Can't Let Go. Gena Showalter

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       CHAPTER FOUR

      FOR THE NEXT WEEK, Jude did his best to avoid the too flirtatious, too happy Ryanne. An impossible task, considering he worked at the Scratching Post each of the seven days, installing cameras in the morning, checking food deliveries in the afternoon, acting as a bouncer in the evening and helping care for Belle every minute in between. The pregnant, very grumpy cat hadn’t yet given birth.

      Ryanne had texted him a few times, too. Random invitations to do ridiculous things.

      Let’s go to a finger-painting workshop! We’ve GOT to improve our employer-employee relations.

      His response? How will finger paint help us?

      Duh! Our bodies are the canvases and we get to paint each other. (You know, a little hands-on learning. Or big. Yeah, probably big.)

      No.

      Not just no, but hell, no.

      Her next text had read What about a petting zoo in the city??? (I promise I’m not the animal you’ll be stroking.)

      Again he’d replied, No.

      Movie? I’ll pay AND share my popcorn w/you.

      Another solid No.

      She texted him a gif of a cartoon character sobbing.

      Avoiding this woman had begun to prick at his pride. He’d once been part of a military unit known as the Ten. Ten soldiers sent on the most dangerous missions—secret missions that would never be talked about in history books. They’d killed the enemy and rescued other soldiers amid impossible odds of survival. Amid it all, Jude, Brock and Daniel had seen and done things no human should have seen or done. It changed them.

      Brock now tried to make everyone he met fall in like with him, since he couldn’t like himself. Daniel kept all newcomers at a distance, too afraid of losing another person, and Jude...he tended to numb-out, and live life on autopilot.

      He craved autopilot. But Ryanne had twisted him into a million little knots, and none of those knots helped him stay numb.

      Despite her—or because of her—he pushed himself to his limits, wanting to get the job settled as soon as possible. As soon as he finished installations, he would make Brock front man. That way, Brock would receive a notice when something went wrong at the bar, and Jude could finally wipe Ryanne from his mind.

      Already he’d spoken to Martin Dushku, who’d thrown more shade than a decades-old oak. He’d lied with a smile, misdirected with ease and hid his threats behind false concern.

      Jude felt sorry for the man’s wife. The pair had been together for thirty-one years and had two adult children. A twenty-seven-year-old son named Filip and a twenty-three-year-old daughter named Paulina; they also had a four-year-old grandchild named Thomas.

      Filip, Thomas’s father, was in prison for manslaughter, with only a year left on his sentence. Interestingly enough, Jude had been unable to find any mention of Thomas’s mother.

      When Jude had first walked onto the construction site, two goons had closed in fast to frisk him, as he’d known they would. Of course, they hadn’t found the small metal pins sheathed in the heels of his boots. More than that, Jude himself was a weapon. He could turn any innocent object into a weapon, as well. An ink pen, a keyboard. A paper clip. A chair.

      After coming up empty, the men escorted him into a luxurious trailer, where Dushku perched behind a desk. The conversation had been short and anything but sweet.

      “Both the Scratching Post and its owner are under my protection,” Jude had said. “You won’t like what happens if you harm them. And keep your stable off Ryanne’s property. The next time someone sells a ride at the Scratching Post, a live stream will be the least of your troubles.”

      Dushku had chuckled, not the least bit intimidated. “You must be mistaken. I value women and would never take part in prostitution. And I certainly wouldn’t do so on Miss Wade’s property. I’ve heard about her problems with the local PD.” He’d sighed, as if weary. “If sex and drugs are being sold at the Scratching Post, I’m sure authorities will believe Miss Wade is the one responsible.”

      “I didn’t say anything about drugs,” Jude had grated.

      The man’s amusement had bloomed into a smirk. “I’ve already looked into you, Mr. Laurent. You were a good soldier once. A husband and father. Now you’re a cripple with nothing to lose—except another leg.”

      Behind him, one of the guards had snickered. “What do you call a man with one leg? A pogo stick.”

      Laughter had abounded while Jude simmered in his seat. Rage and grief had bubbled in his chest; the two emotions were always there, rooted deep in his heart, but some days were worse than others. How dare this scumbag mention Constance and the twins!

      “If you take me on, Mr. Laurent, you will fail.” For a moment, only a moment, Dushku had allowed his true demeanor to surface, his features cold as ice. “I promise you.”

      Mere seconds had passed as Jude struggled to control his breathing, though it had felt like an eternity.

      “Did the truth hurt your feelings?” Dushku had shaken his head. “I’m not sure why. You are a cripple without a family, and I won’t hesitate to ruin this new life you’ve carved out for yourself.”

      More rage. More grief. At the best of times, Jude felt like only half a man. What if he couldn’t protect Ryanne?

      He’d mimicked the man’s smirk. “I don’t think you searched deep enough into my background, Mr. Dushku. I’m a hunter, born and bred. When I was just a boy, I learned to stalk and kill deer and wild hogs. As a man, Uncle Sam taught me to stalk and kill men. I’m very good. My victims are never found.” He’d stood. “Again, I suggest you stay on your side of the street, and we’ll stay on ours. I won’t stop you from running your business, but I will stop you from hurting innocents.”

      Dushku had said, “I, too, would hate for any harm to come to innocents, especially someone as kind and beautiful as Miss Wade. If she decides to sell the bar within the next couple of months in order to travel the world as she dreams, I’m willing to help her. If not... You might be a hunter, Mr. Laurent, but I’m a ghost. You’ll never see me coming.”

      Jude had left, before he broke down and showed Dushku the error of his ways.

      So far, there had been only one attempt to strike at Ryanne. Blueberry Hill PD raided the bar, harassing customers as they checked IDs and asked questions about “reported suspicious activity.” Jude had admired Ryanne’s calm in the midst of the chaos, and he’d been surprised by the support of her patrons, almost everyone rushing to her defense, forcing the officers to leave without making an arrest.

      “A little help, please.” Ryanne’s sex-drugs-and-rock-and-roll voice stopped him in his tracks.

      Behind the counter where he’d watched her mix drinks was the entrance to the basement. He watched as the gorgeous woman lugged a large box up the steps. Mason jars clinked together, her infamous fruit cocktail moonshine sloshing inside. Beads of sweat glistened on her forehead, and he almost—almost—rushed to her aid. While СКАЧАТЬ