CHASE

 

I check my watch and grumble to myself. It was my intention to beat the evening rush. The last thing I want to do on my day off is spend an hour in traffic, especially after I’ve already wasted an hour at the mall.

And what do I have to show for that wasted hour? Absolutely nothing other than a stomach full of food court nachos. Which, hell, I’m not about to complain about that, I suppose.

I glance at the escalator for a second and contemplate taking the easy way downstairs. After the week I’ve had, I more than deserve a break from cardio. Then I remember that this body forged of steel didn’t get this way by cheating on cardio, and I’ve always prided myself on being a faithful man.

I push through a metal door and hit the stairs. The muscles in my legs curse me as I race down the steps, bracing one hand against the railing as I jump over one landing to land on another. A jolt of pain shoots from my feet and makes its way up the entirety of my legs.

By the time I push through the metal door on the ground floor I’m craving another plate of nachos and an ice cold lemonade. The nachos will have to wait for another day, but there’s a lemonade kiosk straight up ahead.

I retrieve my wallet from the back pocket of my jeans as I approach the lemonade stand. There are well over thirty options to choose from on the chalkboard perched atop the countertop. When exactly did everything become so complicated?

I just want a damn lemonade.

“Can I get a large lemonade with light ice?”

“Sure thing,” the peppy teenage girl behind the counter says, light brown curls with pink highlights bouncing as she twists to grab a cup. “What flavor would you like?”

I raise a brow. “Lemon-flavored, please.”

“Old school, huh?” She slices a sharp knife through a lemon, cutting it in half before squeezing the juice out into a tall paper cup. “It’s been a while since someone’s ordered a plain, old lemonade.”

“Yeah,” I groan under my breath. “I must be old-fashioned, or just plain old.”

“Nah.” She passes me a flirtatious smile, but hey, I’m not about to go to jail over some too-young tease, so I simply frown. “I’d peg you as no more than twenty-five.”

“Well, I’m about twice that.”

“You’re fifty?” She grimaces as she drops a handful of ice into the cup and then places a lid on top before she begins shaking it furiously. “I never would have guessed.”

“Not quite,” I smirk. “Subtract about another twelve years.”

“You’re old enough to be my dad.” She pushes the cup towards me. “But I still think you’re kind of cute.”

I clear my throat. “Well, thanks for that.” I reach for a straw and thrust it into the plastic lid.

She leans across the counter and chews into her lip. “I’m older than I look.”

“Really?” I scratch nervously at the back of my head before flipping open my wallet to grab a twenty. “You look like you’re sixteen.”

“No.” She chuckles, continues to bite into her lip like she’s some young seductress who doesn’t know when to stop. “I’m twenty-two.”

“I’d ask to see proof if I were interested.”

She levels her elbows against the counter and narrows her eyes at me. My eyes shift to her perky breasts constrained by a low-cut white apron with a lemon emoji in the center of her stomach.

“The lemonade is on the house.”

“That’s so sweet of you.” I push the money back into my wallet and take a measured step back. “You have a wonderful day.” I pivot on my feet to begin walking away.

“Can I at least get your name?” she yells from behind me. “I’d love to Facebook stalk you or something.”

Weird. Thankfully my online presence is extremely limited. As in it’s non-existent. I cock my head over my shoulder and pass her a crooked wink. “Chase Carter.”

“That doesn’t sound like a real name.”

“It’s up to you if you want to believe me.” I mouth my lips over the straw and take a long gulp before waving goodbye.

# # #

Amazing. Delicious. Sweet, yet perfectly sour. The absolute best. Those are just a few of the adjectives I’d use to describe the taste of the lemonade melting against the back of my throat. It’s as if the lemonade itself was cut, stirred, and shaken at a small town carnival.

It’s just about the only thing I miss about the place I grew up.

Small towns were never quite my thing. I joined the military to see the world, that and to blow some shit up. Once I retired from the service, I never looked back at the small town that turned me into the man I am today.

Here in the city, everything I could ever desire is within a short drive from my home. It’s the best of all worlds, especially on days like today when I come across an inconspicuous lemonade stand.

I slurp through the straw and finish off the rest of the lemonade in one long purge. On my way out the sliding glass doors, I toss the paper cup into a trash can and let out a lowly burp.

I make a left to head towards the far left wall of the parking garage to where I’m ninety-four percent positive I parked my car when I arrived. What is it about parking garages that always make people forget just where they parked? Even for someone like me, who is known for their almost photographic memory, I often find myself lost in the labyrinths that are parking garages.

A car screeches past me blaring some borderline offensive rap music, the bass of which pulses through my brain. I take a hard right into the aisle ahead, remembering that perhaps I didn’t park where I initially thought. I dig my keys from my pocket and move to press the panic alarm when something catches my attention.

A tall, thin woman with dark hair being dragged backwards by a man wearing all black, and another woman being pulled in the other direction by a man also dressed in some gothic-colored clothing.

I don’t think about what I’m about to do. I never think. That’s the problem. As smart as I am, as calculating as I can be, too often I just jump into action without second thought for my own well-being or safety.

Kicking ass and taking names has been my life’s motto since I was merely a toddler on the daycare playground. Looking back, I suppose it was always destined that I’d become a soldier. What I did afterwards, after two tours overseas, was do what I’d always done.

Save people.

See, I had the intention of disappearing back into the life of a normal civilian, but I suppose that was never really in the cards. Not for someone like me. And when someone like me meets men like these, well…

These men? They’re about to have a really bad day. A much worse day than I’m about to have.

I jet between two parked cars and hop a caged metal railing, landing hard against the concrete just in between the two alleged kidnappers and their victims.

The first man, the one holding his hand muffled over one of the women’s mouth pushes his victim to the ground and races forward.

Poor guy.

He throws a fist in my direction, but I manage to dodge the blow, countering with an elbow to the back of his neck. He drops to the ground, twists on his back and jumps back to his feet.

With one kick of my leg outwards, he’s landing back against the hard surface, his bones cracking beneath him. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the woman recovering to her feet.

“Get out of here,” I scream to her and she seems to do as told, shuffling backwards and then cutting sharply around the corner and out of sight. I twist back to the other man, still holding his victim tight around the waist.

He digs into his pocket, to grab a gun? To grab a knife? A pacifier perhaps? I don’t give him enough time to show me what he’s about to do.

I rush forward, my palm clenched in a fist. My eyes tangle with the woman’s, a stormy emerald green. With nothing more than our eyes, I manage to tell her all she needs to know, which is to duck out of the way.

And that she does.

She juts her head sideways, giving me the perfect opportunity to punch the man squarely in the nose. He stumbles backwards, his grip on the woman freeing enough so that she’s able to race forward to take shelter behind me.

“You’re about to have a bad day,” I warn the man, but before I know it his hands are gripped tight around my throat.

He pushes me backwards, hard against the cement support columns. My head cracks against the hardness and just this once, I’m regretting letting my mouth distract me from the task at hand.

I thrust my arms upwards against the bottom of his arms. It’s just enough to force him to release his grip on me. He’s a damn amateur and he’s lucky that he’s going to be spending time behind prison bars because the hospital bills I’m about to mail to him are going to astronomical.

I knee him in the stomach, forcing him to hunch over slightly. His body fumbling forward gives me the perfect opportunity to deliver another blow, this time to his chin.

I wince when I hear the bones in his face cracking, but it’s not that I feel bad. After all, he’s a worthless piece of tar who deserves everything that’s coming his way.

Tires screech in the near distance from the lane just over.

“Where’s my sister?” the woman questions from behind me, her tone leveled with panic and worry.

“Your sister?” I cock a brow as I twist to face her, not believing I hadn’t noticed the similarities before. They’re both tall brunettes with dark emerald eyes, beautifully cut facial features, and slim bodies.

So not the point.

My eyes race sideways trying to spot her sister.

“Shit,” I mumble under my breath.

“What?”

But before I can respond, I’m leaping back into action, jumping over the same fence from before and cutting back across the aisles. Tires screech again as a dark black SUV with tinted windows careens into the aisle ahead, almost running over the woman’s sister in the process.

I race forward, my heart pounding against my chest. Each breath I take is more ragged than the next, because I know what’s about to happen and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

Instinctively, I reach for my gun but it’s not there.

Of course it isn’t. I foolishly believed I could ever get a day off from my work and left it in the glove department of my car.

The back door of the SUV juts open and before I can do anything about it, the sister is ripped into the backseat. She lets out a blood-curdling scream as the door is pulled shut.

The other woman races from behind me and jumps out into the middle of the parking garage, waving her hands in the air.

“Move,” I scream, but she doesn’t comply.

“Stop!” She throws both hands outwards, pleading with these men to let her sister go. She should know better. I assume she does know better, but she’s too distressed to understand those men are about to run her over.

I rush towards her, throwing the weight of my body against her. I make sure to hold her tight against my chest as I twist in mid-air so that it’s my back breaking our fall.

The SUV races past us, the hot fumes of the exhaust a harrowing reminder that the both of us were a mere second away from hospitalization, or even death.

She struggles against me, but I continue to hold her tight. There’s no point in giving chase. On foot? They’ve already outran us. In the time it would take to get into my car, they’d be long gone.

She jabs my chest with a sharp blow of her elbow against me and manages to slip away from me as she climbs to her feet. She screams as she charges down the narrow aisle, “Taylor!”

I climb to my own feet with a painful groan, my back letting out a splitting crack, and give chase to her, coming to a rest behind her a moment later.

She hunches over, her chest and back heaving. And in the moment, I want nothing more than to protect her, but this is a job best left for the authorities.

You know, the people with actual badges.