Caged: An Alpha Protector Romance (Sample)

Chapter 3

Cage

I lose track of time as I scroll through the big list of names and phone numbers on my laptop and write down the ones I might need. That night at Club Velvet, I made quite a list of my own, more out of habit to gather information than out of need. I was so sure that Anthony Hunt would show up, and I'd be done with this job in a day. But the bastard disappeared.

Now I have to use every shred of intel I can lay my hands on, starting with the redhead's SIM card. There was plenty of time to copy the phone book and return the SIM, though I still didn't expect her to be up and kicking so early. It should've taken days for her to recover, and I should've been done with Hunt by then. Instead, I'm stuck in this mess. My target could be anywhere on the globe, my boss is riding me for no damn reason but his own stupidity, and I've got Jessica fucking Rabbit locked in my bedroom.

I cut my eyes at the ugly old sofa that I had to sleep on. Fucking torture device. I had been more comfortable sleeping on cold rocks, than on this sofa. Maybe if I were closer to the redhead's size, I'd be fine with sleeping here, in the living room. But then I wouldn't be who I am at all.

Only the toughest sons of bitches survive in Special Forces, and if not for that page of my story, I wouldn't have ended up selling my skills to the mob. Not that I'm proud of it, but I still prefer this outcome to spending the rest of my life locked up in a ward after what happened in Iraq.

Iraq. The memory flashes in my head, crippling me. Just like a million times before, once the sequence starts playing out in my head, all I can do is watch. Helpless.

The sun, the sand, the noise.

Hands, holding me. The gun digging into my scalp. The accented voice above me.

"Look, soldier. Look and never return here."

Ronny's eyes on me, so calm.

The gunshot. The blood. The scream stuck in my throat.

I flinch, dropping the pen, and blink a few times. How the hell does everything always go back to this, I don't know. It takes me a moment to remember what I was doing, but I can't continue anyway. My hand flies up to my neck of its own accord, and my fingers run over the long scar. A stupid habit I'll never get rid of. A reminder. A proof. A punishment.

Why did they save me? I should've bled to death. I should've been the one to die, instead of everyone I couldn't save that day.

Pushing myself to my feet, I drag a hand through my hair with a heavy sigh. I need to focus on the job. One last time, and I'm free. My pal is waiting for me in Todos Santos. My new house. My new, trivial job. Oh, I would kill for a trivial job right now.

Which is exactly what I'm going to do.

Come on, Anthony. You must've left a trail. Show it to me. I grab his picture off the table and stare at it, willing my luck to get better. Because so far, it's been a fucking disaster.

It started when I agreed to take on a job I wasn't supposed to be doing in the first place. I was done, finished, ready to pack my shit and leave. I was never like those other thugs Dwight held on a short leash and disposed of later. I had my own rules, and he valued me too much to ignore them. The others were dogs – I was the bloodhound. They were the muscle and guns, and I was the eyes and ears. The others followed orders, and I only took the jobs I wanted. No women and children. No innocents. No slaughter.

In fact, sometimes all I had to do was find the target. Another one of Dwight's partners, who decided he was smarter than everyone. They were all the same – greedy, stupid, predictable.