by CP Smith
“No cutting classes, Josh,” I ordered.
Jake shoved Josh in the shoulder. “Don’t be an idiot in general.”
“Dickweed,” Josh grumbled, rubbing his arm.
It was a good thing I loved them or I’d shoot them both just to get some peace and quiet.
My phone vibrated on the dash, and all three of us looked at it as if it were a snake. I meant it when I said no one ever called me. Josh reached out and grabbed it, frowning at the number.
“Who is it?”
“It says Chance Bear.” He turned incredulous eyes toward me. “Since when do you have that dickweed’s number?”
I nearly ran off the road at his reply. I’d gotten his number from my best friend, Jamie Webb, who’d obtained it from Chance’s ex-wife, Kenzie Cox. I wasn’t sure I’d ever use it, but a small part of me—deep down in the recesses of my heart that I refused to admit to—still hoped we could forge some type of relationship with our older brother.
Chance was ten years older than me with a thirteen-year-old son he’d had with the Ennis beauty at the age of twenty. Kenzie was sixteen at the time, and no one said diddly-squat about the age difference. They’d married quickly at the urging of her parents, and six months later Chace Bear was born. Five years after that, they were divorced.
I quickly pulled off the road and stared at the phone as it rang in his hand. Chance had never called us. Not even to send condolences when our father passed. When it stopped ringing then started up again, I knew this was trouble. I may have secretly wished things were different with Chance, but he’d made it crystal clear—whenever we met by accident in town—he preferred the status quo. So we gave him a wide berth and he returned the favor.
I glanced at Jake with wide, scared eyes. For once I didn’t want to be in charge of our merry band of misfits. I just wanted to be Skylar: twenty-three and lost in the big bad world like everyone else.
Jake caught a glimpse of the fear coursing through my body, and his expression hardened instantly. He grabbed the phone from Josh, answering it for me.
“What the fuck do you want?”
I drew in a breath at his expletive. Jake sometimes forgot Chance was the most powerful man in our county, now that his father was ill. He shouldn’t antagonize him.
Jake listened as Chance spoke, paling a bit as the silence stretched. He stared back at me with no small amount of fear, then hung up without saying goodbye.
“What?” I exhaled the word, then drew in another breath so I could hold it together in front of my brothers.
“He wanted us to know that Justice Bear died last night, and to inform us that his father’s dying wish was for Chance to ruin what was left of our family and get The Sarah back. He also wanted us to know he just bought our loan from the bank and he’s calling in the full amount. We have thirty days to pay or move out.”
Two
Ghosts
LOGAN STORM WOKE with a start. Sweat clung to his body in a layer of sheen and his breath came in harsh bursts while he tried to control the tremors racking his body. He flexed his hands, then drew them into fists while the ghosts in his head echoed like a thunderclap. Logan took another deep breath, then let it out, repeating the action until his heart rate slowed. With a groan he felt deep in his soul, he rolled to his side and opened his eyes, trying to focus on his surroundings. He was no longer in Afghanistan where bombs exploded around him and his brothers died before his eyes. He was in heaven on earth, or very near to it. The clear lake and blue skies surrounding him told him that much. Pushing up into a sitting position, Logan tried to remember what state he was in. A sharp blast of cold air ruffled his hair; the scent was clean, untainted by fossil fuels. Montana. He was outside of some small town, sleeping next to a lake as the sun crested the horizon. He’d headed to Montana on the road to nowhere, trying to find the last vestiges of peace he’d known since discharging from the army.
A bark drew his attention from the lake. He scanned the horizon looking for Max, his German shepherd, and found him chasing a rabbit across a broad expanse of land. His attention drifted up a rise in the distance, and he caught sight of a monstrous log cabin that seemed to float on an outcropping. Logan passed his gaze across the land again and took in the fences. He must have trespassed on private property. It had been late when he pulled off the road. The GPS on his phone indicated he was twenty miles outside of Ennis, Montana. He hadn’t seen any lights in the gloom and assumed he was in the middle of nowhere, so he pulled off for a restless night’s sleep.
Rising from the ground, he picked up his sleeping bag and rolled it with precision, like he’d been trained in the army, then stowed it in the bed of his truck and began to strip. Max came bounding up and danced around his feet as he kicked off his boots, so Logan put him in a Down. The dog still had too much puppy in him sometimes. His enthusiasm for the coming swim caused his withers to shake while he waited for Logan to give him the signal.
Pulling the thermal from his body, Logan tossed the shirt inside the bed to keep it dry, then shrugged off his jeans. He stood silently when he was done and let the cold air sting his body awake. After fighting in the Afghan desert, Logan welcomed the cold. He’d trained in this very state, alongside his brothers in arms, to stay conditioned for conflict in colder climates, so he was used to blocking out the cold.
His mind wandered to his brothers Coop, Buster, and Loverboy like always when anything reminded him of his time in the army. He drew in a sharp breath as broken fragments of memories passed through his mind’s eye. Loverboy had been the exact opposite of his nickname. He couldn’t turn the head of a woman if he’d tried. He was too focused on the next big mission to pay attention. His skills within The Unit were legendary. With the ladies, they sucked. A smile crept across his mouth at the memory. Fuck, but he missed his brothers.
Pain clawed its way up his gut, tightening his chest, suffocating him along with the memories of better times. With a quick slash of his hand, Logan released Max from his Down, and they both took off for the frigid water. The moment he dove in, the pain—his constant and unrelenting companion—disappeared with the rush of ice-cold water. He always welcomed the drop in body temperature. It froze him on the inside, so the pain didn’t kill him. If he were a different man, he might have ended the torment his brothers’ ghosts caused him, but he owed it to them to keep living. To find a place in this world where he could honor their sacrifice. Live the life they’d all dreamed about on dark nights. And he’d do just that, as soon as he figured out how the fuck to move on from their deaths. Until then, he’d keep pushing through until he found a place that allowed him to breathe without a sharp pain with every breath.
Logan stayed in the water until his body protested, then crawled onto the rocky shore and lay face down while the sun warmed his bones, allowing him time to gear up against another day of searching for peace.
He threw the same clothes back on, then rubbed down Max with an old towel. The dog’s tongue lolled to the side, his mouth open wide with joy from their swim. He looked nothing like the trained killer he was. The war dog who’d covered his back when evil came to call.
“You hungry or did you catch that rabbit?” Logan mumbled, pulling a metal bowl from a sack of dog food in the bed of his truck, filling it up.
Max licked his lips in anticipation.
“I need coffee,” Logan stated. “Eat, then we’ll hit the road and see what Ennis has to offer in the way of food.”
He stored the dog food, then checked to make sure his weapons were safely stowed. Pulling out his keys, he opened the metal toolbox and examined their position. He’d modified the inside to hold his personal collection, padding the sides with foam and clamps to keep them steady against potholes. His M40 had dislodged on the bumpy ride, so he picked it up and sighted the surrounding acreage to check the calibration of the scope. In the distance, he spotted a modest cabin. It was no less attractive than the giant looming over its shoulder like a guard. More so, because it looked like a
home rather than a showpiece for people to envy. He started to lower his rifle when movement caught his eye. What seemed to be two males and a tiny female exited the home and climbed inside a white pickup. He continued to watch as the vehicle pulled away, wondering about the family.
Logan had grown up in the foster system, so he had no clue what it was like to belong to people in the most basic of sense. He’d been found on the side of the road at the age of four, hungry and covered in dirt. The Nashville police never found his mother, or so he was told, but when he was eighteen and ready to join the army, he’d dug around. His mother was a junkie with no family—another kid lost to the foster care system. She’d overdosed in her car, and Logan had crawled out a window when she didn’t wake up. Until he’d enlisted and became brothers with Coop, Buster, and Loverboy, he’d never had a real family. Only crowded foster homes where everyone fended for themselves.
He gritted his teeth at the memory. It was best to leave the past where it belonged. No good came from holding onto it, and he sure as hell didn’t need more demons fighting for dominance.
When he could no longer see their vehicle, Logan jerked his rifle down and stored it carefully in the toolbox. After securing his gear, he pulled out his toothbrush. He could tolerate soiled clothes and go without a shower for days on end, but not dirty teeth. It’s how he got his nickname, Crest. Twice a day like clockwork, he brushed. You learned fast in foster care that dentist appointments were few and far between. You either kept your teeth in good condition, or you suffered from the neglect.
Done with his teeth, he turned to his side mirror and looked at his scruff. With the temps what they were, a fuller beard would come in handy, so he let it go and ran his fingers through his dark brown hair. It was too long, even for a civilian, but he didn’t give two fucks. He’d worn his buzz cut with pride for years, but short hair only reminded him of what he’d lost, so just like his beard, he let it ride. The sooner Logan “Crest” Storm was gone in every way, the better.
With Google Maps open, Logan followed the directions for Ennis, Montana. He hit a narrow highway and picked up speed while Max stuck his head out the window. Ten miles down the road, he spotted a white truck on the side of the road. He couldn’t tell if it was the same make and model he’d seen through his scope, so he slowed his speed and glanced inside the cab as he passed. All three passengers were looking into the distance as if hypnotized. He caught a pained look on one of the males’ faces, so Logan immediately pulled onto the shoulder and put his truck into park, watching them through the rearview. No one moved from what he could see. They looked frozen in place. Assessing the situation for a moment longer, Logan made the only decision he could as a soldier, so he reached over and opened his glovebox, grabbing his 9mm. He stuffed it into the back of his jeans, covering it with his shirt, then he told Max to Stay.
Logan exited his truck slowly, scanning the surrounding area out of habit, looking for enemies that were no longer gunning for him, before heading in their direction. As he grew closer to the truck, he raised his hand in an offer of friendship, but his attention was focused on the two males. If the female was in trouble, they were the most significant threat.
Within five feet of the hood, he glanced quickly at the woman and almost stopped in his tracks. Her light-colored eyes were rimmed red, her face a mask of heartache and pain. She was staring at him with such hopelessness that his heart lodged in his throat, and his training kicked into high gear, quickening his pace. Yet, through all of the adrenaline flooding his system as he approached, it still registered he wanted the woman on sight. Her natural beauty was completely seductive to him in a way no other type of woman was. She was the kind of woman he and his brothers had talked about settling down with when they grew too old for The Unit. Some men wanted beauty queens to show off on their arm, but not Logan and his brothers. They’d wanted an all-American girl with big eyes, sweet lips, and soft curves they could hold all night. The kind of girl boys dreamt about when they were twelve and jacking off for the first time. Their innocence and strength were some of the many reasons a man like Logan put on a uniform in the first damn place: so no harm would ever come to the innocent.
Seeing the pain etched across her face, he was ready to seek and destroy the enemy at all costs, so his right hand moved to his back and he palmed his weapon, averting his attention back to the males as the threat. The oldest looked angry, the younger one blank at his approach, void of any feelings compared to the other two. He noted all three were similar in coloring from their hair to their skin, so he assumed they were related. Siblings?
He scanned their vehicle as he walked the final feet to the driver’s side door and found no evidence of malfunction. Something had clearly happened in the distance they’d traveled from their home, but he didn’t have a clue to work with.
The female turned her head slowly toward him as he approached her window. She still looked dazed, but had enough presence of mind to roll her window down.
“Can I help you?” Her voice sounded rough, like she was trying to hold back tears. His hand curled into a fist in reaction. All of his training was screaming at him to protect her, but there were no enemies in sight, so he uncurled his fist and loosened the tension in his jaw so he could speak.
“Everything okay?” he asked in a soothing tone to keep from frightening her. He was a large man; knew his size could intimidate, and the last thing he wanted was to cause her more undo stress.
She swallowed, then nodded quickly. “Fine as we can be.” Even the tone of her voice screamed innocence. Christ. She was every soldier’s wet dream.
Tearing his attention away from her for the briefest of seconds, Logan rechecked the males for a threat. There were backpacks on the floorboard below their feet and indifferent expressions on their faces. They were teens. Not a threat to him. They’d clearly been headed to school when something happened, so Logan pulled his hand from his gun and relaxed a degree.
“Car trouble?” he asked, trying to gauge her age. He was positive she was out of high school, but he wasn’t sure by how much.
She chuckled at his question, then blinked away unshed tears with a breathy scoff. “If only.”
His brows furrowed at her cryptic answer. “Anything I can do?”
Her lips trembled, and the same look of despair clouded her features for a split second, then she shook her head and cleared her throat in an attempt to keep control of her emotions. “No. But thank you for asking. I need to get them to school, so if you’ll excuse us . . .”
She looked away and started the truck in anticipation of driving away, then turned her light green eyes Logan’s way before pulling out. The effect on him was instantaneous. In the brief moment when she’d turned her head away, she’d found her mettle and shored it up. When her eyes met his again, he saw the woman beneath the hoodie. She’d aged five years in that short amount of time, and his heart stuttered at the effect. She was all-American steel, covered in soft-looking skin, masquerading as a college student. It was an unbelievably sexy combination. One his baser instincts approved of on a level he never had before.
“If you come through Ennis, stop by Big Sky Saloon and I’ll buy you a drink for your troubles.”
He scanned her face and noted her eyes had cleared. She was entirely under control, and Logan oddly felt pride at how quickly she’d shifted gears. He’d planned on eating in Ennis then moving on until his head was clearer, but he couldn’t deny the effect she had on him, or the fact for the first time since his brothers had died, he felt something other than rage at their loss. “Who should I ask for?”
“Skylar. Skye for short.” He couldn’t help but grin. Her name was perfect for Montana.
“I might take you up on that.”
“We need to go,” the oldest male growled, glaring at Logan.
“Right,” Skylar mumbled.
“I’m Logan Storm.” He put out his hand for her to shake, needing to see if her skin was as soft as it looked.
S
kylar stared at his hand for a moment then shook it. She pulled it back instantly, as if he’d burned her, but not quick enough for Logan to miss the fact her skin had felt like silk against his callused fingers, and the perfume wafting through the open window was the sweetest scent he’d smelled in his life. He also noted, in that brief moment of contact, the knot in his chest was a distant memory. And the relief was immeasurable.
“Nice to meet you, but we really have to go.” She didn’t wait for him to answer, just threw the truck in gear without looking in her side mirror, and pulled away in a hurry, leaving Logan standing on the side of the road with no answer as to why they’d been stopped in the first place.
The younger male turned his head as they drove off and locked eyes with Logan through the rear window, leaving him with even more questions. There was rage working beneath his eyes. Logan knew the look. Saw it daily in the mirror. The kid was battling demons of his own.
_____________
“What the fuck, Skye? We’re losing our home, and you’re flirting with some drifter!” Jake bit out sharply.
I barely heard what he said. I was running numbers through my head, at a depressing rate, even as my mind kept wandering back to Logan Storm. “What?”
“Storm. You asked him out for a drink.”
I blinked, feeling guilty that during our brief encounter with the mysterious man, I had been so caught up with the way Storm’s crystalline eyes seemed to bore right into my soul, I’d forgotten for a single moment about our troubles with Chance. “I offered to buy him one for stopping. That’s hardly asking him out for drinks, Jake.”
“He seems cool,” Josh mumbled beside me. “Did you see the tattoo on his forearm? He was in the military.”
The tone in his voice made me look at him. There was awe mixed in with curiosity. Other than fighting with Jake, that was the most emotion I’d heard from him since our father died. “What kind of tattoo?”
“Who gives a fuck about his tattoo? Can we focus, please?”