Chapter 143 Dangerous Pursuit
Charlotte：POV
A week had passed since I'd hired Michael as my bodyguard, and surprisingly, living with him hadn't been as awkward as I'd expected.
He maintained a respectful distance, performed security checks thoroughly, and kept our interactions professional—but with occasional smiles and the odd joke that made the atmosphere less formal.
My phone buzzed with a text from Olivia: [Found something interesting about your family situation. Coffee at Brewed Awakening in an hour?]
I texted back: [I'll be there. Bringing security.]
Michael appeared in the doorway of my office, already dressed in a tailored black suit that somehow made him look even more imposing. "Ready when you are, Ms. Caldwell."
"Charlotte," I corrected for what felt like the hundredth time. "And yes, we're meeting a friend for coffee."
He nodded, his expression revealing nothing. "I'll bring the car around."
As we stepped out of my apartment building toward the underground garage entrance, Michael's posture suddenly changed—shoulders tensing, eyes narrowing as he scanned the street.
"What is it?" I asked, instantly on alert.
"Black SUV, tinted windows. It's been parked across the street since we came down." His voice was low, controlled. "Get behind me."
Before I could respond, the SUV's engine roared to life. Tires screeched against asphalt as it lurched forward, heading straight for us.
"Move!" Michael shouted, shoving me toward the building entrance.
We barely made it back inside as the SUV mounted the curb, stopping inches from where we'd been standing. Two men in ski masks jumped out, one clutching what looked like a baseball bat.
"Shit," I muttered, heart hammering against my ribs.
"Service exit," Michael commanded, grabbing my hand and pulling me through the lobby toward the back of the building.
We burst through the door into an alley, sprinting toward the underground garage's secondary entrance. Michael snatched the keys from my hand.
"I'm driving," he stated, unlocking the doors with a click.
I didn't argue, sliding into the passenger seat as he started the engine. The tires squealed as we peeled out of the parking space, just as the masked men rounded the corner into the alley.
"They're persistent," I said, glancing in the side mirror.
"Professionals wouldn't have shown their hand so early," Michael replied, his eyes flicking between the road ahead and the rearview mirror. "These guys are amateurs."
We merged into traffic, weaving between cars with precision that suggested Michael had done this before. For a few minutes, I thought we'd lost them.
But the SUV suddenly slammed into our rear bumper, jerking us forward. My seatbelt locked painfully across my chest.
"Hold on," Michael said calmly, as if we weren't being rammed by masked assailants.
He executed a sharp turn down a narrow side street, tires screeching. The SUV followed, scraping against parked cars as it struggled to make the tight corner.
"Those men," I gasped, gripping the dashboard. "Could you take them down if we stopped? There were only two."
Michael's eyes met mine briefly. "Those guys? Easily. But we don't know if they have backup." He paused, making another turn. "How's your driving?"
The question caught me off guard. "Pretty good, actually. Why?"
"If we get cornered, I might need you to drive while I handle them." His eyes were serious. "Would you be comfortable with that?"
I considered this for a moment. "You mean lead them into a trap and then you beat the crap out of them?"
The corner of his mouth twitched. "Something like that."
"Hell yes," I replied, surprising myself with my eagerness. "Those assholes work for Sean, don't they?"
Michael's expression darkened. "Most likely. Or your father. Either way, they weren't just trying to scare you."
The SUV rammed us again, harder this time. The impact sent us skidding toward a row of parked cars. Michael corrected with expert precision, but I could tell our sedan wasn't built to withstand much more abuse.
"There," he said, nodding toward an upcoming alley. "Narrow entrance. Their vehicle's too wide."
He swerved sharply into the alley, concrete walls scraping against our side mirrors. Behind us, the SUV tried to follow but got wedged between the buildings, its frame groaning in protest.
"Got them," Michael said, allowing himself a small smile.
He drove deeper into the alley, which opened into a small delivery area behind a row of shops. It was a dead end.
"Wait, we're trapped," I said, panic rising.
"Exactly." Michael parked the car and unbuckled his seatbelt. "Stay here unless I tell you to drive."
I watched in the side mirror as the two men abandoned their stuck vehicle and entered the alley on foot, one still clutching the baseball bat, the other now holding what looked like a knife.
Michael stepped out of the car, positioning himself between them and me. His stance was casual, almost relaxed, but I recognized the coiled tension beneath the surface.
"Gentlemen," he called out. "I suggest you reconsider your current course of action."
"Fuck you," the taller one spat. "We just want the girl. This doesn't have to get messy."
"Actually," Michael replied, "I think it does."
What happened next was almost too fast to follow.
The man with the bat charged, swinging wildly. Michael sidestepped with fluid grace, caught the bat mid-swing, and used the man's momentum to slam him face-first into the alley wall.
The second attacker lunged with his knife, but Michael was already moving, delivering a precise kick that sent the weapon clattering across the pavement.
Disarmed, the second man threw a desperate punch. Michael blocked it effortlessly, countering with a strike to the man's throat that left him gasping for air.
The first attacker was struggling to his feet, blood streaming from his nose. Michael delivered a brutal kick to his knee, dropping him again with a howl of pain.
In less than thirty seconds, both men were on the ground, groaning. Michael hadn't even broken a sweat.
He calmly collected their weapons, then pulled zip ties from his jacket pocket and secured their hands. Only then did he motion for me to join him.
"Are you okay?" I asked, stepping carefully around the subdued attackers.
"Fine," he replied, then nodded toward my phone. "You should call the police now."
As I dialed 911, I couldn't help staring at Michael. He'd moved with such precision, such controlled violence. It was both terrifying and oddly mesmerizing.
"What?" he asked, catching my gaze.
"Nothing," I said quickly. "Just... that was impressive."
He shrugged. "Basic training."
"Basic?" I laughed nervously. "What's advanced, then? Taking down an entire army?"
His lips quirked into that almost-smile again. "Something like that."
After giving our statement to the police, we continued to the café, arriving nearly an hour late.
Olivia was still waiting, her expression shifting from irritation to concern when she saw the state of us—my disheveled hair, Michael's slightly rumpled suit.
"What happened?" she demanded as we slid into the booth across from her.
"Just a little car trouble," I replied, exchanging a glance with Michael. "Nothing we couldn't handle."