The Therapist (Chase Walker Book 5)

by J. A. Belfield

  Sending a hundred, silent fuck’s up into the stratosphere, he attempted to school his features into something that didn’t portray his panic as he sent Jones a small nod.

  Bumping into Abi outside of the office when alone was one thing.

  Bumping into her when with Ade and Jones was something else entirely.

  “This is Abi,” he just about managed, before nodding from her to the two of them. “Ade and Jones.”

  “Abi should join us.” The statement came from Jones—of course it fucking did.

  “Oh—” Abi’s lips stayed open, her gaze slicing toward Chase like she sought out his help.

  “I’m pretty sure Abi has friends of her own here she’d rather be with,” Chase said.

  Turning his smile on Abi, Jones asked, “Do you have friends you’re here with?”

  Her lips worked open and closed before she gave a gentle shake of her head.

  “See?” Sliding out from his seat, Jones smacked a hand against Chase’s shoulder, sending more Guinness to speckle his arms, but he never once took his sights off Abi. “You can sit next to me.”

  She seemed almost unsure of what to do for a moment, but after a visible swallow, she slipped past Jones and sank her cute butt onto the bench.

  Chase seemed only able to stare at her, sitting there, among his friends—his friends from his very private life that he kept very separate to work. For good reason. He scarcely registered Jones taking the drinks from his hands and planting them on the table, not until a rough nudge to his shoulder sent him back toward the bar.

  “Get your friend a drink, Walker. Where’re your manners?”

  Turning away as if on auto, he headed back for the bar, despite his body screaming for him to stay. To be close to Abi. If only to provide some kind of protective barrier between her and Jones. Because Chase didn’t even want to think about what he might say to her in his absence.

  His push through to the bar seemed to take twice as long the second time. As did grabbing the tender’s attention. And being handed Abi’s drink.

  By the time he broke free and stood staring back at the table, Jones had boxed Abi in and all but loomed over her small frame, Ade grinned at her across the table as if deciding which part of her to start with first … and Chase wanted to surge over there and beat the ever loving shit out of the pair of them.

  Forcing himself to not do exactly that, he took himself to his empty seat, plonked himself down, and slid a glass of wine across the table toward Abi. “You drink white?”

  “Sometimes,” she said, her fingers rolling around the stem and drawing it closer. “Thank you, Mr Walker.”

  Chase sensed Jones’s gaze shooting across toward him, but he didn’t dare meet it. He didn’t want to see the scrutiny he knew he’d find there. And watching Abi, as she quietly watched him, seemed a much more preferable option, anyway.

  “So, Abi …” Hell, Jones’s tone sounded full of a suspicion Chase didn’t want to hear. “How do you know our Mr Walker here?”

  Chase swallowed. So loud, he had to wonder if the others at the table had heard. The only one paying him attention, though, was Abi, her eyes full of questions and panic, as if she somehow knew she shouldn’t give Jones the truth. Staring right back at her, Chase willed her to lie—to tell him anything but the truth. Fuck knew, he’d never survive the verbal beating if Jones was fed that.

  “At work,” Abi said after a small pause.

  “Your work, or his work?”

  Chase held his breath.

  “My work.”

  Trying not to let the air out on a rush, Chase exhaled.

  “Yeah?” Jones asked.

  Abi’s gaze finally broke from Chase’s as she lifted her face toward Jones and gave a small nod.

  “And what is your work, Abi?”

  Why the hell did the conversation suddenly sound like a fucking interrogation? “Leave her be, Jones,” Chase said before he could stop himself, and Jones turned a dark smile his way.

  “I’m just talking to her, Mr Walker …. And what is your work, Abi?”

  Chase really wished he’d quit with the Abi and Mr Walker shit.

  “I work in a bakery.” Abi seemed to relax with that answer, as though relieved at being able to answer straight.

  “Baking buns?” Jones said, his smile twisting into something sinister.

  “And cakes,” she said, her fingers toying with the stem of her glass.

  “And is Mr Walker a customer?”

  Chase gave an exaggerated sigh, mostly to let Jones know he was being a dick, but Jones didn’t even stir in the way he studied Abi. Beside him, Ade sat with his arms resting on the table, watching the word parry opposite with the same interest Chase had seen him watch porn as a teen.

  “Yes,” she said, back to lying.

  Jones’s eyes twitched in the corners, the skin tightening almost slight enough to be missed. “Why Mr Walker, then—why call him that?”

  “We address all our customers that way.”

  Chase wanted to applaud the smoothness of her answer. Almost as if she’d slipped into the role and suddenly had it all figured out.

  “That so?” Jones spared Chase barely more than a glance before narrowing his eyes back on the girl. “So, why does he get to call you Abi? More to the point, how does he know to call you Abi?”

  She stared up at him for a moment, her efforts to school her features visible in the way she clenched her jaw and held herself rigid. “Because … my name is on my nametag.” She tapped her chest as if to highlight where she normally wore it, but all she did was draw three lots of attention straight down to her fluttering tits.

  That time, Chase’s swallow was definitely audible as he fisted his hands beneath the table and fought the urge to punch his two mates for having the audacity to so much as dare looking. Reacting wouldn’t make it better. It wouldn’t make any of it better.

  It would only make everything worse.

  Jones was the first to lift his gaze, sending a new smile Chase’s way, his eyes practically drooping beneath the weight of the suspicion they held, before he glanced back to Abi. “So, tell me, Abi, what does Mr Walker usually order from your bakery? What’s his absolute favourite thing to devour?”

  A smile slipped free from Abi, and she dipped her face, as if to try hiding it. “A French fancy,” Abi said, her eyes lifting toward Chase for a moment. “But I have a feeling he has a secret craving for a plain old custard doughnut.”

  Beside him, Ade chuckled, and Chase tipped his head to the side as he studied her. He could’ve sworn her words held a deeper meaning than appeared on the surface. In fact, he could’ve sworn Abi O’Shay was fucking flirting with him.

  “You know what I like?” Jones said, breaking the moment enough for Abi’s attention to sway toward the bastard. “A good turnover.” He dipped his face closer to Abi’s, his smile dipping into predatory territory. “With lots and lots of delicious cream.”

  Before he could stop himself, Chase shot a foot out beneath the table and booted Jones in the shin. He glared at his friend as soon as Jones turned his way, but the bastard only grinned at him like he’d been heading toward that exact result all along. “Quit being a dick, Jones.”

  Jones merely laughed—Ade, too, the betraying fucker. “Lighten up, Mr Walker. I was just messing. Abi, here, knows that, don’t you, Abi?” He twisted back toward her, and she dipped her face again, that small smile of hers putting in a reappearance.

  As soon as he saw it, Chase hated that it was there. Hated that it was there for anyone besides himself. And he knew if he didn’t get her out of there, Jones would coax a whole heap more of those smiles from her, and Chase would end up wanting to commit murder before the night was through.

  “What’s up with you today?” Jones said, like he needed to goad him further. Not an ounce of concern laced the taunting tone he used. “Why’re you so fucking uptight, Mr Walker?”

  “Maybe I’m just tired …” … of you fucking with me. Though
he didn’t complete his thoughts, he suspected they showed within his features from the way Jones stared harder at him before he swung to face Abi again.

  “Maybe you should take yourself home, then,” Jones said.

  Chase wanted to punch him. In the head. The balls. Definitely in the cock. Because he caught the hidden meaning behind his words. Fuck off and leave us to it. Only thing with that was, he’d most likely be including Abi in his side of the plans. Not because he wanted her, but because he knew—he fucking knew—he was pushing Chase’s buttons every time he so much as looked at her. And that meant the bastard was testing him.

  As much as he wanted to jump up, grab Abi’s hand, and march her from the bar, away from the pair of them, he wouldn’t give Jones the satisfaction of seeing him lose his shit over the girl.

  Instead, he turned to Abi, feigning indifference as he asked, “You want me to call you a cab for home? I can wait with you until it comes, if you like.”

  “Are you leaving, too?” she asked.

  His eyes flicked toward Jones, but only for a brief second. “I am.”

  Her release of breath was subtle, but Chase caught it. He also caught the wash of relief over her features. “Then, that would be great. Thank you, Mr Walker.”

  “Leaving so soon.” Jones turned an expression on her that’d convinced way too many unsuspecting victims to bow to his needs. Because Jones one-hundred percent knew how to be charming when he decided he wanted to be. “But we’ve barely got to know each other.”

  Chase kicked him again, ignoring the subtle curve of his lips. “Move out of her way, Jones. Let the lady out.”

  With a feigned sigh, he pushed his arse backward until at the edge of the seat and swung his legs round. Pushing to his feet, he held a hand out toward Abi, and after a moment’s hesitation, she took it, using the assistance to slide across the bench. Except, Jones having a hold on her meant she had to shimmy way too close to his solid mass to squeeze past. Which took her chest flush with his abs, and her face almost pressed against his chest, and had Chase shooting eye daggers at Jones to back the fuck off.

  Jones held Chase’s glare for only a beat before peering down at Abi with the sweetest of sweet fucking smiles planted in place. “It was very nice to meet you, Abi.” Chase almost heaved a sigh of relief, until Jones added, “It would be very nice to meet you again.”

  “Over my dead body,” Chase muttered, and before Abi could respond, he narrowed his eyes in warning to Jones as he took Abi’s shoulder and guided her away from the bastard.

  God, he hated the amusement lighting up her face as she turned his way. Hated the way she turned that same glowing face of hers toward Ade, too.

  “It was nice meeting you, Ade.”

  He mocked a salute her way, his smile filled with enough wattage to light up the entire bloody street. “It was definitely nice meeting you.”

  A laugh spilled from her, stalling Chase for a heartbeat. Half of him wanted to stay right there and see if she’d laugh some more. The other, less rational half took Abi’s arm and led her away. Away from the fuckers who’d brought that laughter forth. Toward where they’d be nowhere in sight.

  On a mission to reach the door, he darted around people stripped down to shirts from the gathering heat in the lounge, tugging out his phone as he went. A couple of taps and swipes had him connected to a local taxi firm, and by the time he pushed the two of them outside and into the cooled evening, he’d got a car booked.

  “Two minutes,” he told Abi, as he brought her to a stop near the pub’s perimeter.

  The railings had been in place since forever. On one side, a small road separated them from where the Thames currented its way along, while on the other, what had traditionally been set up as an outdoor dining area had devolved into the role of smokers’ gallery.

  “You cold?” he asked her.

  Despite her arms practically hugging her own shoulders, she shook her head, but Chase stripped off the sweater he wore over his shirt, anyway, and handed it to her.

  “You look like you need it more than I do.”

  Outside in the increasing darkness, with just the two of them there, the girl from inside seemed to be shrinking away, and in its place, Abi’s shyness he’d grown used to seeing began slipping back into position.

  “Listen, I—”

  “Your friends seem nice,” she said before he could finish, and his laugh broke free.

  Watching her wriggle into the knitted sweater, I couldn’t help but smile. “They were being dicks tonight.” He worked hard to contain his smile from growing as she tugged the sweater down to almost the tips of her shorts. “I’m sorry about them.”

  “You don’t have to be.” She held her arms to the sides, did a slight tilt of her hips. “Thanks for the sweater.”

  For a moment, his brain went there. Imaging Abi O’Shay in nothing but his damned sweater. All cosy and warm, and naked beneath.

  He swallowed hard, leaning his forearms against the railings, if only to take her from his sights long enough to tame his mind. Even so, he admitted, “It looks better on you than it does me, anyway.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” she said quietly—so quietly, he doubted she intended for him to hear.

  He went to check her out, search her expression for any meaning to the words, but the blast of a horn from the small drop-off area had them both jumping up like they’d been electrified.

  “That’ll be your ride,” he said, stating the obvious.

  She smiled, but the gesture held a hint of sadness. “Then, I guess this is goodbye.”

  “Come on, I’ll walk you down.” Taking her arm, he led her toward the steps that descended to where the car waited.

  “We could share the taxi,” she said, “if you needed to get home, too.”

  More words his stupid head wanted to overanalyse, but he’d be damned if he let it go there. “I prefer to walk. I’ll be okay.”

  With a small nod, she waited as he leaned in and opened a rear door on the car, then ducked into the seat, the interior light of the taxi lightening her eyes even further when she peered up at him. “Thank you, Mr Walker.”

  “You’re welcome, Abi.”

  After closing her in, he headed around to the other side of the car and tapped on the driver’s window. As it slid down, he extracted a twenty from his wallet and handed it over. “Take her wherever she tells you to.”

  Nodding, the driver slid the note into a bag he wore around his waist and worked the gears into first, and Chase sent Abi a small smile as she waved, before the taxi rounded the corner and disappeared from view.

  “You fucking idiot.”

  The voice came from his left and had Chase’s shoulders stiffening. He turned to see Jones staring down at him from the other side of the railings.

  “The girl’s a client.” His eyes narrowed into the irritation they showed. “Isn’t she?”

  Chase sighed. Mostly because he didn’t want to hear it—the exact reason he hadn’t told Jones about Abi to start with. Because there was nothing to tell.

  At least, that was what he kept telling himself, anyway.

  “Not now, Jones, yeah?”

  “Yes, now!” Jones pointed at him and strode to the steps, jogging down them until he stood only a few feet short of Chase. “It’s her, isn’t it?”

  “What’s her?” Chase almost snapped the words. Offense for defence, and all that crap.

  “She’s the one who has you all fucking tied up in knots.” He pointed at him again. “I fucking told you there was someone. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

  “You’re talking shit.” That time, Chase did snap. “No, she’s not the fucking one. There is no one. Why the hell’re you trying to figure me out, anyway?”

  “Fine! Lie your arse through it all, but at least have the decency to be honest about her being a client. She is, isn’t she?”

  Chase’s lips poised ready to lie, but Jones did his whole brain penetration act with those fuc
king eyes of his, and the denial died before it’d even formed. Averting his gaze for fear of what he’d see in Jones’s, he nodded.

  “Shit! Fucking, fuck, shit, shit!” The curses came out low, but Jones’s tone still held all the intent of someone unsure of what the fuck to do. A long few seconds passed before Jones spoke again. “If I tell you something, will you listen to me?”

  Chase glanced back to him, hating the worry he saw in his face—worry he’d put there. “I always do.”

  “Okay, will you hear me?”

  His jaw clenched like he already knew he wouldn’t like what Jones had to say. “I’ll try,” he said.

  “Your client, Abi … she might come across as all sweet. And she might come across as all innocent—”

  “She is innocent,” Chase cut in.

  Jones nodded, but more as if in placation than agreement. “Maybe,” he said quietly. “But know this—despite that air of innocence and naivety, the girl is real fucking dangerous, Walker. She dangerous to you. She’s dangerous to what you’ve built for yourself. And dangerous ain’t a place you need to be. Are you hearing me?”

  Chase gave a tiny jerk of his chin—it was all he could manage.

  “You damned well better have been,” he muttered, and turned back for the steps.

  Leaving Chase standing in the middle of the drop-off point, wondering how the hell his night had ended in such an ass-backward way. He’d only gone out for a bloody pint, for fuck’s sake.

  ***

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  ***

  OTHER TITLES

  Holloway Pack

  Beginnings

  The Wolf Within

  Blue Moon

  Caged

  Unnatural

  Cornered

  Hereditary

  Enticed

  ABOUT

  Best known for her Holloway Pack Stories, J.A. Belfield lives in Solihull, England, with her husband, two children, a cat and two dogs. She writes paranormal romance, with a second love for urban fantasy. And now she writes erotic romance, too. Because she can. ;)