Zeke: The Boundarylands

by Callie Rhodes

  She'd hand over the cash. And the alpha would hand over the keys.

  And somewhere in that transaction, their hands would touch and…

  Fuck no. Zeke wasn't going to let that happen. Not to this woman, and sure as hell not to one of his alpha brothers.

  "That's an even worse idea," he told her grimly.

  She nodded, disappointed if not surprised. For a long moment, neither of them spoke, Darcy staring into the trees while she tried to come up with a solution…and Zeke staring at her.

  Don't do it, dumbass, he ordered himself silently. But as much as he hated to admit it, there was only one solution. A terrible one.

  "Fine," he growled. "You can stay on my property."

  Her head snapped up, her eyes wide. "Wait. What?"

  "There's a mechanic a few miles up the road who owes me," Zeke said, already cursing his weakness. "If anyone can fix this wreck, it's him. It'll take time, though. So you can lay low and sleep in my woodshed until then."

  Darcy's scent shifted, wariness replacing her spike of hope. "I—I'm very grateful, but I'm not sure that a good plan."

  Zeke gave a bitter, short laugh. "No shit. But it's the only choice you've got."

  Before he made things even worse, Zeke turned and headed back toward his house. He could hear her fumbling around in the back of her car and briefly wondered if she'd talked herself out of accepting his help.

  He knew he ought to be relieved—he didn't have all day to wait around on some stranger. Especially one with beautifully rounded hips and eyes so bright they made it hard to look away.

  "Wait up," she called, crashing through the trees after him.

  Zeke didn't bother to slow down.

  A few seconds later, Zeke glanced behind him. The woman was a good fifteen feet behind, carrying a duffel bag and struggling to keep up.

  "Thank you for this," she said meekly.

  "I don't care about your thanks. I only want one thing from you."

  Fear spiked her scent. "What is it?"

  Zeke stopped abruptly and looked her dead in the eye. "I want you to swear you'll stay where I put you and never come near me.”

  Chapter Four

  Never go near the alpha? Stay where he put her?

  Darcy could pretty much guarantee that wasn't going to be an issue. If he could provide her with a place to hide until her car was drivable, she didn't care if it was a hole in the ground. And as for keeping away from a menacing seven-foot-tall alpha with a bad temper—not a problem.

  Darcy was out of breath, struggling to keep up as he moved through the maze of trees and brush. He made it look easy, but while his footfalls made no sound and he didn't disturb so much as a leaf drifting down from the trees, Darcy felt like a lumbering water buffalo, her feet catching on every loose stone and fallen branch.

  She prayed he knew where he was going because five minutes into the trek, she had lost all sense of direction and no longer knew the way back to the road.

  After another fifteen minutes, she was so hopelessly lost that the forest might as well have swallowed her whole. She felt like a character in a Grimm fairy tale. Too bad she didn't have any breadcrumbs handy to leave a trail.

  "My house is just over this next hill."

  Darcy lifted her head as the alpha spoke for the first time since they'd set out. Apparently, even several feet in front of her, he could still sense her fatigue.

  Darcy should have felt relief at the prospect of reaching their destination and catching her breath. Instead, an icy tendril of dread traveled up her spine. Because it took someone pretty damn foolish—or desperate—to voluntarily follow an alpha to his remote cabin in the woods, where no one would hear her scream.

  But it's your only option, a little voice reminded her.

  Darcy was very familiar with this little voice, which had been trying to save her ass since she was a reckless, rebellious teen growing up in the suburbs. Until recently, Darcy had been able to drown out the voice with late nights and loud music and plenty of whiskey—but lately, it had grown more insistent.

  A sign of getting old, no doubt, but this time, it was probably a smart move to listen.

  Because for reasons she didn't understand, this alpha was saving her ass. Darcy might not know why, but she did know that she should be grateful.

  And careful.

  Don't get sloppy, the little voice agreed.

  But that was easier said than done. It was hard to be grateful to a huge alpha who scowled and growled at her every chance he got. It was even harder to stay focused when what she really wanted to do was lie down in the middle of the path and pretend she was on a beach in Cancun.

  But denial wasn't an option when you were running for your life.

  Darcy stopped for a moment as they reached the top of a long, steep hill, leaning over with her hands on her knees to catch her breath. But when she caught sight of the house in the middle of the clearing down below, she forgot all about her exhaustion.

  She had been expecting a ramshackle hut, maybe, or a rotting old shack—something out of a horror movie, foreboding and neglected.

  Instead, she found herself gazing down at a beautiful two-story A frame-house constructed from river rock and rough-hewn wood. There was a wrap-around porch and tall windows. Skilled craftsmanship shone through in the chiseled cornerstones and the arched bentwood window casings. A pair of huge wooden rockers faced out onto the wildflower-dotted meadow, a sparkling stream meandering at its edge. Behind the house were several outbuildings and a stone patio.

  The alpha kept going down the hill, oblivious to the fact that she'd stopped to rest.

  Darcy forced herself to quit gawking at the beautiful cabin and followed him down. She caught up to the alpha just as he reached the crushed gravel circular drive arcing gracefully in front of the house, a flagstone path leading up to the porch steps.

  He held up a hand to stop her. "Wait here while I set up a bed for you in the woodshed."

  There was no mistaking his words for anything other than a command, and Darcy really didn't want to disobey. But the man had just hiked for half an hour at a good clip while blood seeped from three holes in his torso. Darcy was frankly amazed that he hadn't passed out from blood loss. Screw the breadcrumbs—she could probably follow his trail of blood back to her car.

  "You don't need to do that," she said. "I can set up my space. But you need to take care of those wounds before infection sets in."

  The alpha shot her a dark look, making it clear that they weren't back on the Central Road anymore. She was in his world now—on his land—at his mercy.

  She didn't need the little voice to remind her that she wasn't a guest here, but a refugee. She had no business pissing off the man who held her life in his hands.

  But something in her couldn't bear to watch him collapse in front of her, either.

  "It won't take any time at all," she wheedled. "All you need to do is clean the bullet wounds with the antiseptic inside the kit and slap bandages over the entry and exit holes."

  "I know how to dress a wound," he snarled.

  "And I know how to make a bed," Darcy said with fake cheeriness. "So, it sounds like we're both all set."

  As seconds ticked by, and the alpha's glower grew deeper, she felt herself withering under the force of his stare.

  Damn, but the man was big. And…muscular.

  Darcy was used to jacked-up gym rats swaggering around the station. She was even sympathetic to the way some cops bulked up in an effort to deal with the constant danger of the job.

  It was more psychological than rational, though—and not all that different from the criminals who did the same thing. Both cops and crooks tended to be men who couldn't admit their fears and channeled them into conflict instead.

  Darcy knew because she'd dated them all. For years, any man with a chip on his shoulder and an aversion to authority had been her catnip. She had no problem admitting she liked a bad boy in the bedroom.

  But this alpha wa
s different. He wore his power and strength like an old, beat-up flannel shirt. He didn't need to prove his authority; it was never in doubt.

  "Why the hell is this so important to you?" he demanded.

  Wasn't it obvious? "Because I don't want you to die."

  The alpha let out a low grumble of impatience. "Fine. If I do this, you'll leave me alone?"

  Darcy couldn't help but smile. "I promise."

  "The woodshed's around the corner," he said, clambering onto the porch. "There's a cot somewhere along the back wall. You'll have to drag it out and clear a space for it. I'll bring you some bedding when I'm done."

  Darcy waited until he was inside the house, the door closing with a solid thunk behind him, to let out the breath she'd been holding and sag with relief. Until now, she hadn't realized just how sore and tired every muscle in her bruised and battered body felt.

  The sooner she got that cot up, the sooner she'd be able to take a real rest. The thought gave her the energy she needed to continue on the flagstone path around the front of the alpha's house.

  She peered around the corner before advancing. She hadn't come this far only to have her leg severed by a bear trap or be torn to pieces by a pack of wolves.

  But there was nothing dangerous lurking behind the house--just a huge, rustic grill next to the patio, a simple wooden table, and a couple of chairs.

  At the edge of the tree line, with a huge chopping block out front, was a ten-by-ten-foot shed constructed in the same sturdy style as the main house.

  She cautiously opened the door, expecting to be confronted with dust and spiderwebs, maybe a rat or two, but the interior was surprisingly clean. The unfinished walls were constructed of sanded, deeply grained boards that had aged to a mellow golden hue. The concrete floor had recently been swept, and two windows filled the space with light.

  One wall was taken up by a workbench with tools neatly organized on the wall above, while the others were lined with neatly stacked cordwood.

  Up against the back wall was the promised cot, along with a couple of weathered wooden crates with the initials S.E.B burned into the side.

  She dropped her duffel bag on the floor and began setting up, feeling oddly buoyed. The space was small, but she'd slept in far worse digs in her life.

  Darcy teetered under the cot's weight as she pulled it free, wondering why he needed an alpha-sized cot unless he was in the habit of having overnight guests. After all, weren't they supposed to all be hermits?

  Once it was set up, though, Darcy decided she had nothing to complain about. The thing was wide enough for three people her size. She sat cross-legged on the cot and unzipped the blue and yellow duffel bag she'd picked up at a garage sale a while back. Strange to think that everything she owned was in there.

  It wasn't much, just the essentials she'd thrown together after shooting Scott. She'd been almost paralyzed with horror at what had happened, but had forced herself to act, certain that his brothers were already on their way. Darcy had known enough crooked cops to know there was no authority she could call, no judge she could plead with for protection—her only hope was to save herself.

  A few changes of clothes, some toiletries, her rubber-banded wad of emergency cash—that was her whole world now. It was all she had left to rebuild her life with.

  Darcy didn't hold any illusions that things were going to work out for the best. Despite the sunny first impression she tended to make on people, at heart, she was a realist.

  There would be no coming back from what had happened. She would never be able to clear her name, not after killing a cop. Especially not one with two brothers on the force. No jury would ever find for her after their cronies shredded her in court—and that was if she lived long enough to go to trial.

  And it wasn't just the Baron brothers who'd want her dead. There were plenty of good cops in the department, but the hidden ugly underbelly included half a dozen men who'd rather shoot her on sight than have the nasty details of their misdeeds come out during a trial.

  In the six years she'd worked as a receptionist in the department, Darcy had learned enough to incriminate all of them—but their uneasy truce was based on the fact that she knew she was dead if she ever talked.

  Now she was dead even if she didn't—and they knew she had nothing to lose.

  So when she jumped into her car at two o'clock this morning and peeled out just as Robert and David came careening in, she had known that Darcy Winters would never be seen again. By the time this was finished, she would either lying in a grave or living under another name far, far away.

  As Darcy drove through the night, she'd made her plans for disappearing. She figured it wouldn't be too hard—cut her hair, dye it brown, pick up a couple of conservative outfits from the mall and—boom—she'd be a brand-new woman.

  She might still be able to pull it off. She just had to get through a few nights in an alpha's woodshed first.

  You can do this, the little voice encouraged her as she took clean clothes from the duffel bag, almost crying with relief at the thought of getting out of these blood-crusted ones.

  A shadow fell over her as the alpha filled the door frame, holding a bundle of bedding.

  "Here," he said, tossing her the pile.

  "Thank you." Darcy caught the crisp cotton sheets and pillow and set them down. When he tossed her the last item, she nearly exclaimed when she caught it.

  Fur.

  It was a blanket made of the softest silvery fur she'd ever felt, the pelts expertly stitched together, like silk clouds under her fingers.

  "It's beaver," he said, anticipating her question. "It has a really dense undercoat. It'll keep you warm."

  "You made this?" Darcy asked.

  He looked at her as though she were missing a few screws. "Yeah. Of course."

  Darcy set the blanket down and gave him a once-over. He was wearing a clean shirt, and judging from the fact that there were no bloodstains, he must have slapped a couple of bandages on himself.

  "I'll leave some food outside your door later this afternoon when I get back from dealing with your car," he told her before she could thank him for the bedding.

  "Oh, you don't—" Shut up, the voice barked at her. She'd been about to tell him he didn't have to go to any trouble for her, but her stomach growled at the prospect of food. When was the last time she'd eaten? Darcy couldn't remember. "That would be great," she amended, realizing she didn't know what to call him. "What's your name?"

  "Ezekiel," he said. "But everyone around here calls me Zeke."

  She repeated the name in her mind, studying his sharp-angled face, shadowed by dark stubble. The name suited him. "Thank you, Ezekiel."

  His expression hardened, his gaze searing into her. Something had shifted between them, and she didn't like it.

  "So you think you're my friend now?" he muttered.

  Be careful, girl.

  "I don't think anything," Darcy said hastily. "Other than, I'm assuming you don't let your enemies hide out from the law in your woodshed."

  A sound came from him like a chainsaw far in the distance, reverberating through the floorboards. As he stepped back, a shaft of sunlight illuminated the flinty green depths of his eyes—wary eyes that were devoid of trust. Darcy shivered at the utter lack of warmth coming from him.

  "Just stay in here and out of my way, and we won't have any trouble.”

  Darcy knew she couldn't ask for anything more. In a few days, when her car was all fixed up, and she was getting settled in some nice quiet suburb in Indiana, all of this would be nothing more than a memory…a funny story she could never tell a single soul.

  "Can I ask you a question, Ezekiel?" she said, surprising herself.

  He stopped. "I doubt I can stop you."

  "Why are you doing this for me?" she asked. "I mean, you heard what Robert and David said about me."

  "About killing their brother?"

  Her gaze fell to her lap. "It's true."

  "I figured you weren't
covered in blood ‘cause you nicked yourself slicing an apple."

  She looked up cautiously. "But…you don't care that I shot a man?"

  Zeke shrugged. "I figure you had your reasons."

  Yeah, you could say that, Darcy thought. Reason number one being she'd rather not be dead herself.

  "But you're not worried that you might have a homicidal maniac sleeping just a few feet from your house?"

  The alpha gave a dark laugh as he turned to go. "No, Darcy. That isn't what I'm afraid of at all.”

  Chapter Five

  "You brought me out here for this?" Zeke's friend Troy scowled with disgust at the wreck of Darcy's car. "What the hell are you expecting me to do with it?"

  Zeke sighed heavily. "What the fuck do you think? Fix the damn thing."

  Troy snorted, giving the creased rear bumper a kick. A bolt fell into the dirt. "Is that your idea of a joke?"

  "No—it's my idea of a job. One that might be big enough to wipe out your debt."

  Troy's frown deepened, and he glared at the ground. Zeke didn't blame him. He didn't want to have to pull the IOU card on his alpha brother, but the simple truth was that Troy did owe him—a lot. At least by Boundaryland standards.

  Troy might be a good friend, but he was a terrible pool player, one whose pride kept him coming back again and again to have his ass kicked by Zeke. He just couldn't seem to learn his lesson.

  At a certain point, Zeke started refusing to take his brother's money—but that hadn't kept the tab from creeping ever higher. At this point, Troy would have to fix and maintain Zeke's old truck for the next five years to make things even.

  Or fix one seriously bashed-up coupe.

  "This thing is scrap," Troy finally said, conceding defeat. He forced up the twisted hood and peered at the engine. "What the hell happened to it?"

  "Doesn't matter."

  Troy looked up sharply, his eyes narrowing—but didn't press. The man knew when to keep his mouth shut, a fine quality in a friend. Zeke knew the truth would come out eventually, but he meant for the fugitive in his woodshed to be long gone before then.