Page 31

Chapter 31

Fleur

A n ache in my neck stiffens any potential movement when I wake. I don’t open my eyes. Instead, I clench them, trying to take stock of the gnarly position my head is in. Twisted to the right side, my face is buried in between the back of the couch and where the seat cushions meet it. My shoulders, unfortunately, face the other way.

I need to move. I know I do. However, the thought of peeling myself away from this uncomfortable orientation feels like too much effort.

Adding to the twinge radiating in my neck and between my shoulder blades, my head pulses with a dull throb. It’s most likely from an emotional night.

When Liam dropped me off at the cabin, I told myself I was going to rest and stay calm. Unwrapped and glaring at me, my wrist had other plans. What am I going to do with this mark when I finally get free? Cover it up? Wear long sleeves forever?

I stared at it for minutes before letting more tears fall.

I’m not sure how long I cried. Stopping only long enough to brush my teeth and pull on some pajama bottoms. Last thing I remember is forcing my face into my pillow to muffle my weeping. Liam must’ve been out late because he wasn’t home when I finally fell asleep.

It takes me another five minutes to lift myself off the couch, grimacing with each crack of my stubborn spine. I rack my brain for a few stretches and yoga positions from years past and awkwardly attempt those for some sort of relief.

When I get back to a normal life, I need to get in shape. This is embarrassing.

Sufficiently limber, I pad to the kitchen, stopping short when a dark residue on the round kitchen table grabs my attention. I narrow my eyes at the gray-speckled dust and drag a finger through it. Between my finger and thumb, I rub the substance together, watching the fine soot-like material settle in the ridges of my prints.

Huh.

In the kitchen, I wash my hands and pour myself a glass of water, my eyes scanning the cabin. It’s eerily quiet, and when I pull aside the window’s curtain, there isn’t a soul moving about the compound.

Figures. Probably a late night for everyone.

My thoughts drift to Liam, and after using the bathroom, I tiptoe to his room. The door is cracked, and with ease, I push it farther open. A large form lies under the blankets moving up and down with the steady rhythm of his breaths. I linger; creepily so. And even move to see his face smushed into the pillow between his balled-up fists.

He’s on his stomach, torso bare, giving me an unobstructed view of his fully tattooed sleeve and a huge horseshoe welt on his ribs. I snarl at the thought of Darrin marking so much of his skin—the pain. A sigh escapes him, blowing a fine strand of hair out of his face then back over his mouth.

The stern expression I’ve come to associate with Liam has softened. The edges and sharp lines of his face are muted and dull as sleep has pulled him into a moment of peace—a reprieve from the disgusting world he’s a part of.

Unlike my fitful night, he looks calm and well-rested. I eye the bed, jealous and slightly disappointed I’ll be on the couch for the foreseeable future.

I shake my head at my intrusion into his personal space, deeply unsettled by my prolonged gaze. Quickly, I spin around and dart out.

I end up showering and getting dressed, tossing on some jean shorts and a shirt. Then I shove my damp hair under a navy baseball cap I don’t remember grabbing at River’s. She probably snuck it in there for me.

Quietly, I open the front door, looking directly at why I’m out here in the first place.

The rocking chair is one of a kind—quite literally because Liam only has one. Scooting the chair closer to the porch rail, I plant myself in the seat, twirling my feet in the rays of sun warming the porch boards. With each rock in the chair, the stained cabin floorboards creak, adding to the sound of shaking branches swaying in the early morning breeze.

The contrast between last night and this morning is indescribable. Except for one or two people far off near the warehouse, not another soul moves around the cabins.

The bandages on my wrist have started to curl and peel, and I pick at the rolled edges, fighting the urge to unwrap the whole thing and study my new mark.

“We probably need to swap your bandages.”

His voice jolts me upright and I drop my legs from soaking up vitamin D.

I turn to see Liam leaning in the doorframe, eyes narrowed on where I grip my wrist. His gaze breaks when I move my hand to the side and he studies my face, lingering on my hat a bit too long.

“Yeah, I was just thinking that. Got any more wrap?”

Liam nods and gestures back toward the inside of the cabin. Slinking out of my sunspot where I’m curled up like a cat, I shuffle back toward the door. Liam doesn’t move as I approach. Instead, he glances back toward the top of my head and says, “Nice hat.”

I shrug my shoulders and give him a confused look because I have no idea what his problem is with this hat. The corner of his mouth twitches before he steps aside, holding the door open.

“Sit down and I’ll get some more bandages,” he says.

I do as he says, sliding a less than comfortable chair out from the table and plopping down. My stomach, suddenly triggered by the dining room table, growls loudly as Liam makes his way back to me.

“Help yourself to anything you need in the kitchen. I know there isn’t much, but we can stop at a store on our way back here this afternoon.”

“This afternoon?” I ask.

Liam pulls out the other chair next to mine, thighs spread wide. He’s in black jeans again, with a black V-neck that hangs loose, exposing a bit of his chest. I blink away the unsolicited thoughts bobbing in my mind.

“I have a meeting I need to go to. Should only take a minute, but it’s about an hour away. We’ll take the truck and get groceries on the way back.”

He takes my hand, and I can’t help but flick my eyes to his. Although he doesn’t look at me, he softly turns my wrist over in his hand, causing goosebumps to spring up along my arms. I jerk away at the sensation of his fingertips over my skin.

“I’m sorry. I know it hurts,” he says, face wincing. I almost chuckle at the fact he didn’t hurt me at all. That it’s his touch generating the desire to pull away.

Awkwardly, I hold out my hand to him again and swallow when his proficient hands make quick work to unwrap my burn.

It’s not as bad as I thought it would be. The small horseshoe is a reddish-pink. What I thought would look like welts, considering I have several strips across my wrist already, is indented. The skin feels taut and there’s a cloudy pink seeping out around the mark. But overall, it doesn’t look bad.

Liam opens a tub of antiseptic and drops a dot on my wrist, using his thumb to spread it out. His touch is featherlight and it goes beyond the horseshoe, grazing over the welts on my wrist for a moment too long.

I pull away again. “Thank you. I can wrap it.”

Liam tilts his head, bringing his hand to scratch at his beard. He sucks in a breath, then gives me a tight nod, lifting from his seat in a more graceful move than I’d expect from someone his size.

While I chide myself and attempt to do up my wrist one-handed, Liam clinks around in the kitchen until the smell of bacon whirls around the whole cabin. He sets two plates out and places two pieces on each one with a slice of over-burned toast.

I try to hide my small smile when he curses at the stove before kicking it to shut off. He brings over the two dishes and sets them down on the table, then pulls out the chair next to me.

Some part of me wants to be petty. Wants to swallow the words thank you, before they make it past the tip of my tongue. But I also know this could’ve been much worse for me, and for that I’m grateful.

“Thank you,” I mutter. And because I’m an idiot, I add, “Do you think River was right about Adam coming back?”

His expression moves from passive to immovable and stone-cold before I can finish my question. He pins me with a stare as he finishes chewing the strip of bacon in his mouth. He wipes his hand on his thigh and leans down close to my ear. The scent of bacon with smokey spices and a woodsy smell gathers near me.

“Do you want Adam to come back?” Liam asks, his voice lower several octaves.

The sound kindles something deep in my belly, dangerous and reckless, and no doubt something I shouldn’t be feeling. I consider his hazel eyes, undeterred by his clear and blatant stare.

“I want to know he’s okay,” I answer.

“He’s fine.” Liam finishes his toast in two bites. “Be ready to go in an hour.”

Liam doesn’t tell me where we’re going, only that it’s about an hour’s drive and to use the bathroom before we go because there isn’t any place to stop. I’ve come to this conclusion in my own adventures around Mississippi, so I bristle when he addresses me like a child.

The roads we take are all dirt roads zigzagging through wooded areas. The black duffel in the back seat slides with every turn. Admittedly annoyed at every drag and snag of the bag along the bench seat, I reach back to steady it, earning myself a giant reprimand.

“Don’t touch it,” Liam barks.

I retract my hand, unsure I’ve ever heard him use such force behind his words before. Snatching my hand back, I practically sit on them, shame flooding my cheeks. What did he think I was going to do, peek?

Outraged at his implication, I flick my gaze toward his. “Don’t worry. I won’t touch your precious Jackpot. You may not be addicted to it , but you’re addicted to your position here.” I snort. “And you say it’s for your brother …”

He doesn’t spare me a look, but the white of his knuckles blanches as he chokes the wheel.

I bite my lip, anxiously chewing it and feeling the void of my rubber bands. With my hair now dry, I tip off the hat and pull my hair forward, thread it into a long braid at my side, then slip the hat back over. I brush the tip of my braid back and forth along my lips as I stare out the window.

Liam’s admonishments are the only words he says to me until we finally reach a secluded river.

There’s nothing around. The river winds through the woods, and the surrounding trees lean over each side of it as if seeking a secret. The road, more like trail, is one lane and the old truck doesn’t do anything to help suspend us from the bumps and dips along the pathway.

Shockingly, the leaves, while not yet turned, have begun to fall and the fullness of the great oaks is less so as we approach the cooler months.

Up ahead, a black sedan sits by the edge of the river, and I turn to see Liam drag a hand through his hair and blow out a breath. As we slow, a figure emerges from the car, and Liam pulls the truck to a stop almost fifty feet away.

“Stay here. Whatever you do, don’t get out of the car,” Liam says, reaching back for the duffel while his eyes stay straight ahead on the man stomping out a cigarette.

I lean forward, watching as Liam strides toward the man, bag slung over his right shoulder. His steps are languid and unhurried, but I don’t miss the way his head scans from side to side as if he’s expecting someone to jump out of the surrounding woods.

My heart pounds rapidly the closer he gets to the man, and if I thought I could hear anything they were saying over the roar of the river, I’d roll my window down to get a better shot at it.

Liam tosses the bag on the ground before the man’s feet. Following the bag up to the other man, I notice his jeans are a casual dark blue wash, his shirt is a navy polo tucked into his belted pants. Not the average dealer attire I’ve come to assume they wear, but what do I know? Darrin’s men dress like they’re a motorcycle club and technically they aren’t. Though I still think they want to be.

Liam’s animated hands move through the air as he clearly explains something important. When the man’s face turns toward me, I jerk back into the seat. An unsettling punch in my gut makes me want to dry heave. I look out the back window to see if he perhaps was trying to see something else. Nope. He was looking at me.

I shiver. This whole farce is going to end with me in prison for being an accomplice to drug dealing.

Another few minutes pass, and the man from the sedan—a Volvo I finally figured out—lifts the prize from the ground and saunters back to his car while Liam makes his way to me. Well, the truck, I guess.

He looks over his shoulder a few times as he walks less leisurely than before. There’s a quick scuffle with a downed tree limb in the pathway before he yanks open the door and climbs in.

Any other time, I’d ask how his meeting went. However, the frown on his face keeps me from opening my mouth. I try, but snap it shut at the sound of his curses while he fumbles with the truck key in the ignition.

“Normally, I take the bike,” he says. Those words come so easily, I’m curious if he has a point to them. Then I get my answer. “Easier to conceal among the trees.”

“Makes sense.”

The corner of his mouth lifts a smidge, and in this moment, isolated by the surrounding wood and compelling nature, I want to see him smile. For a second, I wonder what the harsh lines of his steely brow would look like if assuaged, or worse yet, what they would reveal etched in pleasure.

I shake my head. Gosh, what is wrong with me?

“We’re about twenty minutes from a bigger grocery store. We should be able to get what we need there.” Liam’s eyes skirt to mine and heat rushes to my cheeks as I’m afraid the thoughts I had are written on my face. I divert my gaze in favor of the window.

“Yeah, okay,” I whisper into the trees as Liam backs up down the single-lane path until he can successfully turn around.

It takes exactly that before we pull into a well-maintained but older grocery store. The brick facade is worn down from stark red to a dull brown, and the metal awning with chipped paint displays the few letters left. IGGLY GLY.

At least this store is larger than the one we have in town. I drag a cart behind me as I peruse the selection of produce, then grab a head of broccoli and some onions. Liam watches me out of the corner of his eye, and the sudden feeling of awkwardness rears its head.

“So, uh, what do you like to eat?” I ask. Goodness, could this be any weirder?

He shrugs and tosses a bottle of ranch dressing into the cart before eyeing the vegetables as if they wronged him. “Not that.”

I can’t help it. I end up cracking a smile and letting loose an airy laugh.

Liam, whose eyes are scanning the dairy section, does a double take before staring at my grin. His own falls, going serious and skidding away.

“Do you all eat together? At the dining area in the clubhouse?” I ask.

“What? No. That’s just for special occasions.”

“Like marring someone’s skin with a hot poker?”

Liam swipes at his forehead, a familiar dark smudge of dust smeared between his fingers. Arching a brow, Liam takes a step toward me, the air twisting taut, and my breath catches in my throat.

I bite my lip and look away.

The ring from Liam’s cell phone draws him up short, and he pauses to answer.

“Darrin …” he says, moving down the aisle so I can’t hear.

While he takes the call, I gather some oat milk, coffee creamer, cheese, and anything else that sounds good. Honestly, when I saw the dining area, I figured they all ate there. However, it’s looking more and more like many of the guys eat within the confines of their own cabins.

I’m not the best cook. Average at best. With Chris, after the first several years of no proposal, I became overly obsessed with convincing him I was wife material. I cooked to the best of my ability, slaving away with false enthusiasm in the kitchen. Pathetic.

I reach for my wrist, but I’m met with the scratch of the gauze and huff out, annoyed. When I get to the frozen section, I grab a random brand of cookies and cream ice cream, all but throwing it in the cart.

My hand is barely out of the cart when the static brush of Liam’s arm shocks me. He picks the tub out of the cart and puts it back. Just when I think he’s opposed to ice cream, he puts a different brand of the same flavor in.

“This is superior. You almost committed a grievous error.” He smiles at me. Full-on smiles at me. I’m pretty sure my mouth falls open in response. For a minute, I almost forget about our circumstances; about Adam, Darrin, and the glaring burn on my wrist.

Almost.

I eyeball the half gallon he replaced, smiling as I murmur, “Noted.”

Liam pulls the front of the cart with two fingers as he examines each of the freezer sections. He pulls out some frozen sausage patties and tosses them in the cart.

“So what do you eat?” I try again.

He shrugs, and I pull a few frozen burritos out.

“Eggs mostly.”

I snort, and he stops pulling the cart in favor of striding toward me. I back up, but he reaches for the hat on my head and flicks it with his middle finger.

“Find it funny?” he asks.

“Absolutely …” Liam’s nostrils flare. “Not,” I finish.

He steps back. “Good.” His mouth twitches like he wants to grin again, and I smile slyly into my shoulder.

We continue shopping, each of us putting items in the cart, and I can’t help but enjoy the semblance of normal. Because I’m sure when we get back to the compound, life will be anything but.