Heart So Hollow (Dire Wolves Book 1), page 25
These woods are deep—a vast ocean of trees dividing Canaan and Hellbranch. But I know there’s a road that cuts through the forest, and I’ve been down it many times. It’s where all this started weeks ago, at Grumpy’s where we all ran from the cops after the race. If I can’t find the park, maybe I can find that road.
Maybe while I’m at it, I can take a walk back in time and make a different choice. If I could, I would’ve listened and never gotten into his car.
Stop it. Focus and find a way out.
I’ve been running for a long time. The only reason I’m getting winded is because of the terrain. Otherwise, if this was level ground, I could keep running until I hit pavement. I wouldn’t stop. I can run for miles. But I have to slow down to see where I am. As if I’ll know…
I duck behind a massive oak to catch my breath and quell the gasps and sobs sputtering from my chest.
Calm down. Focus.
I try to listen, but the forest is so fucking loud at night. I never noticed until right now when I’m actually trying to hear whether he’s running behind me. The insects and tree frogs are screaming, peppered with snaps and scampers in the leaves. It doesn’t help that my heart is pounding in my ears. But even with all that, I don’t hear his heavy footsteps.
Then I remember. I reach behind me into my back pocket and pull out my phone. My hands shake uncontrollably as I unlock it and flinch in terror as the screen lights up the darkness around me. Moving quickly, I pull up my text history and slam my thumb down on a name—any name. I have barely any signal, but I can’t worry about that right now. I furiously type out a text as fast as I can and press send before shoving my phone back in my pocket.
Except, when I look down, I freeze in horror. My fluorescent yellow shorts might as well be a flashing road cone around my waist. I listen for another moment and then crouch slightly, pushing them down my legs. Then I yank them off my sneakers and drop them next to the tree. Thank God I decided to wear bikini underwear tonight instead of a fucking G-string…
Why are you worried about your underwear? Would you rather die than someone see your naked ass?
When I look up, I nearly have a heart attack.
Standing no more than 20 feet away is a giant buck. I freeze, my eyes bugging out of my head as he stares back at me, probably wondering what the hell I’m doing on his turf. He’s huge, with a thick ash brown body and massive antlers like nothing I’ve ever seen. On any other day, I’d be so mesmerized I’d probably start crying at the sheer beauty of it. But, tonight, he just looks like something else that wants to kill me.
After what seems like forever, his ears twitch and he gives a sharp turn when he hears something in the distance that I can’t. I startle as he whips around and tears off through the trees, tossing leaves and branches in his wake.
I have to run, too. I have to move, or else he’ll find me and catch me. And God knows what he has planned for me then. I run in the opposite direction of the buck, thinking that if he heard the racket the buck made fleeing, maybe he’ll think it’s me and follow it.
It’s possible, isn’t it?
I take off again through the trees, in my underwear, sneakers, and tank top. The terrain isn’t as uneven here, so maybe I can move quicker. I just try to focus on the ground so I don’t trip and break my ankle.
Is this what it’s come to—running through the woods in the middle of the night trying to escape someone that I love—that I thought would protect me in situations like this? After everything, I never thought we’d end up like this.
But it’s not like I wasn’t warned.
I should’ve listened and never come here. Why didn’t I listen when he warned me?
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Brett
One Year Ago
“Did she tell you he has a tattoo of a three-headed dog right above his dick?”
I nearly choke on my gin and tonic. They might as well be twins, or sisters at the very least. They have the same long, straight, shiny mahogany hair and the same blue-grey eyes with full, rosy lips, usually spouting something brash or crude.
Barrett’s cousin, Anna, is in town from Kentucky for the weekend and Thursday dinner was strategically moved to Friday drinks at the Rickhouse, a much swankier bourbon bar on the river, just for the occasion. It’s amazing we even found a table because this is one of the most popular places in the city. I should be excited and ready to let loose, but I’m still freaked the fuck out from finding a random smoothie in my car the other day.
Except it’s not that random. You know who broke into your car and left it there.
But, for some reason, I don’t have the guts to confront Colson about it. It’s almost as if I didn’t see him do it, I can’t prove anything. Plus, he said they were gross. Why would he bring me a homemade smoothie for lunch and leave me the other kind?
You are seriously debating that kind of detail when Colson is literally the only one on the planet who knows the significance of that exact brand and flavor of smoothie?
Anna flashes her eyes, drawing my attention back to her as she peers over the table at me with her icy cat eyes, “Can I see? Do you have pictures?” She crosses one knee over the other, bouncing her black strappy heel expectantly.
“That’s what I said!” Barrett cackles as she smacks the tabletop, the light glinting off the gold sparkles on her black lace top.
I knew what this was. A weekend with the two of them is like a hurricane making landfall. They’re two sharks looking for chum in the water, and they always find it. Dim lighting and a backlit bar don’t hurt, either.
I shake my head, finally able to swallow my drink.
Anna arches her brow and tosses her hair over her shoulder, “Nothing? Seriously?”
“Nothing for you,” I laugh, settling back in my chair.
“That’s hateful,” Anna looks down her nose at me, “spiteful, even.”
I waggle my shoulders, taunting her before I reach down to adjust the bow tie at the waist of my jeans.
“You know,” Anna tilts her head and purses her lips, “I never would’ve expected this from you.”
It’s college all over again.
“Brett’s selfish now,” Barrett says with a wave of her hand, “she’s come upon a beautiful man with great wealth and she refuses to share any of it.”
I stifle a laugh. Barrett talks about Bowen like he’s stepped off the pages of some mafia love story or a secret billionaire romance.
“Share what?” I slide the strap of my black tank top further up on my shoulder, “And what money? He works a nine to five, just like I do. More, actually.”
“Except he bought you a brand-new car,” Barrett quips with a twinkle in her eye.
“But is he a good guy?” Anna scrunches up her face, looking back and forth between me and Barrett, “Is he a mature partner you can see yourself with long-term? Has he done the work to achieve personal growth and move beyond his baggage?”
Anna’s been hanging around Barrett too long.
“Speaking of baggage,” Barrett turns to Anna, “are you still dating that one guy?”
Anna touches her glass to her lips, “Jesse,” she mutters into her bourbon, “more like friends with benefits. I don’t know, I suddenly heard from him last week after a month of radio silence.”
Barrett bows her head, shooting Anna a look, “Girl, that’s not friends with benefits, that’s a trauma bond.”
“Get off my nuts, man!” Anna shouts, her voice loud enough to draw the attention of the group next to us. “Do you know what the dating scene is like in Lex right now?”
“Probably the same as it is here,” Barrett mumbles.
I laugh to myself, letting my eyes wander around the room. I gaze aimlessly at the chandelier above the bar and follow the crown molding down the wall to the floor. That’s when I suddenly lock eyes with a guy at the next table—the same table who turned to see what Anna was hollering about.
He has a dark fade, with immaculate skin and almond eyes, dressed in fitted dark wash jeans, boots, and black henley pushed up to his elbows. He glances back and forth between me and the guy he’s speaking with across the table. That one has dark blonde scruff and long honey blonde hair pulled back into a tight bun. He’s wearing a black t-shirt with fitted black jeans and pristine black boots.
As subtly as I can, I lean closer to Anna, “These guys over here want to know whose nuts you’re talking about.” Then I shift my eyes to the side.
Barrett and Anna barely steal glances their way when a server appears out of the crowd and sets another gin and tonic down in front of me. I look up with a furrowed brow and shake my head to indicate I haven’t ordered it. The server nods to the bar, tossing his shaggy dark hair out of his eyes.
“Someone sent it over for you,” he says with a wink before turning on his heel and disappearing back into the crowd.
“Since when does anyone send me a drink?” I shoot a dubious glance at Barrett.
“Since you don’t look like you want to murder anyone anymore,” she snorts.
“Hell yeah,” Anna nods, “it was probably one of them.” She flashes a sultry look toward the guys at the next table.
“A lot of good that’ll do them,” I say with a roll of my eyes.
“Why?” Anna isn’t looking at me anymore, she’s leaning back in her chair, surveying the entire group at the table. “You can still introduce us to them…”
I nod in agreement and pick up the glass to set it aside. When I see the napkin beneath it, I flinch in horror, nearly splashing gin onto the table. There’s a simple sketch in the middle of the napkin, about three inches long, drawn with a black marker.
A bee.
A Honeybee.
I immediately cover it with my palm and crumple it into my fist as inconspicuously as possible. Then, careful not to draw attention to myself, I crane my neck to scan the bar. But it’s no use, it’s a madhouse and half the people I see are just silhouettes anyway. And even if the server or bartender could remember who ordered it, which is doubtful, what am I going to do about it?
Before I can consider it further, I sense someone at my shoulder. I turn to my right and see the two guys who have been staring at us from the next table.
The blonde one dressed head to toe in black sets his hand on the back of Barrett’s chair, “You all sound like you’re having a good time, but I just have to ask,” he leans across the table to Anna, “who’s on your nuts and do we need to remove them, by force if necessary?”
Barrett’s eyes round and she partially covers her mouth with her hand to stifle a laugh.
“Told you,” I mutter with an impish smile.
Anna grins proudly from across the table, “No one, anymore,” then she shoots a look at Barrett and reaches over the table, “Anna.”
“Ethan,” he replies and shakes it before turning to Barrett to introduce himself.
The dark haired one rests his arm on the back of my chair and leans into my ear, “Wells,” he offers his other hand with a smile.
I turn and lean back slightly so I can see him before shaking his hand, “Brett.”
“Oh,” Barrett nods to my drink, “did you send that over?”
Wells looks down at the gin and tonic in front of me and shakes his head, “No,” and without missing a beat, he plucks the glass off the table, “sorry about their luck, whoever they are.”
My stomach drops as I watch him set the full glass down at a recently vacated table behind us. Seconds later, another group snatches up the seats and it’ll only be a matter of time before the spent glasses—and my full one—are cleared away.
But what if whoever sent the drink is still watching?
Wells turns back to me and bows his head with a grin, “A better man would approach you and just ask what you want.”
Shit, this is not good.
I plaster a smile on my face and try to conceal the dread overtaking me, “Thank you,” my voice sounds normal, but my mind is racing, “but as a general rule, I don’t accept drinks from people I don’t know.”
“That’s smart,” his eyes wander around the room before settling back on me, “in that case, I’ll just ask you again later.”
Fan-fucking-tastic.
A year ago, I would’ve been all too happy for Wells and his toned arms and chiseled pecs to step off the pages of GQ and set up camp next to me at this table. I would’ve been ecstatic when Ethan waved a couple more of his entourage over to join us. It would’ve been a magical night filled with flirtation, fine drinks, and maybe even some fucking. But my engagement ring and the creepy napkin drawing I just received indicate that it’s just not meant to be. And as soon as I feel Wells’s fingers leave the back of my chair and glide up and down my arm, my anxiety hits a fever pitch.
But then I get an idea.
Maybe I can use Wells to my advantage. I’ve known him for all of five seconds, but he looks like he could be intimidating. If Colson is the one who sent me the drink, how would he know that Wells is not Bowen—my fiancé?
But would Wells even go along with that?
Every option feels icky. But being targeted from the shadows feels ickier, even if I know who it might be. And the thought of fleeing in fear and ruining my night out with Barrett and Anna makes me too angry to even consider. I shouldn’t have to rely on the intimidating posture of another man—who I also don’t know—to feel safe, but here we are.
I turn over my shoulder and tap Wells’s chest with my knuckle, “Hey?”
He leans in close to hear me, his cheek brushing against my hair. His cologne or aftershave smells like vanilla and spice.
“I’m going to be honest,” I begin, “I have a fiancé, but there’s a guy that’s been following me and I think he’s here. I don’t know where he is, but I’m just saying, if you want to act like we’re together for the time being, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.”
Wells listens to my proposal with intrigue, one corner of his mouth curling in amusement. He pauses for a moment and then shifts his stance before setting his elbow on the table, “Won’t let me buy you a drink, but we’re already dating?”
I nod and tip my shoulder in a half shrug, “Pretty much.”
Wells glances off into space for a few moments with a thoughtful smile, “I’m crushed, I really am,” his eyes wander back to me, giving me a once-over, “but I guess I can help you out.” He gives a nod, “I’ll be your fake boyfriend.”
“Thanks,” I breathe a small sigh of relief.
“No offense, but from how your friend was talking,” Wells nods to Anna, “It sounded like she was attracting unwanted attention, not you.”
“Normally, I’d say yes, but this is a new thing and I don’t really know what to do about it.”
“How about your boyfriend? What’s he think about it?”
There’s no way I’m even going to try to explain to Wells who I think might be following me or what Bowen thinks about it. Instead, I just scrunch up my nose with an evasive smile, “It’s kind of a long story.”
Wells drops his head with a laugh, “Alright,” he nods, “fair enough.”
“I know you didn’t come here to stand next to me for no reason, so I get it if you’d rather not. I don’t want to ruin your night.”
“You’re not,” Wells’s expression doesn’t change, “being asked to stand next to a mysterious woman with gorgeous eyes and a secret past isn’t the worst night I’ve spent.”
“Let’s go with that,” I nod, “it makes me sound more exciting.”
“Since we’re official now,” he leans into my ear, “you want that drink? You can even come with me to order it yourself.”
The bar is crowded two rows deep, but waiting gives me something to do besides sit at the table scanning the crowd. I notice Wells’s arm slowly come into my periphery before he wraps it around my shoulders from behind.
He pulls me to his chest and leans over my shoulder, “Is this convincing enough?”
“Yeah,” I say with a laugh, “just act like I’m not a total stranger and we’ll be good.”
Still, I can’t help but look around, searching for someone who’s looking at me. Maybe I do need another drink, after all. I feel like I’m about to crawl out of my skin. And Wells’s arm around me should help the charade, but it only makes things worse.
“What do you do?” I ask, “Like, for a living.”
He leans into my ear, “Law enforcement.”
This should also reassure me. What better person to have standing next to me while I’m being watched and someone—known or not—is sending me creepy drinks? But, again, it doesn’t…
“So, what do you like?” Wells straightens up, his arm still hanging across my shoulders.
“I guess another gin and tonic,” I sigh.
He keeps scanning the bar for an opening, “I’m not talking about your drink.”
I roll my eyes and remember that Wells’s not here to be a pawn. It’s foolish to believe he’ll be totally complacent in my ulterior motives when he has motives of his own. He’s a wildcard, and this might be more difficult to pull off. I swallow hard, feeling more unsettled by the second.
Wells doesn’t care when I don’t answer him. But I feel his other hand start to move back and forth over my hip. Soon, it slides across my stomach, brushing against the waist of my jeans. I stare straight ahead, hoping to see a part in the crowd that I can make a beeline for. Finally, he moves his hand to my shoulder, but only to brush my hair away from my ear. Now, the sharp aroma of spice on his skin just seems invasive.
“Is this always your angle?” his voice sends a shiver down my neck.
I glance at him in my periphery, “What angle?”
“Pretending you already have a boyfriend.”
“I do have a boyfriend,” I say when I feel his hand on my waist again.
“No judgement,” slowly, he moves up my ribcage, “I think it’s really hot.”
My muscles tense the higher his hand goes, until I feel his thumb on the side of my breast. As soon as I move, he lets go of me and steps to the side. He cranes his neck and steps around me, peering around the people in front of us. Then he motions for me to follow him to the far side of the bar.
