Rain
THE SOUND OF HER BODY hitting the ground as she passes out makes my fucking stomach turn. I’ve heard enough bodies hit the floor to last me a lifetime. My annoyed sigh echoes into the woods as I tuck my gun back into my waistband and try to figure out what the fuck to do with this broad. I want nothing more than to leave her here, hope she comes to, and goes away. But I know I can’t do that. It’s too much of a risk that she could be one of them. “Goddamned you,” I huff as I hoist her up into my arms. I’m used to hauling the bodies of big meathead men, so she’s lighter than I assumed she would be. Not like that’s going to make it any easier for me to carry her the mile back to the house.
I’m a fit guy, but about a quarter mile from home, I start sweating and huffing. I had every intention of putting her in the back of my truck, driving her far from here, and leaving her for someone else to find. But somehow, I never make it to my truck and my feet heavily hit the wooden steps up to my house. This could turn out to be the dumbest thing I’ve ever done, but I have to find out what the fuck she was doing in my woods. And why she’s all bloody.
I bust through the door and roughly place her on the couch, then collapse onto the recliner adjacent to it. The cool steel feels good against my sweaty palm as I hold it in place and ready on my lap while I catch my breath.
Luther comes up and places his nose on my free hand, begging for a scratch.
“Really, boy? You don’t give a shit that there’s a stranger in here? What happened to your protective instincts? You gettin’ rusty?”
Scratching behind his right ear causes his left foot to tap rapidly against the floor exactly the same way it did eight years ago the day he became mine. My old man has been losing some of the sharp senses he used to have as a pup. He gave up trying to plow through my screen door to protect me from a squirrel a few years ago. Now he prefers a soft spot to sleep for a majority of the day.
I stare at the woman on my couch. The last thing I want is anyone else to wind up dead, but I’ll protect myself until I’m the last one standing if I have to. For years, I was in the middle of Klipp’s schemes, and I can spot them from a mile away. This has Jansen written all over it. Jansen was our rival and he was jealous that I was a better scout than any of his men. Nobody could find people like I could. It was a gift. No one had a clue I was right behind them until it was too late. They would be knocked out cold before they ever realized they had just fallen into the hands of the reaper. It wouldn’t be far-fetched for Jansen to send a woman to find and end me, thinking that I would be none the wiser. Years have passed and no one has found me. I’m completely under the radar, and yet there she was, running on my property straight for my house.
Long after I’ve caught my breath, I tilt my head back and close my eyes, wracking my brain, trying to think about what to do with her.
A small moan forces me to narrow my eyes on her. My grip tightens on the weapon sitting in my lap. Her hand lifts and gently touches her forehead, then pulls away to see blood on her fingers. Instead of freaking out like I thought she would from the blood, she only huffs in annoyance. Her reaction to her injury only makes my suspicion that she’s working for Jansen more intense. He wasn’t exactly a moral man, and he knew that I followed the no-women rule. I move to her, and suddenly her body shoots back into the couch as her terrified eyes fall on me.
“Are you going to shoot me?” she shrieks, eyes trained on the gun.
“Are you going to give me a reason to?”
“No, sir.”
Sir? Who the hell is she talking to? Is that what Jansen is making his employees call him now?
“Why were you on my property?” I ask curtly.
The tears well up against her lower lashes and her quivering chin dimples. The skin on her face has paled further than her normal tone. She looks like she could pass right back out again.
“I won’t ask again,” I demand.
“I wrecked my car.”
“What?”
“I wrecked my car. It’s up in those trees by the road to Big Pine.”
A tear rolls down her cheek and she quickly swipes it away. I’m surprised by the sudden flash of strength she willed back into herself. Fuck. I put a gun to a woman’s face who just wrecked her car. When I heard the bang through the woods, I assumed it was a fuck up from one of Jansen’s dumbass men. Even though they are useless, they’re usually quieter than that. Then again, maybe this is all part of the plan.
“Stand up,” I say.
Without missing one second, she immediately stands. I place my gun in my back waistband, and then kneel to the side of her visibly trembling body. My rough calloused hands look like a giant’s against her tiny pale skin as I brush against her ankle to pull up the long dress exposing only up her knees. As I slide around both sides of her bony hips then to the back waistband of her underwear, I keep my eyes on her face. She gives a slight grunt as I pull on the wire of her bra to make sure she isn’t stashing anything in there. Then I sink my hands through her tangled hair. I know women who hid an entire bag of dope in their hair, so that wasn’t going unchecked. Once I’m sure she’s clean, I point back down to the couch, and she sits.
“Shit,” I say out loud. Luther follows me into the kitchen, his tail wagging while he watches me wet a rag. She flinches as I toss the damp towel to her, then point to her forehead. Her desperate, flaming brown eyes sear into mine, and something inside me wavers.
“Sir, I can just leave and forget all about this. I’m sorry about stumbling onto your property. I just went off the road and wrecked my—” Her eyes drift away from me and the paleness of her skin returns. “The car.” She swallows hard. “He’s going to find the car.” Her voice is merely a whisper.
“Who? Who is going to find the car?”
Her eyes dart from side to side and I pick up on it right away. I’ve learned in my years of becoming a professional bullshitter that when someone’s eyes shoot back and forth, it’s a sign they are trying to come up with a lie. “It’s my dad’s car. He’s going to be so angry that I’ve wrecked it. I have to go. Please let me go.”
It’s obvious she isn’t telling me something, and I don’t like it.
“If I let you go, are you going back to the car to call the police?”
Her blank stare and silence confirms what I already know. She’s not going to call the police and something definitely isn’t right here.
“Stay. Do not move from this room. If I come back here and you are gone, I will hunt you down. You won’t like what happens after I find you.”
“Where are you going?” she asks meekly.
“Don’t. Move,” I demand with a low growl, and then I leave her in my dark house. Hopefully, she’s too scared to try anything stupid. I would hate for her to make a mistake she can’t take back. Grabbing a few things from my garage, I jump into my truck and head up to her car. I can’t risk someone finding her wrecked vehicle, start snooping around, and find my house. It took a long time to find the perfect spot far away from the city. I made sure to make it difficult to even realize that my driveway is actually a driveway. It’s a narrow dirt lane, cleared of the trees. From the road, it would be nearly impossible to spot unless you know it’s there. Nevertheless, I’d rather not have someone, cops especially, searching through the woods on my property.
Half an hour later, I eye the house as I pull her fucked-up car behind me. Judging by the damage to the car, she should be thankful she walked away with only a few injuries. Those trees have no mercy. I pull both the truck and car into my oversized metal garage and shut the door. I’ll deal with that shit later. I just needed to get it out of sight.
My jaw pulses at the empty couch upon entering the house. But with a quick scan of the room, I see her huddled on the floor completely covered by a blanket. Luther is snuggled up right next to her. That stupid dog. As I lift the blanket off of her, she’s shaking and looking up at me.
“I got scared,” she said.
“Of what?”
She hesitates for a minute. “Everything.”
Her voice is quiet and it’s hard to ignore the pain that radiates in it. The innocence is falling out of her pores. My gut is telling me that she’s being honest. She seems harmless, but the last time I let my guard down, I ended up with a gun to my head.
I place my hand under her arm and help her off of the floor and back to the couch. Picking up the rag that she didn’t use, I lean towards her to place it on the cut, but again, she jolts backwards. Hell, I’d be afraid of me too if I were her.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
“Charlie.”
“Charlie, I’ll make you a promise. Don’t fuck with me, and I will never have a reason to hurt you.”
The way her body slightly relaxes also eases the tension in my shoulders. Make no mistake, though; the hurt I will put on her if I find out she is not being honest will be unforgiving. Again, I lean into her, and this time she doesn’t back away from me. Her eyes stare blankly ahead. I can relate to her technique at faking the strength when you don’t really have it. You zone the fuck out. The cut on her head is nasty, but isn’t as bad as it first appeared. She’s lucky, and other than the cut and a few bruises, she didn’t make out too bad.
After she washed the blood from her face, I get her a clean, cool rag to put on her head. From experience, I know that it’s probably throbbing right now. You wouldn’t know from looking at her though; she’s still staring off into the abyss.
“Here,” I say. She snaps her eyes in my direction as my hand reaches toward her with the rag that I folded into a long strip. Her soft, frail fingers brush against mine, and then she immediately retreats and places it on her forehead. It’s impossible to ignore the electric shock that surged through me at her touch. The kind of heat that begins deep down in the pit of your stomach and leaches its way up. Before I let myself become a fucking dumbass, I clear my throat and join Luther on the couch across the room from Charlie and stretch out. I’m fucking exhausted; apparently, so is Luther. That asshole is snoring so loud the windows could rattle.
The light has begun to filter through the window and reveals an entirely new vision of the woman in my house. Her dark auburn hair is a sharp contrast to her ivory skin, and skinny, long fingers press against the rag draped across her forehead. It’s difficult to take my eyes off her perfectly symmetrical profile, her long eyelashes, her pink pouty lips. The once-white dress—now caked with dirt, pine needles, and dried blood—highlights the curves of her small frame. Lying in front of me is the closest thing I’ve ever seen to an angel. Shit. What if that bastard has planned for her to do just this? A woman in distress, bloodied and helpless. Hoping that I’d give in to her? To feel sorry for her. I can’t trust anyone and I don’t want her here. But what the fuck do I do with her now that she knows where I live?
Next thing I know, I open my eyes and the couch across from me is empty. I fell asleep. “Motherfucker!” Quickly pulling my gun out, I shift around the corner into the kitchen and point my weapon. Her face blanches, eyes wide.
“I just . . . I wanted . . . I needed something to drink. I didn’t want to wake you,” she says. The innocence that seeps from her voice messes with my mind. Maybe she is. Or maybe she’s just really fucking good. I hate Klipp more than ever for molding me into this person. As she moves slowly to the sink, I notice her arm tightly pressed against her body. She is limping slightly, but it’s obvious that is nothing compared to what she’s hiding about her arm.
“What’s with the arm?”
“Nothing. I’m fine.”
Her honey-brown eyes quickly glance at me, then just as quickly away again. I wonder if she knows how easily I pegged her lie. Placing my gun on the counter behind me, I turn and walk to her. Again, her eyes zone out as I come close to her. Gentle has never been something I’m good at, but I try as my hand touches her upper arm and she winces in pain. Rolling my eyes at her failure to fool me, I gently move her arm to see dark bruises and a cut on the inside that I had missed earlier. She had placed a paper towel on it and was holding it in place with her arm. I quickly head to the bathroom and dig through the first aid box. I grab a few things to clean it and some butterfly strips. It probably could use stitches, but I’m no fucking doctor.
Upon entering the kitchen, I realize the deadliest mistake I could have ever made. My gun sitting right there on the counter. Right fucking in front of her. And yet, she’s sitting at the table drinking her water.
“Where’s my gun?” I know where the fuck my gun is, but I want to know if she realized it was there for the taking.
“Right there,” she says, pointing to it.
Part of me wishes she would be more suspicious. At least then I would know what I’m dealing with. If she was going to kill me, that was the only opportunity she will ever get. The chair scraping across the floor echoes in the open kitchen as I move it close to her.
“Put your arm up here,” I say, tapping the table. She lays her silky arm in front of me, and I clean and bandage her wound as best I can.
“What’s your name?” she asks.
“Rain.”
Curiosity fills her eyes, but she doesn’t ask anything else.
“Thank you,” she whispers as she puts her wrapped arm back at her side.
Sitting back in the chair, I nod and feel the pull from a muscle on one side of my cheek. Her eyes dip to my mouth, taking in the half smile that I didn’t mean to do. It disappears quickly as a loud knock on the door sends her flying out of the seat. I rise forcefully but steady until she collides with me. Ignoring the small woman against me, I grab my gun from the counter. Instead of leaping for the door for someone to rescue her from me, she latches onto my arm. Her grip is so tight that it could draw blood, and all I can think about is how amazing her touch feels against my skin. It takes me a minute to regain the fact that someone is at my fucking door. I look down to her long fingers begging for protection. For saving. It’s possible she’s a really good actress. But what if she isn’t and there is something truly evil torturing her? I don’t know what is wrong with her. But for the first time in years—and with no idea how I got to this point already—I give a fuck enough to find out.