by T. S. Joyce
She would be mortified except for Liam seemed to love it. He bucked hard a few more times, spilling himself completely inside her. He slowed, then finally stilled. His hand was gentle on her throat as he whispered, “Now…you own the animal.”
She didn’t know what he meant. Only that it was big, and that was okay with her. She would take good care of the animal, like he took care of her.
There was something pulsing between them in the places their skin touched. Liam kissed her again, but the harshness had left his lips. Now, he was only coveting her. He was saying he cared without words, and it was enough. It was more than enough.
This was the foundation of a good life. She’d never had a chance at one before, and it had taken a shifter, a monstrous reptile shifter, to come into her life and point at her and say, “She’s mine, and anyone who messes with her will be demolished.”
Someone had her back.
You own the animal.
Silly man. Silly animal. Didn’t they see?
They’d owned her first.
Chapter Twelve
The last two days had gone smoothly. Too smoothly.
Morgan was suspicious as hell and working double shifts, partly to stay out of the house and partly to make as much money as humanly possible to get the hell out of dodge. Dad had avoided talking to her or even insulting her. He’d stayed out with his swamper friends most of the time she was awake. They were both avoiding the hell out of each other, but that wasn’t Dad’s way. He liked confrontation too much to stay quiet.
Something was definitely up.
“Helloooo? Earth to Morgan.” the busboy, Ricky, said from behind her. “Did you hear me?”
Morgan finished dumping the ice bucket into the top of the soda machine and climbed down the small stepladder with the confidence of a sure-footed goat. She’d done that move about a bajillion times in her seven years serving at Tacky’s. “Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.”
“Yeah, you’ve been like that all week.” The dark-haired twenty-something hooked his hands on his hips and studied her. “Is everything okay?”
No. “Yes.”
“Okaaay. Well, just so you know, if you ever need anyone to talk to, I’m here.”
“She don’t need nobody to talk to, you limp-dicked little wuss, so move along,” Cal said from somewhere behind Ricky. She’d recognize that insult anywhere. ‘Wuss’ was his favorite word. He wasn’t very creative.
Ricky heaved a sigh. “That’s what I was trying to tell you. You have a visitor.”
“Lucky me,” she said with an empty smile.
Ricky gave her a sympathetic smile and shook his head as he pushed the swinging kitchen door open and disappeared inside.
“What do you want, Cal?” she called, testing the ice maker. It had been acting weird this whole shift.
He walked into the little café area and leaned against the open doorway, arms crossed like some picture of a model he probably saw in some nudie magazine. Platinum blond hair and piercing blue eyes, and he could have the attention of any swamper girl in these parts, so she didn’t understand… “Why do you want me, Cal?”
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Why…do you want…anything to do with me?”
He lowered his gaze to her hand. “You aren’t wearing your ring.”
“You didn’t ask me, Cal. You told me I was wearing it.”
“So?”
“So that doesn’t work for me. Why do you want me?” she asked again. “You could have any girl you want out in them woods. Why me?”
“Because I know I can have them. You’re a challenge.”
“What an empty answer,” she murmured, good and done with everything. “Do you feel at all, Cal? When you look at me, do you even like me? Or am I just something to take up your headspace from one mediocre day to the next? Is the chase really that fun?”
He snarled up his lip and slammed his hand on the soda machine, right next to her face. “No, okay? I don’t feel. I don’t feel like you, or like those pussy-boys I see eyeing you, or like any of these weak townies. I’m tougher. You hold my attention and have since we were kids. Where’s my fuckin’ ring?”
She’d lowered her chin to her chest when he’d slammed his hand near her face—an old habit for her old self. She wasn’t her old self anymore, though. So she lifted her eyes and leveled him a look when she said, “It’s in the bowels of the swamp. Maybe a gator ate it.”
His nostrils flared with his furious breaths, and for a second, she thought he would smack her. He’d never done that before, but he got closer and closer to it. Brutal men did that—eased into hitting.
“I know who you’re talkin’ about, you disgusting little bitch. Every time I show up to the house now, you’re late from work or not there at all. Your daddy told me who came to visit the other day. It’s becoming real clear whose side you’re—”
“My side, Cal. Mine. I don’t give a shit about anyone’s side but mine right now. First time ever. The answer is no. Nah, that’s not enough, because you’ll see that as a challenge and keep on me. The answer is hell-fucking-no. I wouldn’t wear your ring if you paid me a million dollars and gave me a yacht to do it. I was never a challenge, Cal. I’m a mother-fucking no.”
His fists clenched at his sides, and his smile clashed with the angry red creeping up his neck and into his cheeks. “We’ll see about that, Morgy. You’re feelin’ brave right now because you think you have a choice. You think you got options.” He leaned closer and gritted out, “A year from now, you won’t even remember his name.”
Cal eased back and turned to leave. Over his shoulder, he said, “I’m sitting in your section. Bring me a beer, bitch. You know what kind I like.”
Morgan inhaled a shaky breath and wrapped her hands around her stomach. Didn’t matter how tough she got, she would never be comfortable around an angry man who didn’t have a moral compass.
Cal was the monster, not Liam.
By her calculations, she needed $168.48 more to have enough for the deposit and first month’s rent. She could make the first month’s rent and all the others if she was out of dad’s house and not having to pay the bills there. It was the deposit she needed, though. So…soooooo close to freedom. She’d already contacted Marsha Levinston, the landlord of a little one-bedroom duplex that was still available just a few streets away.
$168.48.
She could do this. She was so close.
$167.79, after she got done serving Cal his beer and the fried catfish basket he ordered. That asshole always tipped her exactly $0.69. At this point, she wouldn’t even be mad if Liam ate him.
Liam. She pulled the little cell phone he’d gotten her from her apron pocket and hit the only speed dial number she had saved.
“Hey, I was just thinking about you,” Liam answered.
And just that like that, seven words changed the way her heart felt. Anger gave way to happiness. He had her back. There was always going to be some life stress. Dad. Cal. Work. Money problems. But even steadier was Liam. Over the last week, he’d become such an important part of her day.
“I think I’m almost out of minutes on this thing,” she murmured into the speaker.
“I’ll get you loaded up with more.”
“I like that you were thinking about me.”
“Chhhh, woman, you’re impossible not to think about. Can I take you out tonight? After you get off work?”
“Well, I picked up a late shift. Wanna come up to the bar after you get off work?”
“Watch you sashay around in your little booty shorts and that hot apron? Hell yeah.”
“Okay, but you know the deal.”
“No tips over twenty percent. Stubborn. How much you got left?”
“I made thirty-seven dollars so far this shift, so a little over two-hundred left.”
“Atta girl. I’m so damn proud of you.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Anyone else I know would ask for help, but y
ou started this on your own, and you’re finishing it your way. Makes me love you that much more.”
“Love?” she whispered, facing the wall so no one would see the blush in her cheeks.
“Shiiiiit. Yeah. I meant to say that when I was lookin’ at your face. What do you look like right now?”
“I’m smiling.”
“Good. You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m always good. I just…I guess I wanted to hear your voice.”
“Mmm. I just stepped out of the office, but I can try to leave a few minutes early. I’m selling that black Silverado that was parked up front—”
“Oh my gosh! You’re busy with a customer. I’m sorry!”
“Stop it. Morgan, it’s easy to step out for a call. I’ll always step out for your calls. No harm. I love seeing your number pop up on my cell. Now, go on, badass, get closer to that duplex. Go free yourself. I’m right here.”
“Okay,” she whispered. “See you soon. Bye.”
“See you soon.”
Morgan hung up and put on her professional face, marched out to her tables, took care of the three she already had, and then made her way to Cal’s with a Budweiser and a fake-ass smile plastered to her face.
This shift was going to be a good shift, no matter what. Because at the end of it, she would get to see Liam and feel that familiar sensation of safety that she was growing so addicted to.
As per usual, Cal treated her like crap, was high maintenance, loud, let everyone in the whole dang restaurant know that she was unsatisfactory at meeting his needs, but she was already mentally prepared for that. She pocketed the sixty-nine cents and happily watched him leave. Her other tables were kinder, and that’s where she put her focus. The positives. The nice people, because they existed. The second she had stepped out of the mess of her life and opened her eyes to the helpers of the world, the nice ones, the caring ones, her view of the world had changed. There was more out there than controlling men or family who didn’t really act like a family should. There was more than her poacher’s-daughter life in the swamps.
She was so damn close to freedom she could taste it.
Cal stayed an hour, watching a football game on the big TV behind the bar and drinking a half dozen beers. He gave her a strange smile—one that was much too confident—and told her, “You should really turn it to the local news tonight, Morgy.” He gestured to the big TV before he approached her slow.
“What do you mean?”
“Nothin’ at all. Just sayin’ sometimes the news has real interesting stories on it.”
He pulled her in suddenly, and when he tried to kiss her, she slapped his face on instinct. Just open-palm defended herself. He flinched back and raised his hand, but he didn’t let it fall. He laughed instead, a hallow sound, and said, “You’re making this too fun.”
And then he left. Just walked out without looking back.
“You’re okay, right?” Ricky asked from behind her.
“I…” She frowned out the window as Cal’s old Dodge pulled out of the parking lot. “I don’t know.” Something was happening that she didn’t understand. Dad had been acting too happy and cool with everything the last couple of days, but throwing in snide remarks every chance he got. And now Cal was hinting at something? Both of them combined were still as dumb as a box of bricks, so what the hell was going on?
She growled and delivered a tray of beers to one of her tables, and then went back into the café area to make a call.
She was good with numbers. Dad always said she got that from her momma, and Bre had given her a paper with her number on it the night she’d spent at Raina Lachlan’s houseboat.
Bre didn’t pick up the first try, so Morgan tried a second time.
“Hello?” Bre asked.
“Hey, it’s me. Morgan Holland. Um…Liam’s…whatever-I-am?”
“Hi! Oh my gosh, sorry I didn’t pick up the first time. I didn’t recognize your number.”
“It’s completely okay! I just…I feel like something’s happening and I don’t understand it, but I think it has to do with something on the news.”
“The news?”
“Yeah. This doesn’t make any sense. I shouldn’t have called you—”
“No, no, no, Morgan, instinct is important. Who said what?”
“Cal, this guy I grew up with just told me to watch the news. He hates Liam. Said it would be interesting.”
“Where’s Liam?”
“Work.”
“Where are you?”
“Tacky’s. Also work.”
“Okay, I’m in town. I’m headed to Liam’s car lot. Everything is probably fine! I’m gonna make some calls and put our minds at ease. Call Liam and give him a heads up, okay? Just tell him what you’re feeling. And then I’ll be there in ten.”
“Okay. Bre?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For not thinking I’m crazy.”
“Morgan, it’s different for us. We always have to be ready, even if it turns out to be nothing. You did good. I’m gonna call my station and see if there is anything going on with us. I’ll be right there!” The line went dead.
Morgan blew out a steadying breath as she dialed Liam’s number. It wouldn’t connect, though. Dammit. She was out of minutes or something. But when she asked to use the landline behind the bar, Liam didn’t pick up, and the instinct that had told her something was wrong consumed her chest completely. She felt an echoing hollowness there.
Shit.
Morgan grabbed her purse from behind the hostess stand and bolted for the front door.
“Where are you going?” Ricky called from behind her.
“To make sure everything is okay.” To make sure Liam was okay, she was okay, her future was okay, and his life was okay. Because right now, it felt like everything hung in the balance, easily toppled by one wrong move.
She threw her purse in the passenger’s side of her truck and turned over the engine. It didn’t catch the first time, and she panicked. “Come on, come on, come on!” The second turn of the key, and the engine roared to life.
Then she peeled out of the parking lot, headed straight for Liam.
That man had her back—she knew it down to her bones.
But she had his, too.
Chapter Thirteen
Liam shook Bard Frederickson’s hand and said his goodbyes. “You got a helluva truck,” he called as the man walked toward his new truck with a stack of paperwork folded in his hand.
But something was happening outside. The back corner of the parking lot was cluttered with unfamiliar vans, all parked willy-nilly, and there was a small crowd gathering outside.
“What’s going on?” he asked Bill, the other sales associate.
“Hell if I know. That all started happening a few minutes ago, but I don’t want nothin’ to do with anything. I’m off in five minutes. Not my circus, not my monkeys.”
What Bill was really saying was he was already mentally clocked out for the day, and it was up to Liam to deal with the circus and the monkeys. Great.
He shoved open the door and strode right toward trouble, and trouble it was. It was too late to turn back. News reporters with microphones had gathered around Cal and Seamus.
Shit. Liam came to a stop just in time to see the blue and red flashing lights of Uncertain’s two patrol cars as they pulled into the parking lot.
What the hell?
He knew both police officers in town, so he would address that first and avoid whatever Seamus and Cal were up to. He waved at Officer Lanley, who came to a stop right in front of him.
“What’s goin’ on?” he asked. “And why the hell do you have your hand on your weapon?”
“We got a call from Seamus about his daughter being mistreated.” He cleared his throat. “Molested.”
Liam was struck utterly dumb. Utterly and completely speechless. “Aaand, who are they accusing?” he gritted out, already knowing the answer.
“You. It’s a serious accusation, Liam.”
“Yeah, but look at the source!” He jammed his finger at the trash humans talking animatedly to reporters. “Seamus and his little minion are fuckin’ poachers. They’re the scum on the underbelly of this town, and you’re gonna listen to them?”
“You think I want to do this?” Langley whispered. “This makes us all look bad. But they say she’s pressing charges.”
“She? You mean Morgan? My girlfriend, not my fuckin prey?” Couldn’t be. There’s no way she would do this. They had to be manipulating her or…or…something. She wouldn’t have worked him this well, wouldn’t have hurt him like this. Right? She was deep water. Deep water, not shallow.
“Look, I don’t know what kinda stuff you shifters do when you pair up, but you can’t force a girl—”
“I never forced anyone! Are you fuckin’ kidding me? I would never do that! You’re a shitty human being to not know the difference between right and wrong like this. The system’s failing. You gave those scumbags a platform, and they ain’t truthful, man. They’ll say whatever to gain the rights to hunt me and my kind, and you know it.”
“Fuck,” Lanley said, shaking his head at them. “We didn’t give them any platform. They called the news stations, not us. I thought we were coming here to lock you up for a night and get to the bottom of all this.”
Liam could hear it on the wind—wisps of their interviews.
Cal: “She has marks on her throat from that monster’s claws on her, forcin’ her to do horrific acts of fuckerying…”
Seamus: “And then he came into my home with weapons and threatened my life…” Seamus crowed into a camera lens. “Well, humans, it’s time to rise. Ain’t nobody needs to be scared of the likes of that animal…or any other! We need to kill them all…”
Cal: “Y’all been callin’ ’em Keepers of the Swamp, while we’ve been out there doing the tireless, thankless work. Keepin’ them shifters in line. Keepin’ them from killing our livestock, our friends, from abusin’ our women! They ain’t the heroes that reporter Bre-bitch made them out to be. We are! You’re fuckin’ welcome...”