Page 6 of Until Ace

I don't understand it, but it's the most fascinating thing I’ve ever seen in my life.

She nods at something said on the other end of the line and then slowly closes her eyes.

Just as suddenly, her head jerks upward, her hand shoots out, and she grips the sink in front of her so tightly her knuckles turn white as her whole frame goes rigid. I watch all of this in weird captivation, because everything I see her body doing, mine is mimicking. I have to fight the urge to go to her, grab her, and run.

From what, I have no idea.

I just know something is seriously wrong in her life, and I have this overwhelming need to protect her.

What the fuck?

I’ve never felt like this.

Sure, I always have a need to protect. It’s embedded in me. It’s part of what I do. It’s been like this my whole life. I’m not delusional—I know it comes from the experiences of my early childhood, but instead of fighting it, I embraced it. That’s why I became a cop.

But this? This level of need?

This has never happened.

“I’ll see what I can do,” she murmurs, closing her eyes in defeat one more time before she straightens, takes a deep breath, and then releases it. It’s fascinating to watch as she steels herself against whatever is going on. Putting her phone in her back pocket, she turns and spots me standing almost beside her.

When did I get so close to her?

Her hazel eyes widen, and her pink lips part. I watch as her tongue peeks out, touching the corner of her mouth. I don’t think she’s even aware of it.

“Wh-Who are you?” Her breathy question jolts me.

“Sorry.” I clear my throat and take a step away. After what I just witnessed and how defeated she looked, I don’t want to come off as a threat. “I’m Ace. Beverly’s my aunt.”

I offer my hand to her, hoping she’ll take the invitation and shake it. I need to feel her skin against mine.

Gone is all the anger and frustration of the day. The only thing that remains is this hollow feeling in my gut that threatens to swallow me if I don’t feel her against me.

What is going on? Only seconds ago, I learned her name, which means I know dick about her, but the only thing I need in this world is to know how her skin will feel along my own.

Her eyes dart from my outstretched hand to my eyes and back. Indecision is written all over her face.

“I’m Mandy,” she finally mutters and looks down, ignoring my hand. After a few tense moments, she shifts her weight from foot to foot. “Umm... well, it was nice to meet you.”

“Wait!” I grab her elbow out of reflex as she passes by me on her way out, and she stops in her tracks. I watch as something washes over her, something I can’t put my finger on, but it’s something that twists my gut just by watching it. It has me wanting to go out and find whoever put this horrible thing living inside her to tear them limb from limb.

I don’t have the time to figure out what that something is. In the next blink, the thing seems to leave her and a new one comes in on its heels.

Her eyes stay glued to my hand gripping her for a few beats, and then they slowly rise to meet mine.

The moment they do, an explosion resonates inside me and sways me on my feet. The only anchor that’s keeping me here is my skin touching hers. Her eyes widen as I wobble, her lips part, and her cheeks turn a deep-red. In response, my gut clenches tighter.

“Please, let go of me,” she states slowly, not looking away.

“I can’t,” I rumble, and I mean it in every way possible.

“That doesn’t matter,” she continues in a melodic whisper, a siren's call to every cell in my body. She tilts her head, and sadness leaks from her voice. “Soon, you won’t have a choice.”

I don’t get a chance to ask her what she means by that. I don’t get a chance to even blink before her phone beeps and she tears out of my grip, leaving me standing in the kitchen.

“Fucking hell,” I groan, because I just realized—I won’t be letting her go. Ever.

From the moment I took that step into the kitchen, she became mine. Fuck, she was mine since Beverly first said her name to me.