I don’t know why I shared any personal information with Eagle. When he left me alone in the cabana I changed into my jeans and tennis shoes, determined to get away without ever seeing him again. He makes me weak. Our past tempts me to revert to the girl I used to be. And being in our hometown makes it that much easier to slip.
Now I’m walking aimlessly up the Gulf Beach Highway in the middle of the night without a jacket, hoping Ben will fire me when I get home. I’m already on his shit list. Tonight confirms my complete distaste for this job. Once I was locked into the contract I tried to make the best of things. I make good money, but not enough to entertain drug lords and gang members.
I’ve lived through that kind of savagery before. Seen firsthand what kind of violence happens when you keep company with soulless men.
Sixteen years ago on a Friday night my father came into the living room with a bowl of popcorn. Mom had a girl’s night out once a month, so Dad and I made it a habit to watch a movie together . . .
“Ready, kid?” he asks. He plops down next to me on the sofa.
“Let me guess,” I say. “Star WarsorRevenge of the Nerds?”
He grins. “Wrong on both counts.”
“Return of the Jedi?” Dad never outgrew the Star Wars craze—he just handed it down to the next generation.
“Bambi,” he says.
I nearly choke from laughing so hard. “Really?”
“It’s your favorite.”
A loud bang stops our conversation. Dad sets the bowl of popcorn down, rises slowly, and tells me to be quiet. “Get in the closet.”
I hesitate, I don’t want him to leave me alone. “Daddy . . .”
He turns. “Do. It. Now. Baby girl.”
It’s a tiny space covered by a drape. I sneak inside it, arranging the curtain carefully. I peek out, but he’s gone already. I hear loud voices in the kitchen. I creep to the doorway. Pop. Pop. Two shots, no three. I rush into the kitchen. The front door slams shut. My father is on the floor, bleeding from his nose and mouth. I scream, throw myself on top of him. “Daddy . . . Daddy . . .”
A cold wind brings me back to the present.
A truck zips by and I hear a whistle. Assholes. Guys have one thing on their minds. I’m not the girl to give it to them. I have enough shit going on inside my head. That’s why I’m studying to be a psychotherapist. Forget providing therapy for all the other fucked up people out there. I need serious help, and the only place I’m going to find it is inside me.
A black Mercedes SLK stops a few feet ahead of me on the shoulder. A tremor shoots down my body. Some hard dick looking for fun, really? The car door opens and I see a black boot hit the pavement. I do a 180 and start walking as fast as I can in the opposite direction.
“Serafina.”
I freeze.Oh my God, it’s Eagle.What does he want? How did he know where to find me?
“What?” I ask without stopping. I hear his heavy footsteps following me, closing the gap between us.
The next thing I feel is his jacket slipping over my shoulders. “I didn’t ask for your help.” I quit walking then, pulling the soft leather tighter around me. It smells like him—that citrusy cologne I miss.
“You didn’t have to,” he says gently. “You’re shivering.”
I loathe the good ol’ southern boy bullshit that most men in Louisiana use to seduce women. All manners on the surface, but underneath, they just want to fuck me. Not Eagle—he wants all of me. He’s genuine, like a treasured piece in a museum. Born in the wrong century and just trying to deal with it. I twist around. “What do you want?”
“Stop fighting me,” he says. “We have more important things to do right now.”
I laugh. “Weare done. I met you at a bachelor party, you helped me out of a sticky situation, and I thanked you. End of story.”
“Didn’t your mother raise you better? Where’s that southern charm?” he chides.
“I left it in Arkansas.”
A moment of uncomfortable silence passes between us before he speaks again. “You’re not walking alone on the highway in the middle of the night. Besides,” he says, “you’re going the wrong way.” He points. “Unless you want to visit the Rockefeller State Wildlife Refuge?”
“Listen, biker boy . . .”
