12. Levi
I find myself standing motionless, my gaze fixed on the gaping hole that now mars the once pristine wall of the restroom.
The stark evidence of my outburst is impossible to ignore.
A dull, persistent ache pulses through my knuckles, swelling with each heartbeat, and I can’t help but acknowledge that punching the wall was far from my most rational decision.
Regret seeps in as I flex my hand, the pain a reminder of my impulsiveness.
The timing couldn’t have been worse—just as I finally made up my mind to take a chance with Dover, fate saw fit to throw us together on an assignment.
The roles are clear: one of us is designated as the protector, the other as the hunted.
The restroom door swings open abruptly, drawing my attention.
A man in a crisp suit steps inside, his polished shoes clicking against the tile.
He pauses mid-stride, his eyes flicking from the fresh hole in the wall to my bruised, swollen hand, and then up to meet my gaze.
There’s a moment of silent judgment as he shakes his head in disapproval, lips pressed into a thin line, before he disappears into one of the stalls without uttering a word.
I exhale slowly, rolling my shoulders to release some of the tension that has settled there.
With a grimace, I straighten my own suit, smoothing out the wrinkles, and force myself to leave the restroom.
No sooner have I stepped into the corridor than I come face-to-face with Rosie Hallen. She stands there, blocking my path, her posture assertive and unyielding. “I’ve been looking for you,” she announces, her tone brisk and businesslike.
I try to keep my voice neutral, masking my irritation. “What’s up?”
Rosie doesn’t budge. She plants her hands firmly on her hips, her stance radiating impatience.
One eyebrow arches in a silent challenge as she fixes me with a pointed stare.
“Why has Dover left the building with only Nash for protection?” she demands, her question loaded with accusation and concern.
“We kind of argued,” I reply, wincing at how foolish and inadequate that explanation sounds coming out of my mouth. “I mean—” I start to clarify, but the words catch in my throat, tangled with regret.
“Forget it, Levi. Do you want to go after him, or should I?” The question hangs in the air, heavy with urgency and concern.
“I’ll go,” I say, my voice heavy with guilt and regret, “since it was my stupid mistake that left him unprotected in the first place.” My mind spins with anxiety, replaying the argument over and over, dissecting every detail and misstep that led us to this point.
“Before you do,” Rosie interjects, her tone gentle but purposeful, “I spoke to Gemma, and she feels terrible that her friend did that to Dover. She actually gave me his address.” Rosie’s lips curl into a sly smirk. “I didn’t tell her I already had it. Want to check it out once we’ve found Dover?”
As we set out, I nod in agreement, feeling a sense of determination settle over me.
Rosie falls into step just behind me. I smile to myself.
Rosie is always by my side, no matter how difficult things get.
The thought of her leaving soon to focus on her family tugs at my heart.
She’s planning to devote herself to her loved ones and to nurture the next generation of Hallens’, and I know I’ll miss her.
Once I step outside, I barely have a moment to register or focus on the oppressive heat of the day because I am immediately compelled to follow Rosie’s determined lead.
She moves with purpose, and I trust her instincts, especially since she was the one who first noticed the idiot sneaking off with Nash.
It’s not surprising, really—those two are practically inseparable, always seen together and getting into trouble more often than not.
Nash, with his vibrant Cuban heritage and quick wit, has taken it upon himself to teach Dover a whole slew of Spanish curses, most of which are colorful enough to make even a seasoned sailor blush.
My own Spanish skills have grown rusty over the years, but I can still catch the gist of their conversations, and I know enough to realize that what’s being said is often shockingly crude.
Sometimes I find myself wondering if Nash has ever bothered to translate the full meaning of those words for Dover or if Dover is just happily repeating whatever Nash tells him without understanding the depth of what he’s saying.
Rosie snaps my thoughts free when she catches sight of Dover and Nash with their heads together moving quickly up ahead. It’s as they approach the junction that the back of my neck starts to prickle. I’ve learned over the years to trust that warning sign. “Something is wrong,” I tell Rosie.
She glances my way, her brows knit together in a deep frown that creases her forehead.
The tension between us is palpable as we approach the intersection where Dover and Nash wait, our pace quickening with the hope of catching the light before it changes.
Unfortunately, we don’t quite make it in time.
The pedestrian signal changes to green. Dover and Nash step off the curb and start to cross the road, seemingly unconcerned.
Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I notice a vehicle rapidly approaching.
There’s no sound to warn us—no engine rumble—which makes me realize it must be electric.
The silence is unnerving, and it takes a split second for the danger to register.
Both Rosie and I instinctively break into a run, adrenaline surging through our veins.
Panic rising in my chest, I shout at the top of my lungs, “Dover, run!” My voice echoes across the street, desperate and urgent.
Instead of running, Dover comes to a halt, turning to look back at us with a blank, confused expression.
He just stands there, frozen in the middle of the road, as if he can’t process what’s happening.
My heart pounds in my ears, and I can hardly believe what I’m seeing.
What the hell is he doing? For a moment, time seems to slow, and I fear the worst.
Then, something finally clicks for Dover.
In the final seconds before the vehicle reaches the spot where they’re standing, both Dover and Nash leap out of the way, narrowly avoiding being hit.
The electric vehicle speeds past them, disappearing down the street before anyone can react.
I’m left standing there, my hands shaking and my mind reeling from the shock.
In that moment, I’m too stunned and overwhelmed to even think about catching the license plate number.
I want to shout and yell at Dover for being an idiot, but right now I’m afraid what will come out of my mouth, so I keep it shut and just grab Dover’s arm.
He gives me a quizzical look but must see something on my face because he stays silent and lets me move him along.
Rosie glances my way and also keeps her mouth shut and follows.
I inwardly wince because I have no clue where I’m going. I want to be alone with Dover. Fuck!
“I’m sorry,” Dover mutters under his breath, his voice barely audible. “You screw with my head, okay?” The frustration and confusion in his tone are unmistakable, and I can see the tension in his posture as he speaks.
“I know what that feels like,” I reply quietly, trying to offer some comfort.
I gently guide him toward my truck, placing a steadying hand on his shoulder.
“Get in,” I say firmly, making it clear that I’m not giving him a choice in the matter.
Turning to Rosie, who’s standing nearby with her phone already in hand, I add, “I’m getting him somewhere safe.
Can you try and track that car down?” My voice is urgent, but I trust her to handle it.
“I’ll take Nash home and make sure he’s okay, and then I’m on it,” Rosie responds immediately, determination flashing in her eyes as she moves away to start her search.
Once Dover and I are inside the truck, I start the engine and pull out of the parking lot.
My fingers drum anxiously on the steering wheel as I force myself to breathe deeply and stay calm.
I steal a glance at Dover, noticing how pale he looks.
His head is tipped back against the headrest, eyes closed, as if he’s trying to block out the world.
“Are you okay?” I ask, my concern growing as I watch him struggle to compose himself.
“No, I’m not fucking okay!” Dover suddenly explodes, his voice shaking with fear and anger. He sits up abruptly, his agitation palpable. “Someone just tried to kill me.” The words hang heavy in the air between us, and I can see his hands trembling.
“It’s happening too damn fast,” he continues, his breathing ragged.
“It was less than an hour ago that I was in Wyatt’s office, and now this.
” He runs a shaky hand through his hair, clearly overwhelmed.
“Nash could have been hurt as well.” He straightens up even more, urgency in his eyes.
“You could be next for being with me. I need to get out.” Panic flickers across his face as he reaches for the door handle, desperate to escape.
Reacting quickly, I hit the central locking button, the doors clicking shut. “We’re staying together, Dover,” I say firmly, leaving no room for argument. “The safest place right now is my apartment. Security is top notch. You’ll be safe there.”
He narrows his eyes at me, suspicion mingling with his anxiety. “Let me guess, Ellison Security is responsible?” His tone is laced with skepticism, but I can tell he’s starting to realize he has no better option.
I nod and admit quietly, “I need you to be safe, and that is with me.” I pause. “At least for now.”