“W-w-what are you doing?” I finally stammered.
“My name is Rita, you don't need to tell me yours if you don't want to. The first rule in running, don't leave a trail. Buses are always the first choice, but it's a bad choice cause people see you on buses. Bus drivers, passengers, people at refuel stations, check stops. My husband, BJ he's a truck driver. He's as deaf as a mule, but he's a good man and he won't hurt you," she looked at me pointedly as she led me out of the bus terminal. "He is due to leave in fifteen minutes, and he's headed to Lilyvale, a small town about nine hours from here. His cousin Larry lives there, he has a rig too, does long hauls from the east to west coast. We'll tee up a drop off to his place, and he can take you further away if that's what you want. He won't hurt you either. Neither of my boys can stomach a woman being hurt like this." I didn't know why I trusted this stranger. Perhaps because I was naïve or perhaps it was because I simply needed to. After all, what could be worse than what I was leaving behind? I just needed to run and survive.
"Ella, my name is Ella." Rita smiled, and I followed her away from my home, away from hate, finally.
Chapter 2 – four years later
Jax
“The thermostat doesn’t appear to be working. With that storm coming in we’re gonna need the heat,” came Beth’s raspy voice from the doorway. She needed to stop smoking. Maybe that husky tone had once been sexy, when she was younger, but now, she just sounded like the pack a day hardened addict she was.
“It’s not a problem Beth, I’ll take a look in a sec. It probably needs a new fuse, I’ve got heaps laying around,” my eyes were fixed on the folder before me. Bills, so many bills. Mercy had been hiding them from me. It had taken me the last hour to find the folder hidden under a tray of never ending filing. I knew she didn’t want me paying her bills, but fuck, I wasn’t about to use the money, so it might as well go to something good like the shelter.
"Mercy will be pissed if she finds out you've been going through her files again," Beth chuckled. I looked up and grinned. Mercy might look all sweet and Betty Crocker, but there were three things that sent Mercy into grizzly bear mode…people fucking with her family, women being beaten, and snooping. And even though I was adept at snooping, as soon as these bills were payed I’d be outed. Beth’s smile dimmed. She looked tired. As a fifty something-year-old woman she had lived a hard life, too hard, and it showed on her lined face and in her tired eyes. Even though I was dog tired myself, I’d take the first shift tonight. Beth needed a break.
“You’re a good man Jaxon, your momma might be too proud to take hand-outs, but the shelter needs it. Winter is a bad time for some beaten down woman to be without shelter.”
“Shelter’s not gonna close if I can help it. I take it you’re not gonna squeal”
A bark of raspy laughter escaped Beth’s lips as she turned to leave. “Hell no! I’ve seen Mercy pissed and it ain’t pretty."
Beth strolled back down the hall leaving me alone in the icy office. The damn thermostat was most definitely not working. I ran my hands through my hair and grinned with lazy satisfaction. It was too long. I should probably get it cut, but after nine years of working for Uncle Sam and wearing his butt ugly military enforced buzz cut I was enjoying this slight rebellion. I stood and stretched my aching six foot six frame. Yeah, I was tall. Mercy says she has no idea where it comes from. She's all of five foot five and according to her, my good for nothing father barely reached five-six. Grabbing a spare fuse off the bookshelf I made my way down the narrow corridor and down the steep stairs to the basement. It was freezing down here and dark and damp. Even though the dark never bothered me, and I had endured climates of both bitter cold and scorching heat, I still shivered. This wasn’t exactly my happy place. This was a place I came to when I needed a time-out. Stacked against the back wall were crates of tinned food along with tools and spare parts for maintenance, and in the center of the room hung a punching bag. When looking at the bruised and battered bodies of women and children got to be too much I came down here and beat the anger out of me. I was blissfully anger free right now, so I bypassed the still bag and quickly sorted out the new fuse, adjusted the thermostat and climbed the deadly staircase out of the basement, making sure to close and lock the door at the top. There were two children with their mothers who had found refuge in the shelter at the moment, and I didn't want either of them stumbling down the unsafe stairwell. My nose led me straight to the kitchen where dinner was being prepared. I rubbed my hands together, enjoying the warmth radiating from the ovens. Nancy, a middle-aged woman with wisps of grey hair amongst a short brown bob, took a nervous step away from me. Nancy was new, she had only been staying with us a week, and she was as skittish as a mouse. Her cautious green eyes were submissively downcast, her hands timidly linked in front of her rubbing anxiously at her fingers. I pretended not to notice the fearful response and smiled. It was the usual reaction from the women in the shelter who did not know me well. I was a big powerful man, and most of these women had run from big powerful men who had beaten the ever living crap out of them. I knew I made many of them nervous, but for the regulars, they came to realize I wouldn’t lay a finger on them. When it came to women and children my job was simple, protect. In the shelter, I was handyman, gardener, dishwasher, office boy, the resident go-for and on occasions, security. Mercy's shelter for abused women was owned and run by my mom, Mercy, and whenever I returned from a mission, I would help out. My last mission was in Afghanistan eight months ago and after many weeks of deep contemplation, I decided that this return would be permanent. At twenty-seven years of age I had seen enough death and destruction to last a lifetime and to be honest, could easily have done without the misery and despair that came with the shelter. But this was Mercy’s life, her dream and as she often said, “from the pits of despair they shall rise stronger.” Nothing gave me more satisfaction than seeing a defeated woman regain her strength and pride. And many of the women who came to Mercy’s Shelter did. When they arrived, they were at their lowest, beaten, starved and desperate. Fortunately, thanks to the hard work of Mercy and the other staff, many of these women left with renewed spirits, hope and strength they had long forgotten. Of course there were some that didn't recover, no matter how much time and effort you put in, some returned to the very prick that sent them running in the first place. And then there were the few, when at their very lowest and most vulnerable, they would end their misery. I shivered at the memory of the tiny teenager I had found slumped in a pool of blood in the bathroom six months ago. Sure, I had seen death before, I had meted it out. But somehow this was different. Reaching out to Sarah had been difficult. As a survivor of both physical and sexual abuse she had trust issues big enough to fill an NFL field and then some. I persisted though, chipping away at those rock solid walls and we saw small though significant improvement. She stopped flinching at every little noise, and one day her head rose and her eyes peeked out through her heavy bangs finally taking in the world around her. Fixating on those subtle improvements, I missed the pain that was drowning her. I failed her. She was so innocent, and so young. She should have been at home with her mom and dad arguing about the clothes she wore and the music she listened too. Not slumming it on the streets and selling her body to buy food. I had to stop thinking of her, for those thoughts led me back to nightmares and cold sweats. Nightmares that had once forced me to seek help for post-traumatic stress disorder with the shelters only therapist and my mom’s second chance at happily ever after, Dave.
"Damn, smells good in here Mary. Anything I can do to help?" A large well-rounded woman with flushed cheeks and a toothless grin glanced over her shoulder at me.
“You get out of my kitchen boy. Last time you tried to help the oven caught on fire.” I laughed loudly. I liked Mary. She told it how it was, I couldn’t cook for shit.
“That wasn’t my fault, I was so distracted with your shepherd’s pie I completely forgot about desert so I think it’s safe to say that it was your faul
t.”
Mary laughed. “Here, taste this.” She handed me a warm muffin right from the oven. My eyes rolled back in my head as the chocolate flavor burst and flooded my mouth. I let out a highly inappropriate yet appreciative groan.
"Have you tried one of these yet?" I asked Nancy, who still stood anxiously by the door. She barely met my eyes and shook her head. "Mary, give the lady a muffin while they're still warm, let her have a little taste of heaven." Without waiting to see if Nancy had taken the muffin, I left the kitchen. I didn’t want to make her feel any more anxious then she already was. I felt the woman’s eyes on me as I walked away though. She was curious, wondering if I could be trusted, who I was, why I was here. If she was intending on staying a while she would eventually come to realize she had nothing to fear.
“Is it a full house tonight?” I heard Mary call out.
“Yep. No spare beds.” Making my way down the corridor and into the large open plan room which served as a rec room, dining room and bedroom, I finished off the heavenly muffin as I took in my surroundings. The beds were set up on the farthest side of the warehouse, thirteen to be exact, with the occasional divider to help afford the women some measure of privacy. The bathrooms were close by and handy. The other side of the warehouse was furnished with big old comfy lounge chairs and a couple of big timber tables. Nothing matched, but it was all sturdy and clean. Mercy’s shelter was by no means large, but it was tidy, warm, comfortable and more importantly, safe.
“Hey Jax, I'm hungry," called out a tiny voice from the floor to my left. A little brown haired boy with big blue eyes followed my movement through the room, bouncing on his little feet with excitement. At six years old, Eli was the youngest in the shelter, and he and his mother Annie had been here for over a month now. Annie had picked up work at the local diner and had almost saved up enough money to rent a small apartment. As much as I was proud of Annie for turning their lives around and making a fresh start for her and Eli, I would be sad to see them go. Eli was a breath of fresh air in the shelter. He was excitable, carefree and always sporting an honest and innocent grin. He was one of the lucky ones whose mom got him out before he could be physically or emotionally scarred by his father's heavy-handed reign. The other child currently in residence was a girl, Sam, aged twelve. She was not so fortunate. Her mother had carried her undernourished beaten body in three weeks ago. Neither Sam nor her waif of a mother, Georgia, had said much since arriving. They had obviously suffered, and the fact that they were here now spoke volumes. But they couldn't stay forever. Mercy and Dave would have to have a sit down with Georgia soon and plan their next course of action. Dave was the in-house shrink. In the beginning, I was suspicious of his reasons for joining the shelter. I assumed my mother's pretty smile and playful blue eyes had drawn him in. But David in action was something else to behold. He loved his job and he truly cared about his patients. In the shelter he operated in stealth mode, not flaunting his fancy degree or Doctor title. He was simply Dave, and he was there to talk and offer advice. He was a welcomed and much-needed addition to the team and the fact that he loved my mother was even more welcoming. She deserved a man like Dave after the many years of dealing with my biological father's shit.
“Ten more minutes little man, you better wash up for your momma."
Eli turned and scrambled away for one of the bathrooms. I could already feel the large open area starting to fill with warmth from the fixed thermostat. Crossing the hall to the small room that was the entry to Mercy's Shelter I headed for the big heavy front door. It was time to lock the place down for the night. Mercy had left almost an hour ago leaving Beth and me on for tonight's watch. I didn't do night shifts all that often now, but two of our volunteers were down sick and our other male staff member, Blue, wanted a couple of nights off, so here I was. Curfew was normally late, eleven P.M, but the beds were already full, and the storm was settling in. No one else would come knocking tonight.
As I reached the door I glanced through the fogged up window, giving it a quick wipe to check the street front. As my hand reached the heavy deadbolt something caught my eye. The snow and wind was vicious, blinding everything with a flurry of white. But somewhere out there I caught a dark shape moving along the sidewalk. Watching carefully I noticed it again, drawing closer to the building. Hunched over, the petite body pushing against the wind slipped on the ice and went down hard. I didn't hesitate to pull open the door and trudge out into the bitter storm. With no jacket, it was crazy cold and the snow whipping frantically around me stung my sting. A few long strides forward I reached the fragile girl struggling to get to her feet.
"Hey, are you okay?" I yelled over the howling winds. The tiny figure snapped to attention, beautifully slanted dark brown eyes widened as they took me in. She was gorgeous, even under the heavy layers of jackets, the tattered old beanie, and thick scarf. Her skin was porcelain white, with cheeks flushed from the cold, beautiful lips that I just knew would hold a drop dead gorgeous smile. Her eyes ran a heated trail up my body, and I knew she what she saw, a big male, an unknown, possibly something to fear. I smiled and instinctively raised my hands in a gesture of calm and safety.
"It's okay, I won't hurt you, I work in there," I pointed over my shoulder. "It's a women's shelter. Do you need to come in?" I hoped to god she said yes and said it soon before one or both of us went into hypothermia. Her eyes shifted from me to the warehouse, nervously. Oh yeah, she had that same look they all did. Suspicion and fear. “Full house tonight, all women except for me. I know, I'm crazy to put myself in confined quarters with so many women, but I enjoy being fussed over. Anyway, if you ladies all wanted to band together and take me down, I'm sure you'd have no trouble." I allowed a small grin just to let her know I was making a joke. These scared, fragile women didn't often get my sense of humor. To my surprise, a small grin escaped those pretty lips that were starting to turn blue.
"Come on in and take a look at least. It's too damn cold to be standing out here. I don't even have a jacket on; you're all rugged up and I'm freezing my kahuna's off." With only a moment's hesitation, she moved forward, mindfully taking a wide berth around me. I didn't walk behind her, I knew that made the women nervous, but instead stayed slightly to the side and in front. I opened the door and stepped through, holding it open so she could follow. The warmth was welcome as I slammed the door shut on the frigid storm outside.
“My name is Jax Carter. This is Mercy's shelter, I help run the place. There is no reason for you to be afraid here." I had said those words thousands of times, planting the seeds of trust right from the start. The pint-sized girl stood sopping wet, shivering and watching me warily. Her little fists were curled up at her side, her face a little defiant. She had anger in her, she was a fighter. You needed that strength to live on the streets, but not even her bold little stance could hide the fear. At least she wasn't screaming or fainting. It had happened before. "Come on in. You can take a warm shower and get some dry clothes on. Supper is about to be served, but I'll make sure to save you a plate." I moved through the small foyer not checking to see if she would follow. She either would or she wouldn't, it was something that couldn't be forced.
Chapter 3
Ella
Only I would have the shit-house luck to step off a bus and into a full blown blizzard. But I'd take the freezing, icy snowstorm over Marcus any day. How I ended up in Claymont at the base of the Black Ridge Mountains, I have no idea. I was supposed to be on my way to the ocean. For four long tiring years, I had been making my way in that direction, the clear blue skies and golden sands of the ocean calling me forward. However this morning when I pulled out my small wad of cash and looked up at the glittering lights of the departures board at the bus depot, something drew me to Claymont. Rita had mentioned the town Claymont to me a couple of months ago, she had a friend there who owned a florist. The fact that the town now stared down at me, taunting me, daring me was surprising. Call me superstitious, but I always listened to my gut. So, here I was in the
freezing snow with no idea where the closest hotel was, I was hungry, cold and beginning to feel a whole lot sorry for myself which just made me angry. I didn't need anyone's pity least of all my own. Mind you, even if I did somehow stumble across a hotel, I didn't have enough money for a room, but it wasn't the first time I had arrived somewhere without money and a roof over my head. Somehow I always ended up okay. I had only slept on the literal street a handful of times over the years, and I hated it, but never enough to face the wrath of returning to Marcus. I always tried to make sure I could swindle my way into some sort of shelter, even if it was a hospital. Yes, I was guilty of faking illness just to spend a night in the warmth and safety of a hospital. I hated the cold; I hated being homeless, I hated the fucker who put me in this position so much the thought of him burned like acid in my chest. As I had stumbled along the street feeling miserable and sorry for myself, heading toward what I hoped was the city I slipped on the slick ice of the sidewalk and fell in a graceless heap on my ass. As I cursed my pathetic luck a tall figure appeared before me. Instinct kicked in and I quickly climbed to my feet, fists clenched, walls of resolve hastily erected as I faced the threat.
The towering hulk of a man before me was enormous; he had to be six foot five, maybe more. His shoulders and chest were wide and nicely displayed in a hugging long sleeved shirt. Nicely displayed? Why the hell was I observing my threats hotness rather than gearing up to kick him hard in the balls? For some reason my eyes had developed their own mind and continued to peruse the fine form before me. His long legs were hidden behind well-worn denim. His hair was blonde, that golden sandy blonde that looked like it needed a wash and it hung in his eyes in an almost rebellious style that screamed I-don’t-give-a-fuck. And those eyes, so grey they were almost silver. A tiny smile pulled at one side of his lips in a playful manner. The look screamed bad boy, run, escape, but the gentle concern in his eyes drew me forward. He held his hands up, a gesture of surrender, peace and he told me the open door behind him led to a shelter. I read the large sign over the door and couldn’t believe my luck had done such flip in such a short span of time, I had literally slipped across the doorway of a shelter. See, new town, big storm, no money and somehow I found my footing, no pun intended. The big lumbering man before me joked about being the only male in a shelter full of women, he arrogantly grinned at how he enjoyed being fussed over by the ladies and I found myself smiling too. Indeed I could imagine that sweet smiling convincing many women to fuss over him. Following him through the large doorway, I kept alert, my fists still clenched ready to fight if necessary. I knew I wouldn’t need to though, this strangers eyes were honest and kind.
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