The Deputy and His Enforcer (Kincaid Pack #3) - Kiki Clark Page 0,79

call you tomorrow.”

Anger flared to life in his belly, pushing away the lingering shock that had been slowing him down. “Don’t do that. Don’t just shut me out because I misunderstood.” A trickle of fear spread through his veins with each pump of his heart, twisting his gut and speeding up his pulse. This was exactly what he’d been afraid of, why he’d tried to pull away that morning. But he’d pushed his fears aside for Marcus. “Let’s get out of here and talk about it, okay?”

He was distinctly aware that there were probably at least a dozen people able to listen in on their conversation at that very moment, and it was making him edgy and reluctant to speak openly.

When Marcus pulled open his office door, Robson realized their audience was even closer than he’d thought.

A large white man stood just on the other side of the door, his dark eyes pinned on Marcus and thin lips lifted in a sneer. “This human is your new mate? Jesus, Marcus, really scraping the bottom of the barrel, huh?”

“Excuse me?” Robson barked, stepping up next to Marcus so he could intervene if necessary. “Who the fuck are you?”

The guy didn’t even look at Robson, just flicked his tongue over his lower lip and let his eyes dip down to run over Marcus’s body, his ruddy cheeks getting darker. “Maybe if you hadn’t acted like such an uptight bitch all the time you could have found a real mate. Hell, all you had to do was ask and I’d have fucked you so good, you never would have—”

Robson knew better—seriously, he did—but he still let his anger get the best of him. Fury ripped through him so hot and fast he was moving before the thought really crystalized in his brain that he needed to shut this guy the fuck up. He heard Marcus yell his name as Robson jumped forward, but it sounded far away thanks to the ringing in his ears.

He knew how to fight—barefisted and with weapons—but he’d never had to fight someone who wasn’t just stronger than him but faster as well. Like, really fucking fast.

The guy got several hits in that rang Robson’s bell, but each one taught him something about his opponent, and one thing became abundantly clear very quickly: the guy couldn’t fight for shit. He depended on his brute strength and shifter speed to win, but he had no tactical skills.

A part of Robson’s brain was worried about what that meant for his own mate and his packmates and their ability to win a fight, but mostly he focused on how the guy’s shoulders and eyes gave away what he was going to do before he did it. Picking his moment, Robson blocked the next punch the man threw but followed the motion through until he had the guy’s extended arm caught under his own. Instead of trying to throw his own punch or stepping away, he moved into the man’s space, striking the guy’s wide nose with his forehead.

Primal satisfaction filled him at the cry of pain the man tried to bite back, his free hand automatically going to his bleeding nose. Pressing his advantage, it took less than five seconds for Robson to strike the side of the man’s knee with his booted foot and follow him to the ground, using the grip he had on his arm to twist it back into a chicken wing hold.

Within sixty seconds of the fight starting, it was over with Robson pressing his weight into his hold to cause maximum pain and prevent the asshole from even thinking about trying to get the fuck up.

Leaning down, Robson growled in his ear, “You ever talk to my mate like that again, and you and I are going to have problems. Understand?”

The guy tried to whimper something about his alpha or maybe Robson’s alpha—it was hard to tell with all the sniffling. Raising his head slightly, Robson eyed the regal-looking Native American woman at the end of the hall glaring daggers at the guy under Robson.

Chuckling, he released his hold and quickly moved back, prepared to have to take the guy down again if he tried anything. But the man just lay there like he was too humiliated to even raise his head.

Robson glanced around, wiping at the trickle of blood beneath his bottom lip, and saw Nico and Bennett behind him, both with raised eyebrows. B’s mate, Kieran, was just behind them, mouth hanging half-open. Worried