I’ve never hit anyone before, but I ball my fist all the same and send it flying toward her face. My knuckles land right on her cheek and she cries out in surprise. My hand throbs, but I have no time to recover as she grabs a fistful of my hair and yanks harshly. I pry at her hands in my hair, but her grip is unrelenting. Instead, I try to shove her away, until we’re both scratching and screaming at each other like wild animals.
In the middle of the scuffle, a pair of arms grabs me around the waist and hoists me off the ground. I’m pulled into a broad chest as the woman releases her grip on my hair.
A voice booms, coming from the person holding me if the rumbling in their chest is any indication. “Enough, both of you.”
Maverick.I recognize his voice and my training kicks in, automatically submitting to the authority in his tone. I stop thrashing, though my chest still heaves, his massive arms rising and falling with my ribs.
The blonde woman looks worse for wear. Her hair a tousled mess and a bruise is already blooming under her eye. She spits on the ground at my feet, seething. “Stay away from me, Brotherhoodbitch.”
“Sam,” Maverick warns, his voice a deep growl.
The blonde—Sam, I guess—gives Maverick a look I can’t decipher, somewhere between disbelief and outrage, before she walks away, her friend close behind.
It’s only once she’s gone that I realize Maverick is still holding onto me tightly, and I become aware of every point of contact between our bodies. His muscular arms around my waist, his broad chest flush against my back, his thick thighs pressed to my backside.
I try to move away, pushing on his arms. “Let me go.”
He doesn’t move, completely unaffected by my efforts to get away. “Clearly, I can’t trust you to be left on your own.”
This time when I push away, he lets me go. I wrap my arms around myself, shaking now that his warmth isn’t at my back. “I don’t need you to trust me. I need you to take me home.”
He ignores my plea, noticing my split lip. He raises his hand toward my face, and I flinch instinctively. His brows pull down and his hand freezes in midair before he drops it, turning his attention instead to the mess on the ground. He retrieves the jeans, sweater, water, and the bar I dropped in the scuffle, holding them out to me.
“What happened?”
I take the items, still shaking. “Your friend is lovely. She should be on the welcoming committee for all your hostages.”
He’s undeterred by my sarcasm, seemingly searching the tables for something. “Maybe you deserved it.”
I just stare at him, momentarily stunned, before I recover from his snide remark. “I don’t have to explain myself to you.”
He finds what he’s looking for—an instant ice pack that he pops in his powerful fist. He stalks back through the tent, towering over me as he goes to put the icepack on my cheek before thinking better of it. He tosses it to me instead, and I barely manage to catch it in time.
“Actually, you do.”
I scoff, putting the ice on my face and sighing at the relief it offers. “I’m far away from home. I’m despised by strangers for reasons I can’t fathom. I’m tired and hungry and alone, and I’m pretty sure my hand is broken. So, forgive me if I’m not the best version of myself right now.” By the end of my embarrassing confession, tears have flooded my eyes, blurring my vision.
Instead of answering, he reaches for my hand—the one I used to punch Sam—and quirks a brow, silently asking permission to touch me. I hold it out to him and he examines it, manipulating my fingers and testing for mobility. “Not broken.” He jerks his chin at the ice pack still on my cheek. “Put that on your hand.”
I do as he says. It helps, but it feels trivial when compared to everything else. “Great. Can you take me home now?”
He huffs a frustrated breath. “You wanna know why people here despise you, darlin’?” He takes my silence as a yes. “You represent everything they’ve fought to escape. The Brotherhood has taken their freedom, their loved ones, hell, their very identities. So when you come here, demanding to be returned to a place that hasdestroyed so many lives, it’s no wonder they want to knock some sense into you.”
I’m shocked into silence for a moment before I recover my ability to speak. “I don’t believe you.” Maverick looks up at the ceiling, as if praying for guidance. “And that woman didn’t want to ‘knock some sense into me.’ She’s just envious of me.”
He looks at me and shakes his head. “Sure she is, darlin’.” He turns and walks out of the tent without a word, forcing me to scramble after him.
“Where are we going?” I ask, arms still full of the items I procured at the Hub.
He doesn’t answer, just keeps walking through the forest until we reach another large tent with rudimentary picnic tables made out of roughly cut wood occupying most of the space. There’s two people at the front of the tent, cooking food over a portable camping grill. Scrambled eggs, potatoes, and some kind of meat sizzle away on the griddle, filling the air with delectable smells and reminding me I still haven’t eaten much. The man stirs the food on the stove while the woman cuts fruit, and I can’t help but wonder where all this food came from.
Before I can ask, the woman—a young lady about my age with long braids and kind eyes—speaks. “Hey Mav. What’s up?”
Maverick sends a pointed look my way. “Mrs. Sinclair here found herself in a bit of trouble. She’ll be assisting you with dinner.”
His tone leaves no room for argument, so I keep my mouth shut and offer a sorry excuse for a smile to the woman, who winks at me, a glint of mischief in her eye. “Oh, trust me. We’ve all been there.”
“Thanks, Liv. Let me know if she gives you any grief.” There’s no humor in Maverick’s voice, but the woman laughs anyway.
