Page 81 of Covert Mission
She whispers roughly against me, “Thank god you’re okay. I was worried sick.”
There’s a goddamn tremble in her voice that makes me want to tear his arms off and shove them down his throat.
“Who is that fuckface and, more importantly, why did he have a hand on you?”
She shivers and burrows deeper against me. Her pulse is pounding. I can feel it through her chest. “I don’t know who he is.”
I swing her into my arms and glare across the two hundred yards separating me from the man.
I’m coming for you. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll fucking run.
We’re locked in a staring match for a beat, then he wheels around and disappears between a cluster of parked trucks. A glint of something silver on his wrist catches the light as he goes.
The bastard is mine.
I crush her tighter to me and brush my lips across her temple. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. Tell me exactly what happened.”
She’s shaking in my arms. “I was looking for you because a woman told me a man was asking for me. So, I came back to the place you left me. Before I knew what was happening, he grabbed my arm and dragged me out of the crowd. Thankfully, we got that second quake, because it made both of us fall down. I was just getting up when I heard you shout my name.”
I glare at the spot where the man was last standing. There was something about him…
I’d bet my left nut that he was military. And what was that on his wrist?
Camile’s shriek jerks my attention back. “Oh, no! You’re bleeding.”
“It’s nothing.”
She tries to squirm out of my arms. “We need to get that fixed.”
Scout strides over to stand beside me, and I turn my head to look at him. He’s staring off toward the trucks where the assailant took cover. I know from his deadly expression that he saw the whole thing.
He cracks his neck and strides off. “I’m on it. Turn on your coms.”
I sound like I’m chewing metal, when I reply, “Copy that. Bring me that fucker, I’ve got a bone to pick.”
ChapterTwenty-Five
Eight hours later I am still keyed up.
We stand off, in the middle of thecabina’s living room—if you can call it that—both of us with fists on our hips with matching frowns.
She’s ticked and I’m ready to kick the shit out of something. I’m also about to buckle under a crushing need to kiss her, drag her beneath me, and drive this demon out of my head.
There’s not a word to describe what’s been brewing inside me since I saw that fuckwad manhandling her. But something snapped.
I can’t touch her like this. I’ll be too dangerous.
I drop my hands from my hips, scrub one through my hair and pace a circle around her.
My seams are straining. This isn’t hypertension in my vessels, it’s nuclear propulsion.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” I demand too forcefully.
Camile warily watches me circle her. She keeps glancing at my bloody arm, making little grimaces. Finally, she loses her patience. “You keep asking me that, but you’re the one bleeding. And you’re going to drip on the floor. Are you always this stubborn?”
“Thought you realized that by now. You didn’t answer me.”
Camile huffs out an exaggerated breath. “I’m fine. I told you that eight hours ago and 4 hours ago and ten minutes ago.”