Chapter 35 Lexi #2
After we check out, I scan the parking lot as he slowly pushes the cart, breathing in the warm night, opening and closing his mouth like he has something to say.
And right now, whatever it is, I can’t hear it.
I’m tugging on this thread that’s going to snap, and when it does, it’ll be both amazing and terrible.
Justin slows almost to a stop. ‘I think we need to talk.’
My stomach flips at the buttery tone. I know what he wants to say, and God, I want to hear and say everything too. We can’t do this. Not now. I’m still on duty. Contracted to protect him. Under an oath. This conversation cannot happen.
‘I don’t think we should.’ It’s all I can muster. My strength is gone. He’s a magnet drawing me to him, making me forget everything I stand for, everything I hold sacred. Part of me wants to quit, right this second, and have this talk.
‘I feel like we’ve grown closer,’ he says. ‘Do you think so, too?’
My heart thumps in my throat, but I remain silent as we approach the SUV. Please stop. He can’t say any more. My willpower is going to break.
‘Having you here, with me, feels so different than it did in the beginning.’ The driver steps out, but Justin puts up his hand. ‘I got it, Mike. Thanks. Could you go back inside? I need a second alone with Doc.’
‘You bet,’ Mike says and returns to the vehicle.
I’m ignoring every screaming tingle in my body.
I’m fighting them, kicking them, pushing them away.
I’m a volcano on the brink of erupting, and I’m going to burst. I squeeze the handle to pop open the trunk.
Justin presses his hand on top of mine, strong, intentional, and my skin erupts with goosebumps.
Shit. I’m not doing this, no matter how much I want to.
If I tell him how I feel, I know how he’s going to react and it’s not fucking safe.
He’ll tell me we’ll figure it out, and that things will be fine, but he doesn’t know.
He doesn’t understand threats, how this compromises my position, the danger he’ll be put in.
So, I can’t. No matter how bad I want to.
I pull my hand away and blink up at him through my lashes. God those eyes. Those beautiful hazel eyes, with their greens and ambers, read me. ‘We should get in the car.’
He leans in, completely ignoring me, as if he doesn’t understand how serious this is, as if he doesn’t care. I want him to care and also not care, and shit. I hate, hate, hate this. His deep citrus scent permeates my brain, the energy radiating from his beautiful body reaches my center.
‘I can’t believe in the beginning I didn’t want you here.’ His voice is low, raspy, like warm sand on a beach, and I want more. ‘And now, I love having you so close.’
Please stop. Please don’t stop. I open my mouth to say something, anything, but I can’t speak.
I reach into the cart for the grocery bags, set them in the trunk, and slam the tailgate door. I turn to face him, to tell him that we need to stop, but goddamn, those eyes.
Justin flattens his palm on top of the SUV, towering over me.
I feel so small, so womanly, wanted in a way that I haven’t felt in a long time.
He’s too close. I inhale the delicious scent from his neck and the hairs on my scalp flicker.
I want to grab his waist, tug into him, breathe him in.
There are a million things I want to say – I love being here, too, he has magical hands, his touch makes my skin dance.
Ugh. Why does this have to be so hard? My poker face cracks. I pivot and face the trunk. I close my eyes, pinch the bridge of my nose and take several full, hearty breaths.
Fierce hands grip my shoulders and toss me to the side. My chest smacks the SUV tailgate with a hard thud. Justin pins me against the vehicle with his back, so tight, I can barely breathe. ‘What the fuck?’ I sputter, blinking into the hatch.
‘You. You … did this …’ a shaky voice sounds from a few feet away.
Threat.
I duck under Justin’s protective hold, sidestep him, and move my body in front of his. ‘Stay behind me,’ I order, staring at the man advancing toward us.
‘Lexi don’t—’
‘Justin, no.’ Right now, I cannot have his heroics. I need to evaluate and neutralize the threat.
The shirtless man has fire in his eyes and a baseball bat in his hand. His wild, unkempt white hair reflects under the parking lot lights, the soil on his clothes visible in the dark. His trembling hands reach into his other pocket.
In one swoop, I push my body into Justin, confirm I’m blocking him from harm, grab my firearm from my holster and aim. The man’s pocket is flat, tight against his leg. He can’t be carrying a firearm, not even a .22, but that doesn’t mean he won’t have something strapped to his back waistband.
‘Lexi,’ Justin’s voice whispers behind me.
‘Not another word,’ I say, keeping my focus on the man. My heartbeat slows, a steady thump, thump, thump, in my ears. ‘Do not come any closer.’ I firm my posture. ‘Remove your hand from your pocket and drop the bat.’
The man stops, his mouth angling down. He drops the bat but doesn’t take his hand from his pocket. His legs wobble, and even from the ten-foot distance, the smell of whiskey discharges from his body.
‘It’s people like you … The money. The fucking corporate, Hollywood greed.’ He hisses, looking at Justin. ‘You’re the lowest form of society. Parasitic, toxic.’
A car door opens. ‘Doc?’ The driver’s voice sounds behind me.
I don’t remove my eyes from the threat. ‘Mike. Call 911.’ Justin’s breath staggers heavy behind me but thank God he remains silent. ‘Justin, get in the car.’
‘No,’ he says, flatly. ‘No fucking way am I leaving you.’
God dammit.
The man pierces his eyes in Justin’s direction, as a small group of onlookers with cell phones pointed our way watch in the distance.
‘Let me see your hands.’ I grip my gun, and shift into a shooting stance. Everything slows. My breath. My pulse. My eyes narrow at the bulging vein in the man’s neck and the prickle of sweat at his temples.
‘You people don’t care about anyone,’ he slurs. ‘You’ve turned this town into shit … everything is poison. All you care about is money. You destroy the land … spit people out to live on the streets.’
‘Take your hand out of your pocket,’ I repeat, holding the calm but authoritative tone in my voice. ‘Step back.’
The man shifts his glare from Justin to me.
A sinister smirk spreads when he removes his hand.
I evaluate every micro-action: the slight shifts of his mouth, his toes moving in his shoes, his tongue sliding up and down against his inner cheek.
He appears more agitated than violent, as he remains standing and doesn’t move into a fighting stance.
Finally, his arms go slack, and he steps back.
My core locks. ‘Lower yourself to the ground, on your stomach, hands behind your head.’ The man moves his eyes between mine, squints, almost like he’s taunting, before he cooperates.
In a few seconds, I remove zip ties from my pocket and cuff him. Thirty seconds later, sirens scream in the distance.
Five minutes later, reality seizes me, and I feel sick.