Page 1 of The Alpha’s Runaway Mate (Evermore Hollow #1)

ONE

JESSICA MCSWAIN

“Where the hell is this place?” I mutter, gripping the steering wheel. My beat-to-hell truck rattles every time I hit a bump, which is constantly, because apparently West Virginia doesn’t believe in paving roads or fixing the ones that were paved.

The GPS gave up forty-five minutes ago, it kept trying to redirect me down the same dead-end roads until the screen finally froze. Now it’s just me, the trees, and a growing suspicion I’m about to get murdered by a raccoon with attitude.

I’m looking for a bar called Snarl. Yeah, weird name. But I overheard some guys at the grocery store mention the owner is desperate for help. A cash-paying job is exactly what I need: no questions, no paperwork, and no chance of anyone tracing me here.

I squint through the windshield, hoping for a sign. Literally any sign. Nothing. The woods look the same in every direction, dark, endless, whispering. God, why did I think this was a good idea? Oh right. Because I’m flat broke and desperate.

I pass a leaning mailbox with the name worn off. Beyond that, it’s all trees and fog. The kind of place where the air feels heavy, like it’s holding secrets. Every now and then I swear I see something move between the trees, something tall, but when I blink, it’s gone. Probably just my nerves.

“This is stupid,” I say to myself, because talking to myself is cheaper than therapy.

The steering wheel squeaks under my fingers as I take another random turn. If this bar even exists, it better come with free drinks and a life upgrade.

A memory flashes through my head of me, standing in that grocery store with my cheap can of soup, pretending to browse while eavesdropping on two old guys. “Nolan’s struggling to keep Snarl running while his brothers are outta town,” one of them said. That was all it took.

Snarl. It sounded... off. Dangerous, even. Which, honestly, fits my life right now. I roll my shoulders, trying to shake off the creepy chill creeping down my spine.

In another life, I’d be in some cute little southern town with a job at a coffee shop, maybe living above it in a tiny apartment with string lights and a cat.

I’d bake muffins on weekends and learn everyone’s names.

I’d fall in love with some guy named Hank or Greg, someone sweet who’d never hurt me.

Someone who’d kiss my forehead in the mornings and make me coffee before work.

Someone who’d call just to say he misses me, not to check where I am.

Someone whose hands would never leave bruises, whose voice wouldn’t turn sharp when I said the wrong thing.

We’d argue about nothing, about laundry or late-night dishes, and always make up before bed. It would be safe. Easy. Predictable.

That’s not the life I got. I learned a long time ago that love can look gentle one day and feel like a cage the next. So I stopped dreaming about safety. I stopped dreaming about love at all.

The road bends, and suddenly a dirt path veers off to the right. There’s a building at the end of it, a barn-looking place with a gravel lot and a crooked light flickering out front. My heart jumps.

“Please be it,” I whisper.

I pull in slow. The building looms in front of me, its wood weathered gray and scarred with scratches. The single hanging light buzzes like it’s one storm away from dying. No sign, no hours posted, nothing to say it’s even open. But my gut says this is Snarl.

I kill the engine and just sit there for a second. The air feels weird, too still, too watchful. “Okay, Jess,” I mumble, dragging in a breath. “You need this. Get the job, get the cash, get out.”

The pep talk’s weak, but it’s enough. I grab my purse, swing the door open, and step out. My boots crunch over gravel as I head for the entrance. The closer I get, the more it feels like the building itself is listening.

The front door’s thick wood, scarred with deep grooves that look.

.. clawed? Four parallel lines, straight through the grain.

I stop, tracing one with my fingertip. Smooth.

Old. But too clean to be random. My brows knit.

“What kind of animal does that?” I whisper, my voice barely a breath.

The thought makes my stomach tighten, but I shake it off.

“You’re fine,” I tell myself, and pull the handle.

Inside’s dark enough to make my eyes work for it.

The air smells like whiskey and cedar and something earthy I can’t name.

There’s a long bar opposite the door, bottles lined up on dusty shelves.

A couple tables are scattered around, a pool table off to the right under a low green light.

And sitting at a table near the bar is a man. He’s the only one here.

He looks up when I walk in, and for half a second, I swear his eyes glow gold.

I blink, and then they’re a normal blue. Deep, cold blue. My stomach flips. Well, nothing to do now but commit to the bad idea. I start walking toward him like I own the place, even though my pulse is sprinting.

He watches me the way a wolf might watch something stupid enough to walk into its den. “Get out,” he says. His voice is deep, rough, like gravel wrapped in heat.

“Excuse me?”

“It’s not complicated. Turn around. Get the hell out,” he growls.

Wow. Friendly. My fear spikes, but irritation catches up just as fast. I cross my arms, using sarcasm as armor. “Is this how you treat all your customers? Because if so, no wonder this place is empty.”

He doesn’t answer. Just leans back in his chair, watching me.

Up close, he’s… a lot. All heat and muscle wrapped in quiet authority.

Even sitting, he owns the space. Broad shoulders stretching the faded black T-shirt, long legs sprawled out like he doesn’t have a single doubt he belongs here.

His dark hair’s a mess, like he’s been running his fingers through it all day without realizing it.

A short beard shadows his sharp jaw, drawing my eyes to the curve of his mouth, firm, unsmiling, but devastating all the same.

He looks like a man built for hard work and harder nights, the kind of man you shouldn’t stare at but can’t look away from.

“Guess business isn’t booming,” I add, trying to sound braver than I feel.

He snorts. “Business is fine, sweetheart.”

“Uh-huh.” My eyes flick to the empty tables, then back to him. “Sure looks like it.”

He smirks, just barely. “You new in town?”

“Just passing through,” I murmur.

“What’re you doing here?” he asks.

“I heard there might be a job.”

That gets his attention. One dark brow lifts. “Who told you that?”

I shrug. “Some guys at the grocery store. I figured I’d stop by before they did.”

He huffs out something that might be a laugh. “Is that right?”

“Look, if it’s a no, just say so. I can take rejection.”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just lets his eyes drag down, slow. My throat goes tight.

“Yeah,” he says finally. “We need help. But it won’t be you.”

“Why not?” I ask.

He tilts his head, studying me. His gaze burns through me, steady, sharp. It feels like he’s reading something under my skin.

“Let’s just say you’re not what we’re looking for.”

My face goes hot. I can practically hear my self-confidence cracking. I take a breath and force myself not to flinch. “Got it,” I say tightly. “Thanks for the chat.”

“Nolan.”

I pause. “What?”

“My name. It’s Nolan.”

Good to know. “See you around, Nolan.”

I turn for the door and grab the handle. Pull. Nothing.

“What the, ” I pull harder, panic starting to flicker. The door doesn’t move.

“It’s a push,” Nolan says from right behind me.

I freeze. I didn’t hear him get up. Didn’t hear a single step. “How, ” I turn, and nearly walk right into him.

Holy hell, he’s huge. His chest is broad and solid, his presence filling up every inch of air between us. I look up, and up, and find those dark blue eyes locked on mine.

He reaches past me, arm brushing mine as he pushes the door open easily. The brief contact lights me up from the inside out. My whole body hums like a live wire.

“Oh,” I whisper. Smooth, Jess. Real smooth.

When he pulls his arm back, it grazes mine again, and it’s like my nerves forgot how to behave. Heat rolls through me, low and deep. I suck in a breath that doesn’t help.

He doesn’t move away. Just looks down at me, expression unreadable. There’s something in his eyes, confusion, frustration, something that looks a lot like recognition.

“What’s your name?” he asks, voice low and rough.

“Jessica.”

He’s quiet for a long second, eyes searching mine. Then his jaw tightens, like he’s fighting himself.

“Be back at eight, Jessica.”

I blink. “What?”

“Is that too late?”

“No, I… wait. Are you giving me a job?”

“Cash only,” he says, voice still that same gravelly calm.

“Cash only,” I echo, my brain catching up a full five seconds late.

He releases me and steps back. The space between us fills with cool air that somehow feels too empty.

I nod, backing toward the door. “Okay. I’ll… yeah. Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me yet.”

I don’t ask what that means. I just push the door open, step outside, and breathe.

The night air hits me like a slap, cool and sharp. The trees sway in the wind, whispering secrets I don’t want to know. I glance back once, just once. Nolan’s still standing in the doorway, a shadow against the light. Watching me.

Something in my chest twists. My pulse hasn’t slowed since the moment I saw him. I don’t know if I want to run or walk back in there. “Get a grip,” I tell myself, fumbling for my keys.

When I reach my truck, I risk one last glance.

He’s still there. Still watching. The light catches his eyes again, and for half a second, they flash gold.

I blink hard. Gone. Just dark blue now. Maybe the lighting’s weird.

Maybe I’m losing it. Either way, I get in the truck, start the engine, and pull out fast.

My hands are shaking, my breath uneven. I glance in the rearview mirror.

The building shrinks in the distance, just a shadow between trees.

Nolan’s still standing in the doorway. He doesn’t move.

The further I get, the more my body starts to unclench, but my mind won’t stop replaying the way he looked at me…

like he saw something inside me. Like he knew something I didn’t.

My heart’s pounding when I finally hit the main road. The woods press close again, dark and endless. I tell myself it’s fine. I tell myself I’ll go back at eight, get the cash, and leave.

But the truth slips through anyway. I want to see him again. And that might be the dumbest thing I’ve ever admitted to myself.