cutting across his backyard and through an empty lot to the side street where I'd left my car.
A minute after that I was gone, leaving Tommy Mosler with fuel for his nightmares and a clear understanding that he would never, ever, bother Annabelle again.