by HJ Bellus
The Traveller
HJ Bellus
Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Prologue
1. Hart
2. Hart
3. Hart
4. Hart
5. Savannah Ray
6. Savannah Ray
7. Hart
8. Savannah Ray
9. Hart
10. Savannah Ray
11. Savannah Ray
12. Hart
13. Savannah Ray
14. Hart
15. Savannah Ray
16. Hart
17. Savannah Ray
18. Hart
19. Savannah Ray
20. Hart
21. Hart
22. Savannah Ray
23. Hart
24. Hart
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
THE TRAVELLER
Copyright © 2017 by HJ Bellus. Small Town Girl Books, LLC.
Edited by: Emma Mack, Ultra Editing
Formatting: HJ Bellus
Cover Designer: Dana @Designs by Dana
Photographer: Golden Czermak, Furious Fotog
Model: Shade Moran
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of HJ Bellus.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.
Dedication-
To the lost souls who travel the world. May you find your home where love is abundant.
Prologue
Hart
“Goddammit, Maria.” An empty spaghetti sauce jar flies across the kitchen shattering on the worn wood floor.
I watch my mother cower before the man I’m forced to call Dad. It’s been years and years of abuse from this monster. It escalated after the death of my sister. Arthur, my dad, blamed it all on my mom for letting her go to prom. Before her death, he was an angry asshole spewing verbal abuse to his family, but the loss of my sister turned him into a vicious man who gets high on beating his wife and son. Breaking bones and leaving bruises is his greatest high and he’s an addict.
“I didn’t marry an Italian woman for fucking store bought sauce,” he roars, nearing her.
I’m certain the scent of his whiskey clad breath is bathing her every sense.
“I’m tired.” Momma’s eyes are sunken and her bald head is covered with her favorite scarf from her great grandmother.
Cancer has begun to eat her alive. Fucking breast cancer…
“No fucking excuse.” He grabs the bottle of Jack and slams it down then advances on her.
My job in life has changed since the death of my sister. I’m the punching bag refusing to let the cocksucker touch my momma.
“Back off.” I shove his shoulder.
Arthur falls back, already inebriated by his favorite poison. I take advantage of his slumped state and push him again and even get in a kick to his shin. I should know better, but it feels too good. He thrives off pain, only fueling his fire.
“You worthless piece of shit.” He lands a punch to the side of my jaw.
It’s morphed into a sick and twisted addiction of mine. It scares me, the similarities between the two of us. I’m him. He’s me. The process is inevitable. Taking his hits and abuse fuels me to fight back even more. Peas in a pod. The sting of his punches gives me life.
“It should’ve been you, not Belle. Your throat should’ve been slit that night.”
Same song and dance, just a different night of him drunk off his ass. Arthur loved Belle. She was his princess and the day he lost her he lost his last shred of humanity. He hated music. Refused to let my mother play music. When Belle found her love of country music, everything was right in the world with Arthur. He took her to auditions, stood by her beaming with pride, but all that died the day Belle took her last breath.
He sends two more hard punches to my face, splitting my lip and breaking my nose again. The fire inside me builds, making my fists thirsty for redemption. My rage matches his, and it scares me, but no one touches my mother. The cycle goes on until Arthur has forgotten all about the store-bought sauce.
When the out of shape, piece of shit man exhausts himself, he steps away wiping the blood from his face. “I’m going to the bar and finding a real woman.”
“Don’t fucking let the door hit you on the way out,” I roar back at him.
I see it coming but don’t back down. I welcome the sick and wicked torture the bastard delivers. The now empty bottle of Jack sails my way. I don’t duck. It’s my job to protect my mom from Satan. The bottle clocks me in the side of the head, splitting open a new wound. More blood joins the mixture already spitting from my face.
When the front door slams, I turn to my weeping Mom huddled in the corner of the kitchen. She has spaghetti sauce speckled on her face. I haven’t always been able to shelter her from his abuse, and that fact has the devastating power to destroy me.
“It’s okay.” I go to her, pulling her frail frame into my lap. “We have to leave, Mom.”
“No. No. No,” she sobs into my chest. “He’s hurting.”
I understand cancer, and its natural ability to eat away a human body, only offering glimpses of hope just to cut down the body again. What I’ll never understand is the sickness attacking my mother’s heart when it comes to my father.
“He’s going to kill you one day.” I hold her tighter to my chest. She’s a proud woman and loves with everything she has. “We are leaving, Momma.”
“I can’t.”
I force her to sit up and look at me. “Why?”
“My Belle,” she sobs.
“Momma, we will take her stuff. I promise. We are leaving tonight.”
“He’ll kill you. He’s threatened by you, Hart.”
“Fuck him.” I pull her to a standing position and then carry her to Belle’s room.
She doesn’t stop sobbing the entire time. It pisses me off even more knowing she’s exhausting her dying body as is.
“Mom, five things. What five things of Belle’s do you need?”
She’s silent, controlling her sobs for a few moments, but lets the tears roll down her face. “I’ll tell you the five things, but then you have to make me a promise.”
“Mom, we are leaving. End of story.”
“Hart.” She rises up on shaky legs. No matter how sick she is, the woman has the power to make me listen and respect each of her words. “Take me to my sister’s house. I’ll never come back here, but you will join the Army in two weeks after graduation.”
I process her words for a few moments then nod my head. “What do you want?”
She points to Belle’s guitar, ballerina slippers, a framed photo of our once happy family, Belle’s baby blanket, and finally to a graduation cap she never wore. I gather the items in a small bag and then grab our clothes.
The hurt in her eyes tells me the rest of the story—she doesn’t need anything else from the home she spent years building a life in. That pains me more than any strike, cut, or bruise I’ve ever endured.
My aunt is one tough broad. No one messes with her. I’m by no means in love with the idea of leaving my mom, but knowing she’ll be with my aunt makes it an easier pill to swallow. Adelina, or Peaches as we call her, owns The Shade Tree bar in Nashville. It’s the place you go when you have stars in your eyes. The number of stars to start out at The Shade Tree is in the triple digi
ts.
My mom will be just fine…
Me?
The future is uncertain.
1
Hart
The pain pushing against my zipper is nothing to fucking joke about. Having the 1968 Shelby Mustang purr down the open highway is making my dick hard. The life. The car is that fucking sexy! Traveling back to a place I never wanted to return to slices through me more than I thought possible. And it hasn’t been sunshine and rainbows. That’s for fucking sure.
I focus in on the Steve Miller Band singing about shaking a tree. The miles tick by and my dick eases up. State lines pass by, and my heavy heart eases up a bit. The fuel gauge ticks way too close to E. Pulling over to the nearest gas station with the highest gasoline prices; I smile and can’t even find a reason why.
My phone blares out “Party in the USA” by Miley Cyrus, and my cold heart warms. I know it’s the only girls who can warm up my soul. The engine goes into park, and I slide across the FaceTime green circle dot. It takes a few seconds before the two girls who own my heart appear.
“Uncle!” They squeal in unison.
“Excuse me, my queens, did you call the wrong number.” I crook up an eyebrow.
“Uncle.”
“Do you mean the hottest man alive?”
“Uncle.”
Both of my brows shoot up.
“Uncle.” Juliette’s face nears the screen. “I beat you in Battleship.”
I roll my eyes. “Only because I let you, you little cheater.”
Then in unison Izzy’s sweet face appears. “Uncle, I’m your girl.”
My heart squeezes tightly. It hurts. Hurts damn bad. I’d never had a home until Izzy came screaming into my world. It’s been her dad, me, and her the last five years. I have to fight back the tears threatening to attack my soul. My mom is the only person I’d leave this little girl for.
“Hey, baby.” I tap the screen right on her cute, button nose.
“Do you miss me yet?”
I think for a long moment and even tilt my head to the side. “Well, uh, I do miss you, but not the damn unicorns, Barbies, and dolls.”
“Uncle.” She kisses the screen. “Do you still have your good luck charm?”
I reach over picking up the doll she sent me with. “You mean this ratty old thing?”
Her smile lights up the screen on my phone. “Yes.”
Juliette interrupts us. “Where are you? Are you in New York yet?”
A dark chuckle escapes me. “Nashville, girl, Nashville. I grew up there. I’m not there yet.”
“Uncle, you wearing your seat belt and obeying the speed limit?” Izzy asks tapping her chin.
“Yes, princess sheriff.”
“We have to go,” she whispers. “We stole Daddy’s phone, and he’s waking up.”
This makes me smile. The girls love me so much because we have the same mentality level. Yes, I’m just as big of a kid as them and have no problem with it.
“Call again. I love you girls so much and miss you. And Izzy?” I wait until her bright eyes stare back at me. “You’re my favorite thing about every day.”
Her tiny teeth shine brightly. “I know.”
I can’t force the good-bye to leave my lips and just wait until the girls hang up. I’ve told Izzy that same thing since the day she was born. Cub and I were in such dark places after returning home from Afghanistan. The way Izzy came to us was even more of a fucked-up story, but once we held her in our arms, all of the mess vanished. Cub was pretty much a single dad the day she was born and me, being his best friend, was right by his side.
The insides of me feel hollow and lonely in the middle of America. The closer I get to Nashville the more old memories and feelings flood in. Mom never wanted me to return. She wanted more for me. Her cancer had been in remission for years. There’s a lingering feeling she kept the fact from me when it struck again. The woman is stubborn and vigorous.
After filling up the beast, I saunter into the gas station to pay and realize I’m too tired to carry on down the road. There’s a shithole hotel across the road in the dinky town. The room is less than desirable, but a place to lay my head.
I know sleep won’t come easy with the violent thoughts rolling through my brain, so I search the local watering hole. Small towns across America like these are notorious for having that one hometown bar that loves to look cross-eyed at the roamers who waltz in. That kind of shit typically turns me off, making my insides turn, but with the fear I’m facing back in Nashville, the thirst for whiskey trumps it.
The bar is dimly lit with an uneven plank floor. Clouds of smoke float throughout the bar and on cue the normal crowd swivels to look at me. My hand runs through my shoulder length hair giving everyone a nod. Either I’m not that interesting or the town gossip is too deep tonight because they all go back to their own business.
Saddling up on the end of the bar that’s deserted, I order a whiskey neat. The woman behind the bar is a looker, not the typical toothless, heavy smoker, small-town bartender. She’s young, with tits that would fill my palms easily, and a brilliant smile to top it all off.
“Want to leave your tab open?” She slides the clear tumbler my way.
I nod then down the drink, eyeing her wiping down the bar. The cheeks of her ass play peek-a-boo with her short jean shorts.
Cub taught me the greatest lesson in life. Even though Izzy is the love of my life, the heartache the man endured tangoing with a psycho like Mae taught me to wrap it every single time. My heart has never healed from my childhood, granting me the power to love another person. On the other hand, my dick is very active with one-night stands and fuck buddies. After all, I am all man.
She reaches over with the damp, white rag smelling of bleach swiping at the bar near my hand. I reach out and grab it tugging her tiny hand to me. There’s a sparkling diamond ring on her wedding finger. I stare at it for long moments then gaze up at her face. Her cheeks flush a sexy crimson. I don’t use words to ask, but continue to stare waiting on her answer.
“It’s over,” she squeaks out. “He left me behind. I wear it to keep the local slime balls away.”
“And out of town studs?” I ask with a raised brow.
“Wouldn’t have explained if I didn’t want you. Your choice.”
She pulls away. I study her movement as she mixes another drink. She surprises me when she slides it my way across the bar.
“I’m off in ten minutes.”
She goes about her work, mixing drinks and closing out tabs. My dick throbs under my jeans needing a fucking release. I grab two twenties out of my wallet, toss them on the bar, and then walk out to the parking lot to wait for her. The night air is chilled and feels good on my damp, heated skin. The sky is littered with twinkling stars dancing among the depths. I study them as I wait.
The sky has always fascinated me. Intriguing my curiosity with its massive expanse of hollow space, but yet, yields streaks of beauty with clouds and stars. It makes me wonder if I’ll ever have any beauty inside of me. I have the hollowness down and the dark mass coating my insides. The scars of my past and war have permanently tainted me.
The door of the bar slams shut followed by the blonde beauty walking toward me. My dick hardens seeing that she hasn’t put on a jacket and is still in her black tank top that’s hugging her tits. That’ll be my palms soon.
The tip of my boot scuffs up the gravel as I ease off the light pole I’m leaning on. She’s fucking sexier out in the dim lit parking lot than when she was behind the bar. Her hips, sway, and lips…
“I live with my momma.” Her sweet and very slight Iowa accent is adorable.
She’s the kind of girl that would be so easy to sweep out of this one horse town and turn into an honest woman. There’s a hunger and desire deep in her eyes screaming for more.
“I have a hotel room,” I reply, reaching out my hands toward her.
She takes it without hesitation moving into my body. She’s a good foot shorter than me,
wraps her arms around my middle hugging me tightly. Her scent delicate, tender, and sweet reminds me of fresh picked cherries.
This is the part I should ask her name. But leaving that part a mystery only adds to the intrigue the evening offers. My palm rises to cup her cheek as her silky hair falls through my fingers. She nuzzles into my touch with her eyes fluttering shut.
Leaning down I brush my lips against her. The hint of her taste nearly buckles my knees. I need to devour her mouth right now since the whiskey isn’t numbing my thought process enough. I know myself well enough to know that once I get a taste of her; I’ll have her bent over in public taking her hard and rough.
“Let’s go,” I whisper brushing her lips with each syllable.
I’m a greedy motherfucker, so I swipe my tongue between her lips getting a slight taste of her. Tonight is going to be fun. She’s silent on the walk across the street to the only hotel in town. Her hand never leaves mine.
“Shit.” I stop in front of my room. “Are you hungry or anything?”
I'm a dickhead only thinking of my selfish needs. Even though I’m a manwhore who doesn’t have the capacity to commit, doesn’t mean I treat women with no respect.
“I’m good,” she barely squeaks out.
“Hey.” I lift her chin with my pointer finger forcing her to look up at me. “You alright?”
She slightly shakes her head from side to side. Her bottom lip quivers in unison. “But it’s not you. I need to forget. Can you do that for me?”
I nod. Unlock the door, and we enter the musty room in silence. The key to the room skids across the dresser and when I turn around the woman is pulling out a large bottle of Jack Daniels from her bag.
She raises it up in the air giving it a light shake. “Looked like you wanted to drink more tonight.”
“You’re right.” I step closer.
“I can’t drink when on the job.” This time she takes a step closer.
My hand shoots out gripping her hip and pulling her to me. She uncaps the bottle, brings it to my lips, and tilts it, giving me the perfect shot. She mimics her actions but on her lips this time.