Page 2 of Hard & Haunted

I move closer, gently taking her hand and placing it flat against my chest, right over my thumping heart. Her eyes snap open, wide and startled, looking down at where her hand is resting before lifting to meet my gaze. Confusion, raw fear, and a fragile, blossoming hope reflect in her multi-colored eyes. I murmur low, urging her to breathe with me, to slow down and exhale all the way out. As her unsteady, choppy breathing finally evens out, her free hand wanders upward toward my neck, where my flesh is marred and twisted into ugly, gnarled knots of old trauma.

I wince, bracing for revulsion, but she doesn’t pull away. Instead, her delicate fingertips trace the rough edges of my scars until they disappear into my hairline. I find myself leaning blindly into her touch before I even realize I’m doing it, and she cups my cheek, staring up at me in silence.

“We all have scars, Raindrop,” I murmur, my thumb brushing her rosy, freckled cheek. “Some more visible than others.”

She nods once, then slowly drops her hand. Shifting slightly, she removes the towel from her shoulders and sweeps her long dark hair to the side. She pulls down the back of her soaked blouse, exposing the pale skin of her right shoulder.

My blood turns to lava as my mind wraps around what I’m seeing. There’s a goddamn brand burned into her flesh. It’s fresh and angry, the skin scabbing over so badly the exact shape is blurred. I bite back the volcanic torrent of rage rising in my throat, keeping my fury locked deep inside so I don't scare her out of her skin.

“The person who did this to you,” I start, swallowing past the emotion in my throat, “are they who you’re running from?”

Her spine stiffens and she gives a rigid, miserable nod. I let out a slow, controlled breath, gently tugging her shirt back up and over her shoulder, shielding her from view so she doesn't feel exposed.

“I can’t imagine…” I start, my voice thick. “I’m so sorry this happened to you, Raindrop. I understand why you ran. I understand if you don’t trust anyone right now. But please… Please let me give you a place to stay for tonight.”

In the back of my head, a feral voice is screaming that there is no way I’m letting her walk out of my life tomorrow, but I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.

The woman bites her bottom lip, pulling the towel tight around herself and curling inward again. I hate the way she makes herself small, like she’s apologizing for existing, for taking up space. But after a long beat, she finally nods.

I stand from the couch and hold out a massive, calloused hand. She looks from my palm to my eyes, searching for a trap, and I pray to whatever listens that she finds what she needs. Then, a tiny miracle happens: she slips her small hand into mine.

I pull her up smoothly, and she immediately sways, leaning against me and resting her head against my arm. I adjust my grip, wrapping my arm securely around her waist to take the brunt of her weight. She’s hollowed out by exhaustion, the adrenaline finally draining from her bones and leaving her barely able to keep her heavy eyelids open.

I guide her across the damp gravel lot toward the clubhouse, taking her through the back door into the secure apartments we keep for club members. I sit her down on the edge of the mattress, then hustle around gathering a stack of dry clothes and fresh towels. Kneeling in front of her again, I brush my fingers up and down her arm to coax her eyes open. She sways forward, and I catch her easily, steadying her against my chest.

“Here are some dry clothes to change into before you go to sleep. You’re welcome to use the attached bathroom to take a shower as well.”

She gives a sleepy, compliant nod. I place her hand right over the folded stack of soft cotton clothes next to her on the mattress before standing up.

“I’ll be right outside if you need me, okay, Raindrop? Oh, and the door locks from the inside. Like this.” I reach out and flip the heavy deadbolt on the doorknob. “So you’re safe in here. Safe with me.”

She looks up at me through a heavy veil of exhaustion, her bottom lip quivering as hot tears well up in her eyes. God, it fucking guts me to see her like this.

“Th-thank you,” she stutters out, her voice a fragile, bruised whisper.

Two words. That’s all it takes. Just two words, and I am pledging my soul, my club, my life, my absolute undying loyalty to her. I sure as hell don’t deserve a woman this precious, but I will tear the world apart with my bare hands before I ever let anyone hurt her again.

CHAPTER TWO

EDEN

The steam from the shower has turned the bathroom mirror into a heavy white wall. I lift a trembling hand, wiping a clear circle through the condensation. Who is that hollow-eyed woman staring back at me? Dark circles like smudged charcoal mar the skin under my eyes, and my face is drained of color. Turning sideways, I twist my neck to look at my right shoulder. The hot water in the shower felt good against my freezing bones, but the irritated skin around the brand is violently protesting, swelling into an angry red ring. I hover a finger over the sensitive area, hissing softly at the heat radiating from my wound.

Shakily, I pull on a clean, oversized cotton t-shirt and soft lounge pants I found folded in the dresser. As the fabric brushes against my skin, the nightmare of the last few days flashes blindingly behind my eyes.

Hiding at the top of the stairs, shivering in the dark, and overhearing my father arguing with men he works with in the living room. They were calling him a desperate fool, saying he was out of his depth thinking he could pull off a stunt like that.

At that moment, I was reminded of a strange conversation I had with my father. He showed me a navy blue thumb drive and said it would solve all of their problems.

Clearly, it didn't.

The cold, flat voice of the apparent leader still echoes in my ears, chilling my blood. “We’ll be taking your daughter as punishment and payment.”

Even now, my chest tightens with a crushing ache. I had been so certain my father would refuse. I thought he’d tell them to fuck off, or at least put up a fight for his only child. Instead, he just pointed a trembling finger up the stairs. He gave me away without a single word.

My eyes squeeze shut as I remember being grabbed, violently hauled down the stairs, and thrown into the back of an all-black SUV with blackout windows. Bile burns the back of my throat, and I swallow hard, forcing it down. Prying my eyes open, I gasp for air, anchoring myself to the present. I escaped. That’s what matters. Onyx gave me a sanctuary.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, I turn the handle and pull the door open, startled to find Onyx sitting right on the floor beside the frame, his back propped against the drywall. He’s already awake, wiping a heavy hand over his face and blinking up at me. God, he really is as staggeringly sexy and dangerous as he felt last night. But beneath that lethal aura, I'm flooded with the memory of the gentle way he dried my hair, wrapped me in towels, and offered me safety.