Carver, page 1
EVERNIGHT PUBLISHING ®
www.evernightpublishing.com
Copyright© 2024 Winter Sloane
ISBN: 978-0-3695-1033-4
Cover Artist: Jay Aheer
Editor: Lisa Petrocelli
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
DEDICATION
To my readers, I hope you enjoy reading Carver and Lucy’s story as much as I loved writing it.
CARVER
Savage Arrows, 1
Winter Sloane
Copyright © 2024
Chapter One
Lucy wiped down the last of the tables, her feet aching from the double shift she had just pulled at the diner. The sun had already set, and she couldn’t wait to head home. Cindy, a coworker and someone she considered a friend, approached with an apologetic smile.
“Hey, Lucy,” Cindy began, wringing her hands nervously. “Do you mind closing up tonight? I’ve got a date, and it’s kinda important.”
Lucy glanced up, exhaustion weighing heavily on her. She had been on her feet since the morning shift, her muscles screaming for a break. But seeing the hopeful look in Cindy’s eyes, she couldn’t bring herself to say no. She nodded tiredly, forcing a small smile.
“Sure, Cindy. Go ahead. Have fun,” Lucy managed to say.
Relief washed over Cindy’s face, and she hesitated for a moment before asking, “Do you have any plans for tonight? It’s Friday, after all.”
Lucy’s smile turned wistful as she thought of her mysterious, reclusive neighbor, Carver. When she first moved into the old apartment building, it seemed just like any other rundown place she had rented before—peeling wallpaper, creaky floors, and the constant hum of traffic outside her window.
The building was a far cry from safe, and Lucy, having grown up in this neighborhood, knew better than to be complacent. She always slept with a gun under her pillow, a precaution she considered necessary.
One night, not long after she moved in, Lucy came home to find two men rifling through her belongings. She could see the malice in their eyes as they turned to face her. Panic seized her, and she screamed, fully expecting no one to come to her aid. But to her shock, Carver burst through the door, a shotgun in hand. She didn’t know how he managed to scare the two intruders off.
Since then, Carver had been a quiet but reassuring presence in her life. He rarely spoke, and when he did, it was in short, clipped sentences. ITALY
He was a puzzle she couldn’t quite solve and yet some part—the sensible part—of her brain told her to stay away from a guy like Carver. But Lucy didn’t want to. There was something about him that drew her in.
Lucy blinked, bringing herself back to the present. She looked at Cindy and shrugged.
“Nothing special,” she said softly. “Just a quiet night in.”
Cindy grinned and gave Lucy a quick hug. “Thanks a million, Lucy! I owe you one.”
As Cindy dashed out the door, Lucy sighed and glanced at the clock. She still had a few more tasks to complete before she could head home. Thoughts of Carver lingered in her mind. She couldn’t deny the spark of interest she felt whenever she saw him, the way her heart seemed to beat a little faster.
It was silly, the way she was crushing on her neighbor—a guy she knew next to nothing about. But Lucy had been dealt bad cards by fate before.
She had a string of failed relationships under her belt, and something told her Carver might be different. All Lucy needed to do was take a chance on a stranger.
Finishing up the closing duties, Lucy finally turned off the lights and locked the diner’s door. The night air was cool against her skin as she made her way back to her apartment building, the familiar sense of vigilance returning.
She climbed the worn steps, the sound echoing in the quiet stairwell. When she reached her door, she paused for a moment, glancing down the hall toward Carver’s apartment. For a brief second, she considered knocking, just to see if he was there. But then she shook her head, chuckling softly to herself.
Lucy needed a plan. The last time she knocked on his door, she asked him for help with her clogged sink. It was a simple request, but it had given her an excuse to talk to him, to break through the wall of silence that seemed to surround him.
He had helped her with quiet efficiency, fixing the sink in no time, and their brief interaction had left her wanting more. As she entered her apartment and locked the door behind her, Lucy leaned against the door for a moment, closing her eyes.
It had been a long day. Her feet were sore, and her body ached for rest. But one thing that might cheer her up was seeing Carver’s face and trading a few words with him. She knew how pathetic she was, but she’d taken enough blows in life to know when to generate her own pockets of happiness.
She moved to the small kitchen, setting her bag on the counter, and glanced around, looking for another excuse to knock on his door. Maybe she could ask to borrow something simple—a cup of sugar, a screwdriver, anything that would give her a reason to see him again.
Lucy chuckled at the thought, realizing how cliché it was, but right now, she didn’t care. She filled a kettle with water and set it on the stove, deciding a cup of tea would help her unwind. As she waited for it to boil, her mind wandered back to Carver.
What was his story? Why did he choose to live in this rundown building, keeping to himself? The questions swirled in her mind, and she felt a growing curiosity, a need to know more about the man who had come to her rescue and seemed to have his share of secrets.
The kettle whistled, snapping her out of her thoughts. She poured the hot water into a mug, watching the steam rise as she dipped a tea bag in.
Sipping the tea, she tried to come up with a plausible reason to visit Carver. Maybe she could thank him again for helping her with the sink, even though it had been weeks ago. Or perhaps she could simply be honest, admit she was curious about him, and see where the conversation led.
The more she thought about it, the more determined she became. She set her mug down and straightened her shoulders, feeling a surge of resolve.
Tonight, she would knock on Carver’s door, not with a pretext or an excuse, but with the intention of getting to know him better. Bringing a dessert wouldn’t hurt either.
Lucy loved to bake, even if it wasn’t the most practical hobby considering her tight budget. But baking calmed her in a way nothing else did. Tonight, she decided to make a mean apple pie. The apples had been on sale at the store the day before, so she had a few on hand.
She opened the fridge and pulled out a block of butter, a carton of eggs, and a jug of milk. Setting them on the counter, she reached into a cupboard for flour, sugar, and cinnamon.
As she moved around the kitchen, humming to herself, she found the apples on the counter and began peeling them, the rhythmic motion soothing her nerves.
Lucy diced the apples into perfect slices, their crisp, fresh scent filling the small kitchen. She mixed the flour, sugar, and cinnamon, creating a fragrant mixture that would coat the apples and make the pie irresistible. The butter was cut into the flour for the crust, and she worked the mixture until it resembled coarse crumbs.
With the dough resting and the filling prepared, Lucy rolled out the crust, placing it carefully in a pie dish. She poured the apple mixture into the crust, humming a soft tune under her breath as she worked.
Baking was her escape, a way to lose herself in the process and forget about the worries of the day. As she sprinkled sugar on top of the pie, ready to place it in the oven, a sudden noise caught her attention.
It sounded like a bang, followed by what seemed like a muffled scream. Lucy paused, tensed, her heart pounding in her chest. She strained her ears, waiting for something else to happen. Was something going on in Carver’s apartment?
The seconds stretched on, and when nothing more happened, she forced herself to relax. Maybe Carver was just moving things around, and perhaps his TV was on.
She let out a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding and tried to shake off the unease that had settled over her. Lucy slid the pie into the oven, setting the timer and wiping her hands on a dish towel. The strange noises still lingered in her mind, but she tried to chalk it up to her imagination.
After all, it had been a long day, and she was tired. She reminded herself that Carver had always seemed capable of handling whatever came his way. If something was wrong, surely he would take care of it.
Still, as she moved about the kitchen, tidying up, she couldn’t help but glance toward the wall that separated their apartments. She hoped everything was okay, but a small part of her couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t quite right.
Once the pie was done, Lucy carefully took it out of the oven. It looked perfect. She set it on a cooling rack, the aroma filling her apartment and making her mouth water.
Deciding to take a shower while the pie cooled, she headed to the bathroom. As she stood under the warm spray of water, Lucy’s mind wandered back to the mysterious sounds she had heard earlier.
She shook her head, trying to dismiss her concerns. Carver could take care of himself, and there was no reason to let her imagin ation run wild. She finished her shower, the hot water helping to ease the tension in her muscles.
Stepping out of the bathroom, she wrapped herself in a towel and headed to her bedroom. Standing in front of her closet, she debated what to wear.
She initially decided on her best Sunday dress, a flattering, floral number that hugged her curves in all the right places. But as she looked at herself in the mirror, she realized it might make her seem too desperate.
Lucy sighed and put the dress back, rummaging through her clothes until she found a comfy sweater and jeans. The sweater was a soft, creamy color that complemented her skin tone, and the jeans were snug but comfortable. She stood in front of the mirror again, contemplating her hair.
Up or down? After a moment of consideration, she decided to leave it down, letting it fall in loose waves around her shoulders. Feeling more confident, Lucy returned to the kitchen.
The pie had cooled enough to handle, and she carefully cut a generous slice, placing it on a plate. Armed and ready, she took a deep breath and stepped out of her apartment, pie in hand.
Walking the short distance to Carver’s door, Lucy tried to steady her nerves. She took another deep breath and knocked. While waiting, she looked down and realized she was staring at his brown doormat.
There was a noticeable small red stain on the corner, one she couldn’t stop looking at and was fixated on. Her mind raced with possibilities, each more unsettling than the last.
Before she could think too much about it, the door opened, and Carver stood there, his expression as inscrutable as ever. She drank in every inch of him—his tall, muscled frame, broad shoulders, and short dark hair that she always envisioned running her fingers through.
The stubble on his cheeks and square jaw, the curious scar below his lip that she always pictured tracing with her finger, and those eyes. Such staggering dark-green eyes, reminding her of the forest on a gloomy day.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Lucy forced herself to meet his eyes, offering a smile that felt a bit shaky.
“Hi, Carver,” she said, lifting the plate slightly. “I made an apple pie and thought you might like some.”
Carver’s gaze flickered to the pie, then back to her. He seemed to hesitate before answering.
“Thanks, Lucy,” he said, his voice deep, calm, and steady.
Carver looked at her with those deep, grave eyes of his, saying nothing more. An unexpected thrill ran down Lucy’s spine. She quickly forgot about the little red stain on his doormat, her mind now occupied with wondering what was going through his head.
Invite me in already, she thought desperately. But he continued to look at her, his gaze intense, as if she were something good to eat. If Lucy was being honest, she didn’t mind it one bit.
Chapter Two
Lucy stood there, looking gorgeous as sin in her cream sweater and jeans that hugged her in all the right places. Carver was tempted to take a few steps closer, rest his hand over the back of her neck, and taste those lips he’d been dreaming about ever since the day he met her.
She smelled particularly intoxicating tonight too, she had probably showered before knocking on his door. And that pie, that little offering in her hands…
Carver knew she had worked a double shift today. She mentioned it offhand last week in the elevator. She also mentioned she loved to bake.
Lucy talked a lot, and normally, he didn’t like that in a woman, but he found the sound of her voice pleasant. That meant she had probably baked this pie specially for him.
As the silence between them stretched out, he wondered what would possess fate to send this beautiful angel to him. She looked back at him with those doe-like hazel eyes, reminding him of a deer caught in a trap.
He could see a mix of nerves and hope in her gaze, and he couldn’t help but picture her, naked and willing in his bed. Temptation he couldn’t refuse. It made his mouth water, picturing her vulnerable, exposed, and ripe for the taking.
Lucy thought him a good man … he was anything but. If she knew the things he’d done in his family’s name, if she knew about the number of bodies he’d buried, she would run screaming for the closest exit sign.
He had long since reconciled himself to the darkness within him, the violence that came second nature. Yet, standing here with her, he found himself wishing he could be the man she believed him to be, if only for a moment.
Unable to help himself, Carver leaned forward and kissed her. He was surprised when Lucy responded, her lips soft and warm against his. The world seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of them in that moment. Carver cupped her cheek as he deepened the kiss.
He felt her relax into him, and she moved closer until he could feel the press of her warm, soft breasts against his chest. For a brief, intoxicating moment, he allowed himself to believe this was possible—that he could have this, have her.
Lucy brushed her fingers against his jaw, tracing the stubble, and Carver felt a surge of emotions he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in a long time. He wanted more, needed more, but he knew he had to pull away. Reluctantly, he broke the kiss, his forehead resting against hers for a moment as they both caught their breath.
“Thank you again … for the pie,” he said lamely, taking the plate from her hands.
Her eyes were bright, her cheeks flushed, and he could see the same longing in her expression that he felt in his chest.
He considered inviting her inside, the temptation almost too strong to resist. But he knew it was a bad idea. He had a guest, and “guest” was a generous term. Prisoner was more accurate.
Carver straightened, forcing himself to put some distance between them.
“Lucy,” he began, choosing his words carefully, “I appreciate this, really. But now isn’t a good time. Maybe we could … have coffee sometime?”
He saw the flicker of disappointment in her eyes, quickly masked by a smile.
“Sure,” she replied, her voice light but carrying a hint of the same frustration he felt. “Whenever you’re free.”
He nodded, his mind already shifting back to the problem waiting inside his apartment.
“I’ll let you know,” he promised, knowing it was a weak reassurance but unable to offer more at the moment.
Just then, a scream pierced the silence, echoing from within his apartment. Carver gritted his teeth in annoyance. Lucy widened her eyes, the color draining from her face. He saw the brief flash of fear in her hazel eyes, a stark contrast to the warmth and hope he had seen just moments before. She took a step back, uncertainty evident in her posture.
“What was that?” Lucy asked, her voice trembling slightly.
Carver’s mind raced. He needed a believable excuse, something to dispel her fear and suspicion.
“Movie,” he responded quickly, trying to keep his tone casual. “I’m a horror fan. I’ll lower the volume.”
Lucy glanced toward the door, clearly unconvinced. Her gaze flickered back to him, searching for any sign of deceit.
“A horror movie?” she repeated, doubt lacing her words.
“Yeah,” he said, forcing a smile. “Sorry if it startled you. I get a bit carried away with the sound sometimes.”
She nodded slowly, but he could see the hesitation in her eyes. The easy rapport they had moments ago felt strained. He needed to end this interaction before it unraveled further.
“I should get back to it,” he said, taking a step back toward his door. “Thanks again for the pie, Lucy. It really means a lot.”
“Sure,” she replied. “Enjoy the movie. I’m a horror fan, too. Maybe we could watch one together sometime?”
With a final, weak smile, Carver retreated into his apartment, closing the door firmly behind him. He leaned against it for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady himself. The scream had come from the back room, where his “guest” was secured
. He had to deal with this, and quickly, before things got any more out of hand.
Carver walked to the kitchen, setting the pie on the counter. The sweet aroma did little to calm his nerves. He headed to the back room, where the prisoner was bound to a chair, eyes wide with fear.
