by Jenika Snow
And that’s how he liked it. He was one antisocial motherfucker.
“Hey, darlin’,” the waitress said, her nametag showing she was Patricia. She was a middle-aged woman with wrinkles around her eyes and a gap between her teeth.
He gave her a small smile he knew didn’t reach his eyes and placed his order. When she left, he went back to looking around the diner, ready to leave, because he was starting to feel claustrophobic with the thick push of bodies and the chatter surrounding him.
Scars never claimed to be a good guy, wouldn’t be called a gentle heart or a kind soul. Although he laid his life down for anyone he cared about, would do anything for the people he called family—blood or not—anyone else wasn’t even on his radar. So being in this diner had his skin tightening, his pulse increasing slightly. He rubbed the back of his neck and faced forward, staring at the pie display, his jaw locked tight. He bounced his leg, becoming agitated.
He watched an older couple eating at one of the booths, the man starting to argue with the woman before she said something that shut him up. Scars let his gaze fall on another man sitting at the counter, his shirt stained with sweat, his hands dirty from no doubt doing manual labor all day.
That’s how a lot of the men and women here were. The mountain town was a working community, it’s main reputation for their lumber distribution throughout the state.
He continued to look around the diner and was about to glance back at the counter, when a lone woman sitting at the farthest table in the corner caught his attention. She was tiny, with a mane of dark-brown hair, almost black in its color, tucked under a baseball cap and shielding her on either side like a curtain. She had a roadmap spread out on the table in front of her, a cup of what he assumed was coffee beside that, and opposite the mug was a slice of half-eaten pie.
She was bouncing her leg under the table, pulled at her bottom lip with her teeth, and kept glancing up at the door every time the bell warned of a new person entering.
The nervousness coming from her was tangible, and for some reason, Scars found his protectiveness rising up. She was afraid of something or someone, and although he considered himself a bastard to almost everyone, he had a soft spot for making sure women and children were protected. He liked to think his daughter brought that out in him, made him more human in that regard.
She pulled her baseball cap down lower, shielding her eyes from him. He didn’t like that something had clearly spooked her, but he also didn’t like that he got like this and didn’t even know her.
He looked away from her, staring down at the cup of coffee the waitress had set in front of him. He came to the cabin to concentrate on other things, mainly himself and trying to clear his head. But the more he tried to think about those things, the more the woman sitting across the diner pulled his focus.
That didn’t sit well with him, made him feel unsteady, so he asked Patricia to bag his stuff to go, and then he paid for his items, stood, and headed toward the front door. But something made him look over his shoulder at that woman once more, his hand on the handle, about to pull it open so he could leave.
She glanced up, and their eyes locked. Scars swore the air stilled around him then instantly heated. His heart started to race, adrenaline pumping through his veins. Never in his life had he had this kind of reaction to a woman. It had been a long fucking time since he’d given a shit about anyone who wasn’t his daughter or his brothers.
That had him feeling angry at himself, pissed at the situation, and so damn confused at what was happening.
He pulled the door open and left, knowing he was going to get piss-ass drunk tonight and put all this behind him.
4
Hannah had stopped at this little diner in this mountain town an hour ago. She needed a break from driving, her ass and back hurting from sitting in the car for so long, her legs aching.
She was exhausted, so tired it went down to her bones. And although she wanted to keep moving, get as far away from the shit following her as she could, she also just wanted to sleep for a solid day.
But that sure as hell wasn’t going to happen anytime soon.
She’d ordered coffee after coffee. And every time Hannah heard that little bell above the door ding, her fear took hold.
Hannah knew she looked junkie as hell, probably even suspicious. And that was solidified when she noticed a man looking at her. He was built solidly and big, appeared rough around the edges, with tattoos, and a body so tall he almost looked like a giant sitting on that tiny barstool.
And he had his focus on her. She felt it before she even looked up and saw he watched her. At first, she thought he knew who she was, that he was connected to Landon.
But common sense told her that wasn’t possible. She’d left hours ago while Landon had been unconscious. There was no way he could’ve had somebody follow her and show up almost exactly at the same time she did. That gave her a little bit of peace, but still, the man watching her did it so intently it was like he knew she was running from something.
She wasn’t afraid of him exactly. Although his size, all those muscles, and tattoos were frightening all in itself, it was the way he watched her. It was as if he were trying to understand her, find all her secrets. And when he’d been about to leave, something in her had tightened uncomfortably. And that feeling in her intensified when he stopped before leaving the diner and looked over at her once more.
She didn’t know who he was.
She didn’t know what he wanted or why he seemed so interested in her, but it set Hannah on edge.
She paid for her coffee and got a couple sandwiches to go. She’d stop at the next town and rest for a little bit. She wouldn’t get a motel, not wanting to leave a paper trail. Although Landon wasn’t some kind of prodigy when it came to finding out that kind of information, she had no doubts he knew people who did.
He had connections, other lowlifes like him who could probably find a person even if they didn’t want to be found.
She didn’t know how long she’d drive and didn’t know how far she’d go. Hannah didn’t even know where she was going. All she knew was she had to keep moving.
Maybe she’d killed Landon, and all this running was for nothing?
No, she was surviving.
Once in her car with the door shut, she instinctively locked it. Hannah had left her phone back at the house in her rush to leave, only grabbing her purse, but she was thankful she didn’t have the cell. That could be tracked.
So she’d picked up a prepaid one at the gas station an hour before. It didn’t have the internet, so she couldn’t look up the news to see if anything had been documented about Landon. Maybe that was for the best though. Maybe she didn’t want to know what was going on.
She looked at her windshield. The sun had set about twenty minutes prior, but she hadn’t missed the rolling storm clouds coming through. Hannah had been able to smell the scent of oncoming rain in the air when she left the diner.
And no more than a minute later, the raindrops started to fall. At first, it was a light sprinkling, but as the minutes passed, they became angry, falling down harder.
Perfect. Just my luck.
She started the car but didn’t leave the parking lot right away. She waited to see if the storm would pass, which it wasn’t looking like it would ease up anytime soon.
Screw it.
She backed out of the parking spot and headed onto the main road. She drove slowly, her windshield wipers working overtime as she leaned forward and looked out. There was a haziness in front of the car, the fog thick, the inside of the windshield starting to cloud. She cranked the heater, contemplating whether to pull off to the side and wait this out.
She reached out and moved her hand across the windshield, wiping away the condensation. She couldn’t drive like this, not when the weather was so turbulent and she could hardly see.
Hannah had to find a good place to pull off to the side and wait this out, hoping she wouldn’t be sitting on the si
de of the road for the rest of the night.
But she knew these mountain storms could rage all night—at least, that’s what the gas station attendant said.
She drove slow, taking the winding road, the forest on either side of her making the drive seem even more ominous.
Her tires caught a puddle of water and hydroplaned for a split second. A shocked cry left her, and she tightened her hand on the steering wheel to try to steady the vehicle. Once it straightened, she started pumping the brakes to slow down a little bit, her heart beating a mile a minute, nervous sweat starting to dot her temples.
But the rain came down harder and faster, visibility becoming all but zero.
She was frantically looking for a good place to pull off, but because the road was so narrow, the shoulders descending down into small ravines, she couldn’t pull off safely. And then she hit another puddle of water, the car hydroplaned harder this time.
Hannah squeezed her hands on the steering wheel and held her breath, trying to stay calm.
The weather, the anger... the unfair circumstance and situation of how life could be, had something breaking inside her. Her emotions spilled forth, and as they bubbled up, she finally let them free. There was nothing to hold them back.
Opening her mouth, Hannah let out the scream that had been festering inside her since her family and life had changed so drastically.
She screamed at the uncertainty of it all, at how unfair life could be. She screamed, because she felt helpless and hateful, because she felt this darkness trying to consume her.
She. Just. Screamed.
And when she hit yet another puddle of water, she made the mistake of pressing the brakes, which only made it worse. The car spun, her heart stopped, and the air left her lungs as she braced herself for the inevitable impact.
There was no stopping it, not as the car spun and the trees rushed right toward her.
5
The sky opened up just as Scars left the butcher shop. He was used to these mountain storms, especially for this time of year, and was versed enough in driving these winding roads that it wasn’t an issue for him to navigate with barely any visibility.
But it clearly was an issue for someone as he saw a set of taillights lit up off the side of the road.
The rain had eased up slightly, but it was still a heavy pour.
He pulled the truck to a stop on the shoulder and cursed as he saw the car had gone headfirst into a tree.
“Fuck,” Scars cursed under his breath as he put the truck in park and climbed out. He was soaked within a matter of seconds, but he was more worried about the passenger in the car.
Or at least he hoped there wasn’t a passenger in the car. He hoped they’d gotten out and were already on their way to town for help.
He made his way down to the vehicle, his footing slipping because the ground was turning to mud. Scars braced a hand on the side of the car and tried to look in the driver side window, but everything was blurry because of the water rushing down over the glass.
Gripping the handle, he wrenched open the door and cursed again when he saw a body slumped over the steering wheel. Definitely female. Small. Slender. Her head was turned, and her long dark hair was in a ponytail and tucked under a baseball cap.
“Hey," he said loud enough that if she was conscious she could hear. He touched the center of her back and spoke again, and after a moment, she groaned in pain. “Are you okay?”
She moaned and sat up a little bit, her head rolling on her neck slightly before she touched her fingers to her temples. Her hat was slightly skewed from the impact, and he reached out to gently pull it off and toss it on the passenger side seat.
She pulled her hand away, and Scars could see blood coating her fingers.
“Shit,” he muttered, not knowing how badly she was hurt, but understanding she needed to go to the hospital.
She pulled at her hair tie that secured the locks, the long fall of that raven-colored hair tumbling along her shoulders. She looked at him then, and he felt his chest tighten as he recognized her from the diner.
She blinked at him a few times then started mumbling something incoherently under her breath. Scars pulled out his cell phone, and of course there was no signal, given the shitty fucking weather. Again, not something uncommon living in the mountains, and normally he liked the lack of reception. But right now, it fucking grated on his nerves.
And worried him.
And he didn’t know how to feel over the latter.
“Shit,” he cursed. She started saying something under her breath, and he leaned in close. “What, darlin’?”
She lifted her hand to rub her eyes and then she started moving toward the gash he now noticed in her head, but he gently took her hand away.
“Don’t touch anything, sweetheart. Your head got pretty banged up. I need to take you to the hospital and get you checked out.” He saw the instant change in her after he spoke, like someone had poured cold water on her.
She started shaking her head, her eyes widening as she stared at him with so much fear Scars felt it to his core.
“No hospital,” she murmured and promptly closed her eyes, a groggy moan spilling from her. “My head is pounding.” She cleared her throat and said again, “No hospital. I’m fine.”
He lifted his hand and rubbed the back of his neck, watching as her vision cleared slightly the longer she stared at him. “Darlin’, it’s clear what you want, but your head’s all banged up. I’m no doctor, and even though I could patch you up well enough, I don’t know if you have a concussion.”
She didn’t say anything for long moments, just stared into his eyes, this vulnerability permeating from her. He didn’t know her, had no idea her circumstances, but it was clear she didn’t want to be known. That’s the only reason she wouldn’t want to go to the hospital. No paper trail.
He could understand that pretty fucking well. Many times in his life, he hadn’t wanted to be found. Kind of like right now.
“Shit," he cursed under his breath and said fuck it before unbuckling her seatbelt and gently helping her out of the car. “Wrap your arms around me, sweetheart.” She did what he asked, murmuring again, but her words too low for him to understand them.
He cradled her in his arms, her frame tiny. Scars gently, carefully carried her to his truck, the rain still beating down on them. He felt her rest her head on his shoulder, and that did something strange to him. It made him feel a way he wasn’t accustomed to. He couldn’t place the emotion, but he did tighten his hold on her, keeping her close.
She was putting all her trust in him, a stranger, a man she didn’t know from Adam. She held onto him, let him take care of her, protect her.
And out of all these sensations and emotions running through him, the one that stuck out the most was that he… liked these feelings.
6
It was the smell of bacon cooking that roused Hannah. She slowly blinked open her eyes, staring at exposed wooden beams above her. Her head pounded, the discomfort spreading to her temples and down behind her eyes. The memory of the crash came back, and she closed her eyes again, breathing out slowly.
She took note of her surroundings for just a moment. She was on a couch, a thick blanket covering her. She opened her eyes again and looked to her left, seeing a fire in the hearth, the heat spreading toward her like warm fingers.
She heard the sound of pots clanging together, but everything else was a blurry mess, a reel running backward in her brain and that she tried to decipher.
Lifting her hand, she touched her forehead, her skull tender, a bandage on her temple. Her entire body ached, and she tried to push herself up before promptly falling back down and groaning deeply as the discomfort was far too intense.
“Hey, careful now, darlin’.”
The deep voice came from the other side of the couch. It was scratchy and rough, but she found herself instantly calming, resting against the soft cushions, obeying him, because it just seemed like the right thing
to do at the moment.
She shifted on the couch a little bit, the pillow underneath her head thick and soft. She smelled this dark, woodsy scent. Male.
And then the man who stepped into her line of vision had her heart stuttering a moment. Everything around her was soft—the couch, the blanket… everything. But the man looking down at her was hard, like stone, his body tall, his muscles all but busting out of the gray T-shirt he wore. And the distressed jeans that covered his strong, sturdy legs couldn’t hide the fact that his thighs were like tree trunks.
She remembered him from the diner, a man bigger than life itself, a male more masculine than she’d ever seen before.
7
“What happened exactly?” Her voice was thick, groggy, like she’d been sleeping for an eternity. She remembered the car hydroplaning, remembered the tree rushing toward the vehicle. But after that, everything was a blur—murky, dark waters.
He walked around the couch and sat on the edge of the coffee table, and that’s when she noticed what he held in his hand. A mug with liquid hot enough that steam billowed out from the top.
He handed it to her and she gave him what she hoped was a grateful smile. After she adjusted herself so she was sitting up more, she took the mug and brought the rim to her mouth, taking a slow sip of what was hot, slightly sweet tea.
“Sorry, it was all I had in the cabinet." His voice was husky and deep, his focus trained right on her. “Hopefully it doesn’t taste like shit.”
She gave him another smile and shook her head slowly. “It’s perfect, thank you." She took another sip and then reached to set it on the coffee table. He took it out of her hands and did that for her so she wouldn’t have to stretch.