Servicing the Target (Masters of the Shadowlands #10)(41)

As the women approached the SUV, a man shouted. “Found you, you bitch. Stop right there.”

Like a terrified bird, Jane froze.

“Oh, honestly.” With a huff of irritation, Anne glanced over her shoulder. “Jane, get in the car.”

The woman didn’t move.

Her husband headed toward them with the narrow-minded focus of a fanatical insurgent.

So much for a safe pickup. The * had white dust on his ragged jeans and sweat-marked T-shirt. He probably worked in construction. About six feet and well over two hundred pounds, the man was muscular with a good-sized beer gut.

His expression was…off, and Ben figured he was high on either drugs or alcohol or both.

“Incoming, Anne,” Ben warned as she helped Jane to the side of the car. “May I take him out?”

“I’d rather do it myself.”

Fuck. Ben suppressed the need to intervene. Down, Haugen. Anne wouldn’t give up her toy easily, and he had to trust she knew what she was doing. “Figures.”

Anne gave him a grim half-smile, released Jane, squeezed the kid’s shoulder, and walked toward the store.

Ben stepped in front of Jane and the child to shield them from the sight of the abuser. “Get in the car, please, while Anne deals with” the f*cking shithead “any problems.”

After a blink, Jane focused on him and, if anything, looked even more frightened.

“I—” She actually started to retreat.

To Ben’s relief, her daughter piped up. “Get in, Mom. We need to leave.”

Good kid. Terrified, wide-eyed, dead white—and she still kept her head.

From behind Ben came the sound of the *’s raised voice, then the smack of flesh on flesh.

Anne can handle him. She can handle him. Ben unclenched his jaw and snapped his fingers for Bronx to jump from the backseat to the front.

“Stay right here, kiddo,” he said gently, making sure Paige was right beside the car.

He looked at the mother. “My name’s Ben, Ma’am. I’m helping Anne drive.” He assisted Jane into the backseat and carefully strapped her in.

One down. “Paige, get on in.”

The girl shook her head. “We might have to help Anne.” With fists clenched, she planted her feet, going nowhere.

Well, hell. Stymied, Ben set a light hand on her shoulder so he could keep track of her, then turned to watch the fight.

If Anne needed help, he intended to be right there. And if the bastard attempted to lay a hand on the kid, he’d draw back a bloody stump.

Unfortunately, Ben’s assistance wasn’t going to be required, which was a f*cking shame.

The * was trying to hit Anne and was missing every time. The woman had some seriously fine footwork. She delivered a perfectly executed snap kick to a knee.

The bastard went down hard.

Concrete meets face—face loses. Ben laughed under his breath. And tried to make his woody go away.

Still in stance, Anne waited, obviously hoping the dumbass would stand up so she could knock him down again.

Bad Domme. “Ma’am, that was good to watch, but your chariot waits.”

And the little bit had seen enough.

Anne frowned at Ben, fury still riding her shoulders, but when he glanced meaningfully down at the munchkin, she caught on immediately. “Right. Let’s get moving then.”

To Ben’s surprise, Paige still didn’t move. Her eyes held hatred as she stared at her father.

Fuck, that was just sad.

Ben cleared his throat. “Paige. Hop in now.”

Before he could help, she ran around the car, opened the rear door, and stopped.

“Paige?”

“A dog.”

Ben realized Bronx had stuck his head between the front seats, hoping someone would throw him some attention.

“You have a dog.” The wonder in her voice made the retriever whine.

Ben smiled. Someone could use comforting, and he had just the dog to do it. “Want to ride in the front with Bronx?”

If the gates of heaven had opened, the child couldn’t look more ecstatic. “Really?”

In answer, Ben pulled open the front passenger door, motioned Bronx to the floor, and stepped out of the way.

After Paige got in, Ben had to hold her back long enough to fasten the seat belt. Then she leaned forward, her arms went around the dog’s neck, and she buried her face in his fur.

“Well,” Anne said. “I think Bronx could be more popular than the firemen’s beloved teddy bears.”

Jane whispered, “Will the dog attack her? She’s so upset…”

Ben squatted down beside the mother. “Bronx has a big heart, and he loves children. They’re fine.”

To his surprise, Anne handed him the car keys and jumped into the back. “Jane, I need to know how badly you’re hurt.”

Ah. Ben slid into the driver’s seat, checked the girl, and snorted. She was half-crying and half-laughing as Bronx gave little whines and tried to lick her tears away.

With Anne’s directing from the back, Ben drove to the shelter and parked in the rear.

As he assisted Jane from the car, Anne slid out on the other side.

With an arm around Jane, she said, “Be right back.” She helped Jane to the building and rang the bell. Some women opened the door.