The Wingman (Alpha Men 1)

She wasn’t about to stop and sped up, but her tires spun on the gravel, unable to find the required traction, and the car fishtailed dangerously.

Oh my God, this can’t be happening!

Mason cursed when the annoying frickin’ ringtone that Spencer had programmed onto his phone jerked him from his work on the Ducati Diavel Walkaround that he’d been endlessly tinkering with for weeks.

He grabbed the phone with one greasy hand—it read “unknown caller,” which annoyed him even more—and uncaring of the smears he left on the screen, put it on speaker.

“Carlisle,” he grunted, grabbing a cloth.

“Mr. Carlisle?” The voice was female, hesitant, and familiar.

“Yeah, it’s Mason Carlisle.” He reached for a rag and wiped his hands.

“It’s Thandiwe Modise.”

“Thandiwe? What’s wrong? Are you okay?” he asked, immediately on alert.

“I’m fine, but you told me to let you know if I heard of anything that could be threatening to the clinic or Dr. Daisy. I’m worried; she came to the township this evening—”

“She what? Alone?” Mason could feel his blood start to boil. What was wrong with the foolish woman? How could she go out there on her own after hours on a Monday evening?

“She brought medicine for a boy’s sick dog. I heard that there might be some trouble. We’re worried. Some of the tsotsis”—thugs—“were seen following her.”

“Is she still there?” Mason felt a chill settle over him as his heart thudded sluggishly in his chest.

“I’m not sure.”

“If she is, keep her there, don’t let her leave. I’m on my way.” He hung up before she had a chance to respond and grabbed his jacket. She’d better be okay. Better be safe and well and whole so that he could shake some sense into her before wringing her little neck.

He took the Jeep and broke the speed limit to get to the dirt road that led to the township. He was halfway down that road when he saw the commotion up ahead. A large crowd of people, cars and lights everywhere. A panicked sound broke free from his tight throat, and he stopped the Jeep and nearly fell out of it in his haste to get to the scene. There was shouting, a lot of angry shouting, and he shoved his way through the crowd, desperate to find Daisy. Where was she?

“Daisy!” He couldn’t contain himself anymore and shouted for her, and the crowd quieted, finally spotting him. “Where’s Dr. Daisy?” he asked, sensing no threat from them.

“Mason?” He nearly went to his knees at the sound of her voice and turned on wobbly legs to find the crowd parting to let her through, Thandiwe supporting her. His eyes drank in the sight of her; her clothes were a mess, her face was tear streaked, and was that a fucking bruise forming on her jaw? He tensed, feeling a murderous rage settling over him like a cloak. He was going to end the motherfuckers who had hurt her.

“Oh God, are you bleeding?” he asked—spotting the bright splash of red on her dress. Her eyes dropped to her side, and her hand automatically clamped over the spot.

“Just a little,” she admitted, her voice sounding shockingly weak. He made a harsh sound in the back of his throat and made his way to her, wrapping a gentle arm around her waist. She leaned against him, trembling violently, telling him that she was hurt, shocked, and terrified without saying a word.

“Who did this?” he asked, his voice lethal, and an old, familiar-looking man stepped forward.

“We caught the tsotsis and we called the police. We warned them many times to stay away from the doctor and clinic, but they think we’re just old men or women. They think we’re weak. They don’t care about our words, but we showed them.” There were murmurs of agreement in the crowd.

“Mr. Mahlangu and everybody else saved me,” Daisy whispered. “They came out and risked their lives for me.”

“Who did this? Where are they?” Mason asked single-mindedly.

“Dr. Daisy is hurt, and you should take her to the hospital,” Thandiwe advised calmly. “The police and ambulance are on their way, but you’ll probably get her there faster.”

It was all the distraction Mason needed, especially when Daisy sagged against him even more, and all thought of retribution fled as her well-being became his number one priority. He lifted her into his arms and carried her to the Jeep.

“I’m too heavy,” she protested.

“You’re in enough shit as it is,” he warned frigidly. “Don’t add to it by talking crap.”

Daisy snuggled closer; she was cold, hurt, and in shock and so relieved to be in his arms again. She could tell that he was livid, but she had never felt safer.

She shuddered as she recalled those terrifying moments after she had left the township. Her car had spun out of control, and before she’d known it, she was off the road and being dragged out by vicious hands. They had ransacked the car and taken money, torn her jewelry from her, and when she had fought back, one of them had hit her. Another had pulled a knife out and cut her . . . She sobbed at the thought. They would have done more, so much worse, but the taxies and old, broken-down cars had shown up, and the shouting had started. So many wonderful and brave people had come to her aid. Thandiwe had pulled her aside, while the crowd had proven that when good outnumbered evil there was no way evil could prevail. Before she knew it, the young men—boys, really—had been tied up and shoved to the side of the road. And then, mere minutes later, Mason had shown up. She had never been happier to see him.