Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 21482 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 107(@200wpm)___ 86(@250wpm)___ 72(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 21482 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 107(@200wpm)___ 86(@250wpm)___ 72(@300wpm)
I also shove away my unease. In the past year, a motorcycle club that’s been around for a while has had an influx of new members from a disbanded outlaw club in central Oregon. Just a bunch of dickheads involved in all kinds of shit. And one of the top ranking dickheads, Draco Pierce—a former corporal with the sheriff’s department—has a particular hard-on for me.
He’s baited me before, riding by while committing minor infractions—getting right up on my rear bumper, no turn signal while switching lanes to pass me, going just over the grace that the department usually allows on the highway speed limit, stupid shit like that—no doubt hoping I’d pull him over so that he can start shouting harassment.
But Pierce has always kept it right on the line, knowing that if he pushed too far over, any harassment claims would turn sour on him. He sure as hell wouldn’t get any sympathy doing ninety in a rainstorm.
This guy wasn’t wearing a black vest, though. And as he slows and pulls over to the shoulder, I see that he’s got Montana plates.
The name on the registration doesn’t bring up any alerts. It’s only when I’m out of my car and coming up around his right side that the alarms start ringing in my head. Not out of fear, though he’s a big guy. Huge. But it’s the way his rain-saturated T-shirt clings to his back, revealing muscles that are solid and heavy but not sharply defined. The way he sits so easy, waiting for me, and the size of his feet. The way he drags both fingers through his dripping wet hair, though it’s not military-short now but shaggy and hanging down the back of his neck.
“Sergeant Sam,” the fucker grins, and angles a glance at my holster. His eyes are glowing honey gold. “Happy to see me again?”
The only thing that would make me happy right now is shooting him. If not for the mountain of paperwork I’d be required to file, I might have. It wouldn’t hurt him, not really. And I’d bet it’d feel real damn good to me.
“License and registration,” I tell him woodenly.
His eyes darken. The grin slowly leaves his face. “Pretty sure my wallet is still at your house.”
So it is. Around Christmas, I closed the door to his bedroom and never opened it again. Just like I closed my heart, so I don’t ask what he’s been doing for money and how he paid for gas, or what his relationship is to the guy whose name is on the motorcycle registration, or where the fuck he’s been.
“Give me your driver’s license number, then.”
“Sam—”
“I already logged the fucking stop,” I snarl. “So let me fill out the rest of this shit and we can both be on our way.”
Brandon recites the number, his voice low and with an edge of strain. I’ve got anger riding high but cracking through the shield of rage is all the pain I don’t want him to see, so I don’t even look at his face—how can I still like his stupid fucking face?—but just march back to my vehicle while fighting the urge to cry.
By the time I emerge again, I’ve got everything under wraps. Mostly. I feel his gaze searching my face but I don’t return it, focusing instead on a point just past his shoulder.
“Court date’s on the citation,” I tell him and slap the ticket into his hand. His fingers almost close around mine but I jerk my arm back. “You’ll be at Ranger’s tonight?”
“Yeah.” That short reply is hoarse and thick. No rumble left.
“Came back to see Emma?” I don’t care one way or another. I just want to know how soon he’ll be leaving again. I just want to know how long I’ll have to keep this rage dialed up high, because I’m not sure yet that I can pretend indifference.
“Not just for Emma. Sam, I came back for you.”
Against my every intention, my head whips up and my gaze snaps to his. The glow is back, but I’ve seen it before. And the look on his face, too—when he said he’d bust his ass making us work. I believed him once.
Never fucking again.
“You ought have stayed gone,” I tell him.
And this time, I’m the one who walks away.
2
BRANDON
If Samantha Green were a berserker, no doubt that she’d have ripped me apart and left me in pieces alongside the highway. As it is, she only managed to tear out my heart.
Can’t say that I blame her. Though I wasn’t quite expecting that much anger. When I left, we were still friends. I was hoping that we’d at least pick up there again.
Obviously that isn’t going to happen. And I don’t know what the fuck to do next.
Except head into town and stop at the district ranger station. Travis is just getting out of one of their Forest Service trucks when I pull in to the lot.