The Mercenary Next Door (Rogues and Rescuers #2) - Lucy Leroux Page 0,50

Mason could have found out where she was living. Working for Auric had taught him a thing or two about researching an op. In their business, they lived and died according to the quality of their intel. Finding her new address would have been a snap.

But he didn’t do it. Mason wasn’t a stalker. Coming by her workplace wasn’t the same—it was a business, open to the public. He was merely concerned about her. Once he was satisfied she was all right, he would leave.

If he happened to miss her and someone else was working the counter, he would duck into the store and buy her pastries from her replacement at the counter. He knew which ones were her specialties. It was like getting a little taste of her, one she never needed to know about.

Mason closed his eyes, ignoring the elephant currently parked on the hood of his car. When he opened them, Laila was leaving the store. Her head was down as she searched for something in her purse.

It was the kind of thing he warned his cousins not to do. Anybody could run up to them while they were distracted. But Laila was just steps away from her store. She was safe enough there, he supposed.

She stood there long enough to push him to act.

Mason opened the car door. This time, he wasn’t just going to watch her walk away. He was going to talk to her, find out how she was doing. He would just be catching up with a friend. No harm in that.

Laila had just turned the corner when a low-slung Porsche pulled up right next to her. Dubey stepped out.

He witnessed the second Laila recognized her boyfriend. It wasn’t what he was expecting—Laila flinched. Her feet shuffled back as if she were thinking of bolting.

Mason froze, wondering what the hell was going on.

Dubey walked right up to her, putting his hands on her shoulders, putting his face down to hers. His back was to him, so Mason couldn’t tell what he was saying, but he didn’t like the expression on Laila’s face.

Her lips moved. Dubey threw up one of his hands, but he kept one on her. Mason could tell he held her tight because when Laila jerked away, her shirt was pulled tight.

Then Dubey did something that had Mason’s vision red-tinged with fury.

Dubey pushed Laila. Her head struck the wall behind her hard enough for it to snap forward again. Then the asshole grabbed her by the shoulder and strong-armed her into the car. The Porsche peeled out of the parking lot.

Rigid with rage, Mason clutched the top of his car door. He hadn’t moved a muscle during the entire exchange.

Dubey was lucky Mason was at the other end of the parking lot. Otherwise, the abusive fucker would be dead right now.

Chapter Twenty-One

Mason pounded on the dormitory door. He gritted his teeth, holding onto his patience with effort as Rosamie took her sweet time opening the door.

“What the fuck, dude?” the tiny Filipina snapped, her big eyes starring daggers at him.

“Where the hell does Joseph Dubey live?” he said, managing not to snarl at her—but only just.

Rosamie crossed her arms and scowled, a mountain of attitude in a pint-sized package. “Who the hell wants to know?”

He clenched his fists. “I’m Mason Lang.”

Her brow puckered. “Why do I know that name?”

Mason took a long, rage-calming breath. “I used to live across the hall from Laila, remember?”

The confusion cleared, but her expression turned mulish. “And what do you want, blast from the past?”

“I already said I need to know where the hell Laila is. She lives with Dubey. Or at least that’s what her coworkers at the store said. But her last address of record is here with you. She never bothered to change it because they cut her checks right at the store and hand them to her. So, where does that asshole live? His off-campus place—not the frat.”

Rosamie narrowed her eyes, impressively standing her ground with her five-feet nothing facing off against his muscled six-foot-three frame. “Yeah, I don’t think so, asshat. You had your shot with Laila, and you pissed it away with some wannabe lingerie model.”

He raised a finger, pointing it at her face. “That is not what happened, but that doesn’t fucking matter—”

“The hell it doesn’t,” she broke in.

“Stop.” It had to be the obvious desperation in his voice that finally made her shut up.

“What I’m trying to tell you is that I just saw that fucker Joseph Dubey