Scars (Going All the Way, 3)

by Jenika Snow

  A moment of silence stretched between them as he just watched her. Hannah knew he had questions, and she was too tired to try to lie, too tired of life in general. Maybe he could help her. He’d helped a stranger who was in need, who was injured.

  Maybe he saw how desperate she was and would take pity on her.

  Maybe he was just like her.

  Or maybe he just wanted something from her, to use her, like everyone else seemed to want in her life.

  She swallowed that thought down, not even about to entertain it. Not everybody was a piece of shit. Besides, he’d saved her life. Who knew if anyone would’ve stopped and helped her.

  “What’s your name?”

  She contemplated giving him a fake one, but it wouldn’t hurt to tell him the truth, at least just her first name. “Hannah.”

  He was silent for a second, still watching her. His gaze was intense, powerful. She felt it everywhere.

  “That your real one?” The corner of his mouth kicked up, and she found herself smiling at the teasing note in his voice.

  She nodded. “Yeah. It is.”

  He gave a sharp nod. “I’m Mickey, but everyone who knows me calls me Scars.”

  It wasn’t hard to see why he’d gotten the nickname, not when the jagged mark on his face stood out and made him look even more dangerous.

  “You said you didn’t want me to take you to the hospital.” He stared at her with dark, serious eyes.

  He didn’t have to say the words at the moment. She knew he wanted the truth. A moment later, he asked anyway.

  “Why don’t you tell me why you didn’t want me to take you?”

  She shifted on the couch again and looked down at her hands, wondering how much she should tell him. What was the worst that could happen? Would he kick her out, tell her to leave?

  Maybe he’d call the police, since that was the best route to help her. She lifted her head and looked at him, took a moment to just stare at him, examine him. He was covered in tattoos, big and rugged-looking, dangerous… violent. He looked like he could crush bone in his hands.

  He looked like a man who had seen the other side of the tracks, probably broke every law imaginable. But she found that she… trusted this stranger. He hadn’t hurt her. He’d helped her, saved her life, listened to her when she asked not to go to the hospital.

  So Hannah took a deep breath, stared into his eyes, and told herself she was just going to be honest. It couldn’t make matters worse.

  “I didn’t want you to take me to the hospital, because I don’t want to be found." A moment of silence was thick between them before she continued. “I don’t want to be found, because I’m running from someone who I hurt, who wanted to hurt me.”

  They both stayed silent for long moments, his expression stoic, his gaze unwavering. She didn’t know how much time passed, probably only a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity before he exhaled slowly and straightened.

  He nodded slowly. “Okay.” There was no judgment, no hesitation in his voice after he spoke. He said it in a tone like a man who believed her without doubt and wanted to help.

  “Who are you running from?” He leaned forward and braced his forearms on those thick, tree trunk thighs and clasped his hands together.

  She didn’t miss how his muscles bunched under the material of his shirt, how they strained under his tattooed skin.

  “A man? Someone hurt you?”

  She noticed the change in his voice, his demeanor. He seemed... annoyed.

  He searched her face with his eyes, moving down her neck, over her body. It wasn’t anything sexual, but more so as if he were examining her, seeing if she was injured.

  Hannah slowly shook my head. “Yes, a man. But he wasn’t hurting me, not physically at least.”

  Not yet.

  This was certainly not a situation she ever saw herself in. She didn’t think anyone would be so willing to help her.

  “Okay. I’ll help. No hospital. No cops.” He inhaled slowly and exhaled deeply. “You need my help… you got it.”

  She was stunned and couldn’t speak for long moments. “Why?” she asked, but he didn’t respond right away. “Why are you willing to help me? You don’t know me.”

  There was a minute of tense silence. She could see in his expression that his mind was working.

  “Because there have been too many times where I haven’t wanted to be found. Maybe too many times to count where I was running.” His focus stayed trained on her, his words hanging heavy between them. “Like now.”

  She exhaled and felt this relief fill her. Hannah didn’t know this man, but then again, she felt like she did.

  He straightened and then a second later stood. “How about we get you something to eat, and then we can figure out what the next step is?”

  Hannah nodded, not sure what to say. He was willing to help her, no questions asked, not really. She’d never met anybody who would have done that for her. And as she watched Scars, something in her chest tightened.

  It was slightly uncomfortable, but more so, it gave her… hope.

  8

  Scars sat in the recliner across from the couch, a cup of coffee resting in his lap, his fingers curled around the ceramic.

  And he just watched Hannah sleep.

  After he made her a big meal, she’d fallen back to sleep. He covered her up with another blanket, this protective side of him rising up stronger than he’d ever felt. She was scared, running from someone or something, and all he wanted to do was make sure she was safe.

  And he didn’t know why he felt so strongly about this.

  He hardly knew her, but that would change.

  He wanted to know who was hurting her… who had hurt her. He wanted to make him pay, suffer.

  He wanted them to know the type of fear she was feeling.

  He brought his coffee to his mouth and finished it off, his focus on her chest as he watched it rise and fall with her steady breathing. She had to be exhausted. She’d been sleeping for hours, her body clearly needing this reprieve. He’d been monitoring her, worried about her having a concussion from the head injury. He refused to rest himself until he knew she would be fine.

  Scars wanted to find out all the information on Hannah so he could protect her, keep her safe. This was all so fucking foreign to him, something he’d never quite experienced with anyone aside from his daughter or her mother. But the latter had been so long ago, and he’d never felt this burning intensity to keep her close.

  He’d never felt like he’d been missing a part of himself without her in his life.

  But staring at Hannah… he felt that.

  He pulled his brows down low. He would’ve died for Stella’s mother, nearly had, but that had been emotions tied to someone who had given him the most important thing in his life… his daughter.

  What he felt as he watched Hannah sleep?

  All he could do was shake his head at his foreign feelings.

  He stood and walked over to the sink, rinsing out the mug and setting it on the rack. He braced his hands on the edge of the counter and stared at the small window, the thick line of trees surrounding the cabin on three sides.

  He had to assume whoever she was running from would want to find her. If not, she wouldn’t be afraid to go to the hospital. She wouldn’t be trying to escape.

  He turned and leaned against the sink, crossing his arms over his chest. He made his way back over to the recliner and sat down, resting his head on the leather cushion but keeping his focus locked on her. She shifted slightly, a small sound leaving her as she dreamed. She moaned a little louder and shifted again, and he could see strain start to morph her delicate features.

  Another sound came from her, this one a little bit harsher before she started moving her head back and forth. He found himself out of the recliner and walking toward her before sitting on the coffee table and reaching out and placing his hand on her arm.

  She instantly turned her head in his direction, that stress on
her face vanishing, her features relaxing. His chest clenched, this unknown feeling consuming him. What was it about this woman that turned him upside down so thoroughly, so instantly, that he couldn’t think, didn’t feel like himself?

  He didn’t know her, yet he wanted to avenge her, wanted to hurt the person she feared… so harshly until they were rotting in the ground at his feet.

  And he’d do that for Hannah. He’d make sure she never had to worry again. He’d make sure she was in his life for him to protect her.

  He didn’t even question that feeling, that reality. He didn’t know if after this was all said and done, he could let her walk away.

  9

  Several days had passed since the accident and Scars brought Hannah back to his cabin. In those days, the gash on her head was healing, Scars was keeping her fed—in fact, insisting she eat more than what she thought a grown man probably consumed—and he insisted she sleep in his bed while he took the couch.

  She couldn’t deny that lying in the center of that mattress, thinking about him out in the living room, his big body dwarfing that couch, had this strange longing growing inside her.

  He hadn’t asked any more details about who she was running from, but she knew she had to tell him eventually. Not only because he deserved to know the truth, since he was helping her, but mainly because she wanted him to know.

  Hannah felt this burning need to bare herself to Scars, to share parts of herself she’d never thought to share with anyone else. He made her feel comfortable, at ease. He didn’t rush her, didn’t probe for details.

  At first, he helped her with zero information, and when she’d given him a morsel of what was going on, he’d still been there, not demanding anything else from her.

  She felt things, things that were foreign and strange. Emotions that made her tummy clench and her blood rush. She didn’t know what they were or why she felt them, but they claimed her when she thought of Scars and intensified when he was near.

  Hannah held a cup of coffee in her hands, had a light throw blanket over her shoulders, and leaned against the window frame of the living room as she stared outside. It was early, but the sun was already up, peeking through the thick line of trees.

  She could see Scars inside a small garage-type structure, hunched over the hood of her car. A tow truck had brought the vehicle to his cabin late yesterday and had backed the non-running car into the building. The front end was elevated by wooden blocks, totally smashed to hell. Scars had gone out this morning to see what kind of damage she was looking at.

  Just looking at her poor car didn’t give her any hope. Even if he could get it running, how could she pay for parts, the repairs? She had nothing but a little bit of money she managed to take before leaving, and it sure as hell wouldn’t even make a dent in fixing the vehicle.

  She exhaled, feeling this heavy weight settle on her. What the hell was she going to do now?

  Scars pushed away from the car and grabbed a rag, wiping his hands off. Despite her depression over the situation, her body heated as she stared at him.

  He was all male. There was no other wordage that could accurately describe Scars. The denim jeans that encased his powerful legs were worn, grease stains covering them. The white T-shirt looked equally as lived-in and dirty, as if he used this specific outfit when doing all the manly things that needed done.

  The way his biceps flexed when he moved his arms had this tightening starting in her belly and moving outward to claim every part of her. She’d never felt this kind of desire before, the kind that had rational thought leaving and causing this primal need to mate take over.

  She watched him leave the garage and start heading back toward the cabin, and she moved away from the window to quickly head back to the kitchen table. She’d woken up to see he made her breakfast, a big spread of bacon and eggs, some seasoned diced potatoes, and a big pot of coffee.

  To say she felt something at seeing what he’d done for her would be an understatement. No one had done something so nice or selfless for her.

  And when he told her to sit and eat, to not get up until she was good and full, she hadn’t been able to stop her smile from spreading.

  She sat down, her belly stuffed from all the food, yet it looked like she hadn’t even made a dent in the spread Scars prepared. The front door opened a moment later, and she lifted her head to watch him.

  His head was down, and this intense look of concentration covered his masculine features. When he was deep in thought, his scar seemed more pronounced. She found herself getting more aroused looking at him, letting her gaze travel over that ages-old wound. He seemed dangerous with it… well, even more dangerous than normal.

  He lifted his head then, as if he sensed her watching him.

  Hannah wondered how he’d gotten it. Had someone given it to him? What did they look like as a result? She could only imagine that if another human hurt him like that, she doubted they survived to tell the story.

  A small smile curved his lips as he noticed her empty plate.

  “Are you still hungry? I don’t have any fresh fruit, but I can run into town and grab some. Or if there's something you like but I don’t have, I can get that too.”

  She shook her head, a smile forming on her lips. He was eager to please her. Hannah could see that on his face, hear it in his voice. “I’m full. Stuffed, in fact. I haven't eaten like that in… I can’t remember.”

  He scowled at that and walked into the kitchen to wash his hands in the sink.

  For long seconds, she just watched him, stared at the way his biceps and forearms flexed and relaxed as he lathered up his hands before rinsing them under the water. He turned and grabbed a dishtowel, drying off, his focus on her. Hannah couldn’t deny that his gaze was penetrating, strong, and made her feel like he reached out and touched her.

  “You should eat more. You’re skin and bones.” The way he said it told her he didn’t like that reality. “I’ll have to change that while you’re here, make big meals three times a day.” The corner of his mouth kicked up, and she couldn’t help but laugh.

  “You do that and by the time I leave, I won’t be able to fit into any of my clothes.”

  Something in his expression changed… heated. She could see it in the darkening of his eyes, hear it in what she swore was a growl leaving him.

  “You’ll be full and healthy. Nothing wrong with that.” His voice was even deeper, if that were possible.

  They didn’t speak for moments, Scars leaning against the sink as he watched her, Hannah’s hands under the table as she nervously picked at her shirt. Finally, he sighed and pushed away, walking toward her before taking the seat across from where she sat.

  “So, good news and bad news on the car.”

  She straightened, nodding slowly.

  “It’s fixable.”

  She let out a relieved breath.

  “But it’s not gonna be easy and not gonna be quick.”

  Her heart sank.

  “I can do all the work in the garage. That’s not even a problem. And I certainly have the free time, but the main part I need won’t be easy to come by, meaning it’ll probably take a while to get in.”

  Her heart sank double time, not just because of the news, but because she knew she didn't have the money to afford any of this.

  A cold sweat broke out on her forehead, and she lifted her hands to clasp them on the table, trying to act like she wasn’t freaking out. And the entire time, Scars watched her, his brows pulling down low as he clearly took in the change in her.

  “Hey,” he said deeply, his voice softening. He reached out and placed his massively large hand on hers, which was so tiny in comparison. “What's wrong?”

  She licked her lips, knowing she needed to tell him the truth. “I don’t have the money to pay for any of the repairs, to pay you for the work.” Tears brimmed her eyes, because she couldn't stay in this cabin forever. But without a car, she was good and screwed.

  “Hey now, don’t worr
y about that, okay? I have all the shit to fix it. Only thing I need is the main part, and I'm in tight with the mechanic shop in town. They owe me more favors than they can ever repay in a lifetime.”

  She did start crying then, fat tears sliding down her cheeks. “Why?” His brows furrowed further. “Why are you helping me? You don’t even know me.” She angrily wiped her tears away with her free hand, the one he wasn’t grasping. She didn't want to let go of that stable comfort from him.

  “Why am I helping you?” he parroted, but she didn’t respond, didn’t even breathe. “Because despite the tattoos, even though I look like I should be in prison—” She smiled at that, and he gave her a wink. “—when I see someone in need of help, when they are so scared their only option is to run and accept help from someone who looks like me, I can’t ignore it. I have to help.” He gave her hand another squeeze.

  He leaned forward, and she smelled a mixture of his cologne, his natural woodsy, intoxicating scent, and a hint of motor oil. It shouldn’t have turned her on, but God it did.

  “And in all honesty, there’s something about you that draws me in, Hannah. Even if my life depended on not helping you, I couldn’t do it. I’d be a dead man.”

  She cried harder, feeling stupid for not being able to control herself. He gave her another reassuring smile. “You’re safe here with me. You stay as long as you need. Even when I get your car up and running—you don’t want to leave, you don’t have to.”

  Her vision was wavering, blurry from her tears. She had to tell him about Landon, about possibly killing the asshole. He would probably change his mind, rescind his offer, but he needed to know.

  “Scars,” she said softly and watched as his body tightened slightly. “You need to know about who I’m running from. And why.” He still kept his hand on hers but added a little pressure. “I’m running from a man. Landon. My stepbrother.”

  Hannah went on to tell Scars about it all, not bothering to leave any details out. He was helping her and deserved to know the truth, that she couldn’t go back, that she’d hurt Landon and didn’t know if he was even alive. She told him everything, and the whole time, he sat there quietly and listened, not judging her, not showing any emotion.