The three of them share worrisome looks.
It’s no secret I’ve never been with a woman. Until Lake was old enough, I couldn’t understand why I never felt attraction before. I live and breathe for her. Have my whole fucking life. But she’s fucking broken, and I can’t seem to fix it.
“What, uh, what are you thinking, Saint?” Easton hedges the question.
“Lake is getting worse. The depression eats her day and night. She’s scared of her own shadow and screams when she’s lost in her head. I need to do something.” I feel exposed, growling these thoughts out.
“And you’re going to do that with sex?” Bishop asks, confused. “Nolan might skin you alive.”
I scoff at the warning. Nol doesn’t scare me.
“Yeah…yeah!” Hendrix gets it. “I feel you, man. End this fucker, and we’ll figure this shit out.”
Nodding in gratitude, I turn back around just as my furious opponent rushes forward. Side-stepping his advance, he slams into the cage where my friends stand and splits open a new wound in his head, blood trickling down his face on all sides now. He bares his teeth, while I stand limber and loose in the middle of the concrete-floored ring.
I’m able to keep my cool until he lets out a sarcastic laugh and says the one thing he shouldn’t. “Bet I could get that little Lake Sutton after tonight. Deep dick that tight snatch until she’s screaming my name.”
My eyes laser in on the bastard as my friends shake their heads, already knowing this fight is over, and so is his life. Hunching low, I bounce on my toes, awaiting his attack. Despite the rage pulsing through my heart, I won’t fuck this up.
He charges, swings wide, misses, and I serve him an upper cut to the jaw that sends him stumbling back. Anger slices across his face that I dare get another shot in. When he charges again, I waste no more time and lay him out. Attacking from the top and pounding his face until it resembles minced meat, and there’s no movement. He may not be dead, but he sure won’t be getting back up.
Sobs break out from the audience, but I don’t fucking care. I’d have let him live if he hadn’t kept mentioning my girl. Now, he’ll be on a ventilator for the rest of his life, and there’s not an ounce of remorse in my bones for the prick.
CHAPTER 2
Lake
The clock flashes 5:43 in the morning as I awaken in a cold sweat, drenched from my hairline to my knees. I toss the blankets off. There will be no falling back to sleep for me, not once my brain registers the time.
Time haunts me. Every morning. Every day. All night until exhaustion forces my body to rest. Nothing ever changes, though. Not with the help of sleep aids or anxiety medication. Not music, light, or meditation. I’m bound by time because it’s when my life ended.
Fighting my way out of the tank top and sleep shorts, I toss them in the hamper in the corner of my room before slogging to the shower. Warm sweat slides down my body, making my skin crawl as I recall that hot, humid Texas night. Their fingers digging into my skin, bruising me with every touch. Their hot breath on my face as they taunted. The evil in their eyes, unmatched to this day.
Turning on the cold water, I step under the spray and wash it all down the drain. My face pushes into the stream, whisking away the hot tears rolling down my cheeks, and I stay that way until the pinpricks of cold turn to tiny icicles stabbing my face.
Lathering up my hair and body takes only a few minutes before I rinse, turn off the valves, and step out into the cool air.
Despite winter having made an appearance in the majority of the country, Florida still remains warm. Sometimes, I hate it; I’d like to experience a proper winter for once, with snow, cold air, and frigid temperatures.
Maybe that’s what I need…a change of scenery.
Changes in my life.
The idea has merit and takes root. I think, for once, it might be time to step out of my comfort zone and pursue something away from home, where my safety net has been my entire life. My dad will hate it, my brothers will object, and Saint…
Saint can’t know.
He would stop me. Or follow me. Possibly kidnap me.
I’ll never understand why he’s so…enamored with me. I’m uninteresting, not that smart, and not so pretty, given all the scars I carry now. Running away from my troubles is something I can do. Since Texas, I’ve become a hermit, and a change doesn’t seem likely anytime soon.
Once upon a time, I dreamed of becoming a social worker—helping the helpless. When Bea came into our lives, the idea resurfaced, and I’ve been thinking about it again. Even spoke to Hadley about it once. She was enthusiastic and encouraging, but I’m not sure if I have it in me to attend college. I only made it through high school because of homeschooling.
Brushing through my thick hair, my eyes inspect the nude body reflecting in the mirror. The puckered white scars stand out starkly against my naturally tan skin. Much more than I’d like. Tiny ones, large ones, ones that look like beauty marks. They’re there, ever present, always mocking, nothing I can do about them.
Setting down my hairbrush, I brush my teeth, then head back into my room. My eyes linger on my bed as I move past it to the windows and draw back the curtains. I freeze.
There he is. The man I’ve dreamt about often. The man who will protect me at any cost. Saint Rivers stands in the garden behind our house, bruised, bloody, and looking partly deranged while he stares up at me.
