Page 21

Her lips left a pretty, pink ring on the unlit cigarette.

He stares at it for longer than he should.

He thinks about things he definitely shouldn’t.

When a giant behemoth of a man starts running full tilt towards you, you should probably run.

Unless, of course, you recognize said behemoth because he’s been a side character in your life since you were fifteen. As has the matching giant that clunks along behind him, who helps his brawny buddy do severe damage to my internal organs by torturing me with a hug I did not ask for.

“Get off of me.” I wriggle and protest to no avail, no match for the men my brother long ago deemed Tweedledum and Tweedledee. “ Simon .” I pinch an insanely developed deltoid. “ Charlie .” A rock-hard oblique almost breaks my poor, poking finger. “ Off .”

Whining like the overgrown manchildren they are, the ranch hands who I can’t really remember ever not being around grant me mercy.

“Really, kid?” Charlie rubs his ribs, pouting. “No love for your favorite guys?”

Ever the charmer, Simon winks. “She’s just playing it cool. You know you missed us.”

“Oh, yeah,” I drawl, not even trying to sound like I mean it. “Cried myself to sleep every night, thinking about you two.”

The duo howl and pretend to swoon, jostling me around like the completely annoying dumbasses they are, and while I roll my eyes at the losers that are the closest thing I have to extended family, I almost smile at their antics.

Because that’s what happens when I’m in a good enough mood, when I have a good enough morning.

True to his word, Jackson let me help out with Ruin and the specialist. Admittedly, the extent of my help was getting the fickle stallion from his stall to the training paddock, but I did it.

And then I got to watch a professionally-trained equine behaviorist utterly fucking fail to even get within a couple of feet of him.

Honestly, I can’t blame the horse. The guy’s got a vibe.

I clocked it the moment he introduced himself— Wallace van de Camp , he’d announced like I was supposed to know who the fuck that is, and didn’t even pretend to care who I am.

He’s not the right guy to work with Ruin, I knew that in my gut the second I laid eyes on him, but I kept my mouth shut.

Jackson’s smart. He’ll figure it out. If I tell him, on the other hand, he’ll be a stubborn ass and keep Van de Dickhead around just to prove a point.

Following my gaze to the stallion who seems to have a severe aversion to staying still, Charlie asks, “You’re helping with that demon?”

Snickering, Simon claps his hands over my shoulders. “Course she is. Like calls to like.”

I twist to punch an enormous, protein-powder-fuelled pec, and as I do, I catch sight of the group walking towards the barn. I don’t know if it’s the almost good mood or if my period is fucking with me, but I find myself lifting my hand in what could definitely be considered a wave.

It’s just a greeting. I’m just trying out the whole polite thing. But while most of the ranch hands take it as what it is and wave back, one of them takes it as a cue and veers my way.

The one who iced my ankle and made me a grilled cheese only a few nights ago, and who says now, “You were up early.”

I jerk my head towards the horse specialist lurking by his truck, talking to my brother. “He wanted to get a look at Ruin without anyone around to bother him.”

Obsidian eyes flick to the trainer before Finn nods. “Here.” He holds out the mug cradled in the palm of one big hand. “Thought you might need it.”

“Oh.” More than a little confused, I accept the offered beverage. God, it’s like I’ve never seen coffee before in my life, the way I stare at the dark liquid. “Thanks, Finn.”

Surprise, surprise, he smiles. Tipping his head at the men on either side of me, he jogs over to join his friends in the barn, and I’m still staring at his receding form when the snickering starts.

In a poor imitation of my voice, Charlie croons, “ Thanks, Finn. ”

“ You shouldn’t have, Finn. ”

“ Oh, Finn. You look so handsome this morning. ”

Deadpan, I blink. “Are you two having some kind of episode?”

“Are you?” Simon pokes my cheek. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you blush before.”

“I am not blushing.”

Am I blushing? Over what? Coffee? Yeah fucking right.

They’re delusional. I tell them as such, and they snort and laugh and don’t stop making fun of me for no damn reason, not until they’re interrupted by my brother hollering.

Not for any of us—it’s Finn’s name he calls, earning me a teasing elbow to both sides, and I’m wondering whether or not I have the authority to fire personnel when the man in question pops his head around the edge of the barn door. “What’s up, boss?”

“I need you to go to the Weber place,” Jackson tells him. “Apparently, they’ve got a mare we should check out.”

Finn’s face hardens. “I’ll head out now.”

“Bring someone with you, yeah?”

“Lottie wants to go.”

Oh, I am so slipping Simon some arsenic.

“That’s good,” Finn hollers, and I shift from glaring at one ranch hand to gaping at another, at the one halfway to his truck and smiling in my direction. “Since I was gonna ask her anyway.”

I swear to God, the grown-ass men on either side of me squeal .

“You both need help,” I grumble beneath my breath, kicking them both in the shins and walking backwards so I can flash them the finger as I start towards Finn. So busy scowling, I don’t notice a presence behind me until I slam into a hard chest. “Jesus Christ.”

“Not quite.” Hands settle on my shoulders. Fingertips brush my collarbones, exuding gentle pressure as I’m turned towards an amused face. “You good?”

No. Now I think I’m having some kind of an episode. “Yup.”

“You ready to go?”

I shrug off his lingering grip. “Yup.”

“You wanna drive?”

Pursing my lips, I wonder if I should mention my license was suspended. Again . “You can.”

“Okay then.” A few long strides bring him to the passenger side of a dark red Ram 1500 in perfect, shiny condition that says a lot about the meticulous cleaning habits of its owner.

When he opens the door and waves for me to climb in, I eyeball the lifted vehicle with something that must be pretty close to a grimace because, with a chuckle beneath his breath, he snags the coffee mug from my hand and reaches his free one out to me. “Need help?”

Over my dead fucking body.

Considering the pickup is clearly made for someone well over six-foot, it requires a little more stretch than my jeans will allow to hoist myself up and onto a leather seat.

Whether it’s a graceful endeavor or not doesn’t matter—I manage it, and I shoot Finn a smug little look that he shakes his head at before closing the door and jogging around to the driver’s side.

Easily climbing behind the wheel, he takes a sip of my coffee before putting the mug in the cupholder. I only hesitate for a second before picking it up and finishing the drink that just so happens to be made exactly the way I like it.

Finn starts the truck and, with one hand on the steering wheel and the other hanging out the window, pulls out of the makeshift parking spot outside the barn.

Jackson and his precious specialist wave as we drive past while Simon and Charlie incite a new bout of murderous urges by blowing kisses and making the shape of a heart with their big, dumb hands.

Before I can offer Finn every dollar in my bank account in exchange for running them over, he chuckles. “Y’all seem close.”

Close like a parasite-host relationship, maybe. “They're the brothers I never wanted.”

“It’s almost like you like them.”

The bemused statement earns some side-eye, a defensive, “I like people.”

“Repeat that with a straight face.”

“I’m not The Grinch, Finn. I like people.”

He snaps his fingers, pure smart ass. “That’s who you remind me of.”

I make a noise. Not a laugh, but something that could maybe in some uncertain terms be described as amused. Something I blame on my not-bad morning.

Shaking my head, I hang my arm out the open window and prop my feet up on the dash, muddy boots and all, just to be a pest. “Fuck you.”

I get a bad, bad feeling the very moment we start down the Webers’ drive.

Kind of like when you walk down a narrow alley late at night and your instincts go haywire convincing you every noise is a footstep, every shadow is a stalker.

Except instead of constantly glancing over my shoulder to check for an attacker, I keep glancing between the wing mirror and out the windshield, tense as I wait for something ominous to appear in either, or both.

“You been here before?”

“No.” Not really. Not here here. I’ve lurked in the far recesses of the land, where me and some of my classmates used to go to drink and smoke and do other angry, teenage things. But the ranch-style house and the big barn that looks a lot like the one at Serenity are uncharted territory to me.

Oh, how I wish I could say the same about the guy standing a stone’s throw away from where Finn parks.

Even now, I consider the night I let Carl Weber take my virginity to be a genesis of sorts.

The beginning of a spiraling shit-storm.

I wasn’t perfect before, God knows that, but I was…

manageable, I guess. The anger and the frustration and the semi-permanent urge to scream, I had it handled. I bottled it.

And then along came Carl. Twenty-one to my seventeen.

He smoked. He wore a leather jacket. He was the slightly more tolerable older brother of the dipshits I went to school with, and he liked me.

Or at least he told me he liked me. He liked what was between my thighs, I know that much, he told everyone that much, and once he got it…

well, I don’t like thinking about the ugly aftermath.