Page 36

Chapter 36

Fleur

P ressed against the front window, I watch Liam pace at the truck. He rips his bun out, letting his hair fall before clenching it with his fists.

Mr. and Mrs. Parker are talking in the kitchen while Adam devours the peach cobbler smothered in vanilla ice cream back at the table. None of them hold my interest, my eyes are only on the man fuming outside.

Usually, I’m the one avoiding drama, not interjecting myself in the middle of it. But something snapped in me at the way Liam’s mother looked at him. How can a man pay a debt for his brother to protect him, yet receive zero respect? Adam’s entitled behavior is disturbing.

My heart aches for Liam. Tightening with each step he moves, it squeezes until I can no longer watch from the inside. I throw open the door and run down the steps to him. Solar lamps line the brick sidewalk, and I’m grateful for them as I dash to the driveway, reaching Liam as he redoes his bun.

“What are you doing?” he asks. Those hulking shoulders have fallen, and his eyes are black and flooded with a warring I’m not sure he’ll ever confide in me about.

I twist under his scrutiny. Antsy, I whip around, noticing the pitch-black night shielding us. Three feet in front of me is about all I can see.

“Done with your pissing contest?” I ask.

“Never.”

I throw my hands up, irritation bubbling to the surface. “Are you upset I said something?”

“No,” he grits out.

Liam is barely holding on—I can see it. Anger and fear are written all over his normally collected and steeled face. He’s letting me see it all in this moment and I recognize it. The desire muddled in with all the rage and fear. My heart rattles in my chest as his savage form towers over me.

His boots toe my flats as he invades the space between us, and I glance back toward the house to avoid the way his eyes skim down my body.

Backing up, I bump into the passenger side of the truck, and he follows me. Unrestrained, the rough pads of his fingers glide up the side of my thigh, catching the hem of my dress. I shudder at his touch. It’s light, tender, everything he’s not right now.

He stares at my mouth, where my lips quiver, and I smack his hand away. As soon as I do, I want to yank his hand back to soothe the ache building inside me. To knit his fingers between mine and guide his hand to the places I need him. But I don’t, and he doesn’t try again.

His touch heightens my senses. The large oaks thrash in the wind. Whippoorwills call to each other from some unseen place, and inside me the roar of desire matches what I find in his stare.

This was not in the plans. Not in a million years. This can’t happen, this?—

His left hand leans on the truck, brushing past my right shoulder, and I suck in a breath at how close he is. Bringing his mouth to my ear, he whispers, “Did you kiss my brother?”

I scowl, tilting my head away from where his warm breath practically licks the side of my face. His brother is the furthest thing on my mind. Why does he care?

As if he can read the question in my eyes, he continues, “Because I’m going to snuff out any memory of him.”

His mouth crashes down on mine. Fluttery sensations sweep through my body before I can register what’s happening.

The kiss is rough and demanding. Fire erupts and gnaws in my belly as he works to scrub away any lingering trace of his brother. But it’s doing more than that.

So much more.

It challenges everything I knew with Chris, the man I thought was it . Rewriting what I know.

Liam’s kiss is beyond passion. It’s raw need and it sends a chill into the marrow of my bones. He pauses to bring his mouth to my chin, nipping me, and I throw my head back into the truck window. He cushions the back of my head before kissing me once more.

I meet him. Every stroke of his tongue and tease of my lips, I give it back tenfold. Pouring out the building attraction ever since I saw him at the bank months ago.

Fisting his shirt, I whimper and immediately regret it because he rips away. Two steps back, and he’s panting while he frowns at me.

“Shit, Fleur.”

I wince. “Y-you kissed me.”

Pressing both hands to the side of the car, I support myself. This kiss—my knees wobble, weak and utterly wrecked. Ravaged so thoroughly, I’m now a mumbling, bumbling idiot.

He steps forward, a hand lifting to my face but stopping short. Instead, he slides both in his pockets while his eyes trace the narrow curves of my body, lingering where his hand seared my thigh. They then dart to my lips, where the exquisite burn of his passionate kiss brands me.

Gosh, his lips.

“I’m sorry. I’m, I’m being?—”

“A brute.” My words find their mark and Liam flinches, his head rearing back like I’ve struck him. Guilt immediately clouds me. I meant it to lighten the mood.

“We should leave,” he says, looking back toward the house. What looks like longing and pain lances his face as he squints at his childhood home.

The only thing I brought with me was the bottle of wine, but my parents taught me better than to walk out. While Liam starts the truck, I poke my head back in the house, catching Mrs. Parker at the same window I was staring out. Heat burns my cheeks. Did she see us?

“Thank you for dinner, Mrs. Parker.” I grit out a smile and pull the door back closed, then bolt back to Liam like a teen playing ding-dong-ditch. I practically giggle flinging myself into the truck and look at Liam with a smile, but his head is fixed straight ahead as we pull out of the drive.

He doesn’t look at me the rest of the night.

Several days of gorgeous weather follow the dinner from hell. It’s normally still screaming heat at the start of fall in Mississippi, from what I’m told, but these few days of reprieve have been invigorating.

Most of my days have been spent butt parked in the chair on the front porch watching several mail trucks, of all things, pull in and out of the compound’s warehouse. While the days have been busy, the nights have been quiet. Normally, the evenings are teeming with drunken parties, but between the constant influx of deliveries and work, it seems everyone has their nose to the ground.

Liam has taken up running, which I’m fairly certain is new. A couple of mornings, I’ve met him coming out of the bathroom from an early morning run while I’m on my way to pee, having slept like crap on the sofa.

Today I spent too much time lying in the grass next to the cabin, and I’m sunburnt and stiff.

Digging around in every crevice of this cabin, the most I’ve found for relief is lotion. No aloe to save my life. The sun sets outside the window and I turn to stick out my tongue at the giant ball of gas.

“What’d the window do to you?” Liam shuts the door behind him, his eyes narrowing on my reddened face.

“I have beef with the sun.”

“Ah,” he says, hanging up his leather coat. How he wears that thing in the raised temperatures around here is beyond me. Stalking in my direction, he reaches up to brush the pad of his thumb gently against my nose. My eyes widen before they blink in rapid succession, and I continue to stare at the vacant spot well after Liam has moved to the kitchen.

Does he realize he touched me? He’s barely looked at me since our kiss.

When I finally turn around to face him, his eyes are trained on my backside, a glass of water pressed to his lips.

“The guys are ordering a bunch of pizzas tonight. I ordered a supreme for us. I’ll grab it at the clubhouse when one of the guys texts.”

“Uh, yeah. Sounds good. Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me, Fleur.”

“Fine. You suck and I don’t thank you for the delicious pizza that happens to be my favorite.”

Liam roars out a laugh and I have to bite my lip to refrain from squealing in delight at the masculine sound rattling my core.

When his laugh dies, I move toward him. “You should do that more.”

“What?”

“Laugh.”

Liam frowns, tilting his head to study me. “Not much to laugh about around here.”

“Then leave.” I sigh. “You have so much to offer, Liam. This shouldn’t be the price you pay for Adam. It just shouldn’t.”

Maybe I could convince him to leave and take me with him. He can’t have much longer left here, right? I picture it: us packing to leave in the dead of night, weaving through the trees on his bike and getting the hell out of this town, away from Blitz and Darrin. Would we stick together or go our separate ways? Regardless of what he’d do with me, why doesn’t he leave?

Liam’s jaw ticks and he moves closer to me. The tattooed hand hanging by his side ruffles the string from my cut-off shorts, tickling my thigh. It takes everything in me not to lean in and seek his touch.

“It’s more complicated than that now. Hell, you really are burnt.” He reaches to brush my hair off my shoulder, inspecting it. I’m unsure if he’s purposefully changing the subject, or if he’s only now noticed the extent of my third-degree wrestle with the sun.

“You should take the bed tonight,” he says.

I roll my eyes. “I’m fine.”

“Let me rephrase that … you will take the bed tonight. Should’ve had you in it from the start.”

I bite my lip, looking down at the floor, trying not to laugh at the way he said that or how my bare toes curl against the jagged cabin floor. When I finally gather myself enough to look up at him, his eyes are fixed on me. Storm clouds blur the brightness there and I swallow the trickle of unease—perhaps he hadn’t minced his words.

Liam backpedals toward the spot on the couch where I keep my pillow and extra quilt folded and stored. Holding my confused stare, he bends down to grab the pillow, then tosses it at me.

I generally have the reflexes of a baby elephant, so naturally, it smacks my face and falls to the ground while I fumble to gather my arms together but end up hugging empty air.

“It’s all yours, Fleur. Put that in the bedroom where you’ll be sleeping tonight,” Liam says as I bend down to grab it.

Nodding, I shuffle to his bedroom and toss the pillow on the bed, noting the plush puff of sound it makes when it hits. I grin. I may actually get a decent night’s sleep.

Liam moves to the bathroom for a shower while I finish up folding laundry. It takes me twice as long to fold the towels from the dryer because each warm, fuzzy towel calls for a hug.

With night settled in and the compound lampposts lit, Liam takes off for the clubhouse to check in and grab the pizza.

Dinner with the Parkers the other night made me miss my family. It’s rare I go this long without checking in, and while I don’t have a phone, I think I could convince Liam a letter would be okay to send.

A desk sits in the living room, directly across from the couch and the coffee table. After standing in the kitchen studying it with a can of sparkling water in my hand, I finally give in and pad over.

It’s old, maybe even antique.

My mind wanders to Mr. and Mrs. Northgate, and I wonder if they passed it on to him. The tattered wood is worn and well loved, from the looks of it. I slowly open the single drawer in the front, glancing over my shoulder as if someone may catch me. Liam never said this was off-limits, and I’m only looking for paper and a pencil since all digital options are unavailable to me at the moment.

Luck is on my side. I find paper. It’s not lined or anything, and when I pull it out, the weight is heavier than your average computer stock. Running my fingers over the paper, it’s slightly textured and I flip through the stack, searching underneath for another option.

Unable to, I grab a few sheets and hip check the drawer closed.

There’s an olive-green pencil pouch nestled on top of a folder in the corner and presuming there are pens, I open it, only to be proven otherwise.

Black pencils are tucked neatly in loops, each with a different number stamped in gold across the top. A fine dust coats the inside, and I frown. Huh .

I eyeball the pencils, then flick my gaze back toward the drawer a few more times before finally landing on the leather folder—no portfolio.

A corner piece of paper sticks out, and I tug at it, revealing the start of a sketch. There’s no making out what it is with only the corner exposed. With another glance at the door, I slide the leather portfolio toward me and before I can second-guess my invasion of Liam’s privacy, I fling it open.

Pages and pages of drawings drift out.

I’m stunned motionless.

I stare down at the first one. The medium seems to be something different than the pencils I found. This is a chalkier substance and not as detailed.

There, smudged and buffed out, is the small run-down church on the outside of Ruin I’ve passed a few times. It resembles one of those large sheds, and fixed on top is a stippled point with a bell. The thing is like a hundred years old and could be considered a historical monument at this point.

I’ll be the first to admit I know squat about drawing. Anything creative I’ve had to work at my whole life, and I don’t consider myself a natural at much. Even photography was a pipe dream of mine. However, I recognize the painstaking talent this drawing must have taken, and I’m floored.

Liam captured every detail despite the lack of color. I flip through several more pages of older buildings scattered around Ruin, admiring his work.

The next drawing gives me pause. A few pencil-drawn oranges are piled in a wooden crate eerily similar to those we get at the farmer’s market.

I blink. They are the oranges from the farmer’s market.

A flash of memory hits me. The rumble of a motorcycle taking off down the road after a thump on my front porch had delivered my crate of oranges.

Stunned, I flip the page, only to be hit with another. My throat instantly closes, and a pit knots itself in my stomach.

The point of view is from a camera, and it’s looking into a cell.

The cell I was in.

And there, curled up on the barely functional cot, is a figure—me. I grab the picture, pulling it closer to my face as if that will help me understand. I can’t comprehend what I’m seeing. He drew me? At my most vulnerable state, he drew me.

Shock gives way to tears and they trickle down my cheek. Every emotion from those days in the cell floods my body.

I knew people were watching me. That the camera provided a way for people to laugh or check on me, but knowing he drew me like this. Helpless. Alone.

A loud POP echoes around the cabin and I jump, dropping the paper to the floor. Swinging to the front door, I find it’s still closed, and Liam hasn’t returned yet.

POP.

POP. POP.

I slam the portfolio closed and shove the pencil pouch back against the desk, then take off for a window.

There isn’t too much noise out here at the compound. The extent of the ruckus comes from the guys and their parties, perhaps a few noisy shipments. This is sharp and abnormal. While most of the guards at the gate carry weapons, I haven’t once heard a gun discharge while here.

But that sound?—

Gunfire.

More pops and bangs bounce off the surrounding wood and I peek out the window, squinting to see what’s going on. A few men from the neighboring cabins leap from their porches while several figures I don’t recognize sneak around. I realize too slowly they’re armed and kicking in doors one by one.

For a moment, relief calms me. Have the police finally decided to show up?

But any hope of that dies when a shrill scream from the edge of the compound pulls my attention. I barely catch the curly-haired woman who works around the clubhouse being pulled into the woods by her feet. The man dragging her is unrecognizable, but the long weapon strapped over his shoulder can’t be missed.

What the hell?

Racing to the door, I fling it open in time to hear another gurgled cry before she disappears.

It’s then the chaos makes itself known.

Unknown persons with weapons dart around while several men from the compound fight back. I flinch with each shot, ducking behind the porch railing, and watch as men shoot back and forth. Another scream tears through the stagnant night air and I whip my head to see a man straddling another woman. Her back is thrown on the gravel pathway, her shirt rides up to expose the chewed-up skin around her sides as she pants and struggles to wrestle the man off her.

A million thoughts run through my head, mainly regarding who these attackers are and what they want. Never would I assume responsibility for these people, the criminals who took me and turned my home into ash. But if there’s any injustice here currently, it’s this man planning to take what does not belong to him.

I curl my hands around the porch railing, gripping tight enough my knuckles turn white. With a sigh and a deep breath, I dart from my spot, running toward the man.

“Hey! Get off her!”

The man’s head darts to mine, and he raises his weapon at me at the same time the girl beneath him bucks. He loses his balance and topples to the stone, cursing. The woman scrambles to get up and I reach her in time to give her a hand. She climbs up my arm, almost pulling me down beside her. We both take off running.

“The … club … house,” she pants and grabs my arm as our feet dig into the gravel pathways.

Another shot fires from behind me and a man I recognize from the guard station thumps to the ground. More screams, both from men and women, distract me and I trip over a bleeding arm extended over the pathway.

Skidding on the knife-like stones, I throw my hands out to temper my fall. Rock pieces tear my flesh and blood instantly warms my palms. Slipping, I grapple to stand. The woman halts ahead and turns to find me getting up, but quickly her eyes widen and she takes off running in the opposite direction.

A ping next to me blasts part of the path away, and the cock of a gun freezes my slow crawl. Over my shoulder, the man following us has caught up.

I stare up at him, the barrel of his gun inches from my forehead.

My brain registers very little. Seemingly unimportant facts slither through my mind about how tall he is, or how I’ve never seen this man in Ruin before. But as he reaches down for my shirt and gathers a fist around it, my thoughts stride to Liam.

Is he okay? Please be okay.

There’s more yelling, but the slowing of my breaths and the pounding of my heart in my ears make any words unintelligible. The man above me is red-faced and yelling at me, but I don’t hear him as he drags me off the path and into the woods.