My eyes are still scanning every dark corner when my headlights illuminate the large oak tree in front of the cottage. I slam my hand on my steering wheel in fiery annoyance, forcing it to overpower the disgust.
“What the fuck!”
Hanging from the tree is a mutilated animal, sliced and mangled. Drenched in blood, it’s hard to tell if it’s a cat or a fox, or some other small animal. But the paper nailed to its stomach, or where the stomach should be, is painfully legible.
SLUT
* * *
My tires crunch across the gravel until they come to a stop in the center of the dirt lot.
There’s the farmhouse to my right, but it’s dark. The big barn to my left has the door propped open, and I can hear voices from within.
This is a bad idea.
I don’t know what I’m doing, but this is where I ended up when nothing else felt right.
I blink to adjust to the lights inside as I step through the door, and the noise of multiple conversations dies completely by the time both of my feet come to a stop.
At least six men are staring at me, but no one moves until an older man by the pool table leans his stick against the side and steps towards me.
“Can I help you, ma’am?” His scratchy drawl comforts me, but it doesn’t erase the anxiety coursing through my veins. I haven’t stopped shaking since I peeled out of my driveway.
“I’m looking for Jensen, err, Hayes, I mean.”
“He’s probably in the garage, but let me call him first to chec–”
“Liv?”
The adrenaline keeping me afloat deflates hearing his voice, and my knees nearly buckle, but my self-preservation keeps me upright.
“Thank you,” I utter to the older man before turning towards the door.
Jensen is standing in the doorway, looking at me as if he’s checking for injuries. His serious gaze scans me from head to toe, and I tremble under his assessment.
All the fear that I’ve tamped down catches up to me now that I’m in his presence. The disgust of seeing a mutilated animal left purposefully for me washes over me.
“Get me out of here, please,” I beg under my breath as black shadows lick at the edges of my vision.
He hardly blinks at my request, offering his hand to me, but my focus only narrows, and as hard as I try, it’s out ofreach.
My neck muscles go lax, and my body sways, but I only fall against a hard wall of muscle. “Olive, what the hell is going on?”
“Nothing,” I breathe, sucking in his distinctive scent. It’s exactly as I remember, but somehow better.
“Olive,” he growls, steadying me on my feet. Some alertness snaps back into my brain.
“I just need to sit down,” I whisper, remembering there are people behind me witnessing this.
“Not in here,” he grumbles. “Can you walk, or do you want me to carry you?”
“I can walk,” I admit regretfully, but he doesn’t let me go.
He wraps his arm firmly around my waist before leading me back outside, and doesn’t let it slip until I’m placed solidly in a fold-out camping chair in a big garage.
The warmth of his skin leaves me too quickly, and a chill zips down my spine.
“What do you need?” He asks, worriedly, examining my face just as closely as before.
