Lynn

I wake up with a very dry throat and itchy all over from the straw. My whole body is aching from the hard wooden boards I slept on. I remember coming in here before dawn and nestling in close to Scar. I remember the kisses we shared, my lips and my whole body still tingle from them. I also remember the difficult conversation we had afterwards. And now he's gone.

My memories of yesterday and the night I spent at the animal hospital are a fuzzy mess in a haze of sadness. But Scar's kisses were the first thing I remembered when I woke up, his strong arms around me the second, and poor Scrap in the hospital the third. But he'll be fine, he's a fighter, he has to be OK, he has to. As long as I believe it, I can keep the sadness in the back of my mind where it's not paralyzing me or freezing my heart.

When I let Scar kiss me at dawn, a whole new world opened up inside me, one I remembered craving when I was younger, before I was abducted and raped. One I haven't dared even think about because of the nausea and flash floods of horrible memories it would always bring.

For all these years, I was sure I'd never have that world or that kind of warm, caring devotion, or just sweet kisses at sunrise and sunset, let alone love. But the bad memories didn't come flooding in and taking me under when he kissed me.

Not even after he kept kissing me.

They only came when my thoughts turned to sex. But not as brutally as they usually do, and not with the paralyzing, inescapable finality that I've been powerless to fight for all these years. Maybe I should try that too with him?

It's with that thought that I finally get up, my whole back protesting as I straighten up. I know Scar is still here, because he promised me he'd stay and because I can feel him nearby.

The sun is already high in the sky, the sounds and sights of a full, working ranch all around me as I exit the empty barn. The horses are out getting exercised, cows are mooing, goats are bleating and dogs are barking, and people are yelling instructions to each other.

Raul is replacing the water in one of the pens. Bethany is with the goats, too far away for me to make out what she's doing, and Tammy is talking to one of the ranch hands that were sent to help by the animals' owners.

I finally spot Scar leaning against the barn to my left, standing shirtless in the shade, only his legs in the sun. Light and shadows play like water across his chest and arms, across his powerful thighs, revealing and hiding, inviting me closer. He's built like some statue in a museum, a living work of art, and if I didn't have a head full of nightmarish memories of large, muscled men slapping me around and raping me every which way, I'd love to get naked with him.

He doesn't see me approach, since he's checking something on his phone. And despite remembering all that brutality, despite those memories roiling black and angry, coming in hot and raging like a vicious storm that hits on a sunny day, I don't freeze, don't slow my steps, don't get sick as I walk closer to him. All the memories that create that black storm are still there, but they're tucked away in my past. Nothing will ever chase them away completely, but I could still have a future. He could be my future.

I've never been able to ignore what happened to me quite this fast or this seamlessly. Able to ignore and disregard it, as I can any other unpleasant thing that scares me. Well, almost as easily.

Because I still shiver inside as he finally sees me, the hard look in his eyes turning even harder in stark, predatory desire, for a moment. But his eyes are soft and inviting again once I finally reach him.

"Sleep well?" he asks, grinning at me as he stuffs his phone into his back pocket.

"Reasonably well," I say and smile back.

Everything about him screams, "Danger, Run!" from his bulky, tall body, covered in black tattoos, to the scar on his face and the ones on his chest and arms and probably legs and back as well, which I've yet to notice. But I don't want to run.

I want to get closer to him. I want him to shield me from all the dangers in this world. Including the ones that exist only in my mind. Those are all very naive and romantic notions, and what they all boil down to in this moment is that I want him to kiss me.

He leans forward so only mere inches of space separate us. I lean forward too, expecting to be kissed and held. But that's not what happens.

He chuckles and fishes a strand of straw from my hair, looking at me like I'm a very precious thing that he'd rather not touch, so it won’t break. Or like he's waiting for me to make the first move.

I don't know how to. I grew up fantasizing about men sweeping me off my feet and taking charge because they couldn't fight their desire for me. All girls dream that, I'm sure. Only I was dreaming it right up until the night I was abducted. And then I was shown exactly how far men will go to satisfy their desire for a woman.

I rest my hands against his hard, rippled sides, as though to hold on against the dark winds and dark waves of my memories. Maybe if I hold on to him hard enough they won't pull me under. He's not like those other men.

It seems that was all he needed from me in terms of a first move, because he grabs me and pulls me closer. His lips find mine and then jets of rainbow colored light start poking holes in the darkness of my memories, showing me glimpses of what could've been, what might have been, what should've been. Soon it's not just glimpses but full pictures that don't fade. They only get brighter and more vivid.

The nightmares put up a fight, but it doesn't work. The black memories fade into the back of my mind where they belong. They're a thing of the past, not something that can hurt me in the present.

My fantasies are blending and mixing with the very real feelings of bliss, happiness and desire woken by our deepening kiss. His tongue explores my mouth more and more hungrily, and mine tentatively explores his. My fantasies are coming true. No matter how naive and how long ago they occupied my mind, they are reality in this moment.

The bliss ends too soon, yet I'm breathless when we break apart.

"I gotta take off now," he says, then chuckles and kisses me again, disappointment and shock now coiling around the bliss it brings.

"What do you mean?" I ask when he lets me come up for air again.

"I mean, I have to shower and change," he says. "And go to a meeting."

"And I need to go see Scrap," I say, my heart racing, because I clean forgot about him, while we were kissing, and the sadness and pain are ten times worse because of it.

"And then you should go home and straighten up too," he says, fishing another piece of straw from my hair.

"Because tonight, I'll pick you up and take you out for a real dinner," he concludes.

I'm opening and closing my mouth, all sorts of thoughts warring in my mind, like," What if I have to stay with Scrap again?" and "I haven’t seen my mom in two days. She'll be upset, if I go out again."

But none of those are anything that could keep me from seeing him again very soon.

"I'd like that very much," I finally say and smile because he’s already frowning at me, probably thinking I was getting ready to say no.

"You can pick me up at the animal hospital," I suggest and he chuckles again.

"Sure, Lynn, OK," he says. "Not quite the romantic start to the evening I was imagining, but I'll make do."

"Stop making fun of me," I say and smack his arm, which I'm sure hurt me more than him, because he's built like a rock.

"And stop pretending you're some kind of romantic guy," I add for good measure.

He laughs. "Yeah, you got me there. But I kinda want to be for the right woman."

"For you," he adds after a pause, during which I already heard that perfectly well.

I don't want to say anything for fear of devaluing this moment. I feel so special right now, so needed and desired and wanted, for me and not just for my body and beauty, and despite of who I really am—a woman who's afraid of sex. He's probably just saying that, the way men say things they think women want to hear. At least that's what they do on TV, which is where I get most of my relationship experience and advice from these days. Though in the movies and shows I like to watch, they're also sincere when they say things like that. Scar sounds sincere. He always sounded sincere to me, and I think that's because he always was.

"I can't wait," I whisper then wrap my arms around his waist tighter and lean back so he can kiss me some more.

It's only a lot later that I can hear the sounds of the world all around us again. I should be helping out. But I should also be kissing and getting kissed. Because I've gone so long—much too long— without it. And I should be getting kissed by Scar, because with each kiss, each lick and bite and groan and moan and flex of his muscles and shift of my body to get even closer to him, it becomes clearer and clearer that this was always meant to be.

Because I feel just as pleasant, carefree, safe and like my own true self in his arms, as I ever did talking to him, and joking with him and all those other things we used to do together when we met. We just never got to this part. But now that we are touching and kissing, all those things are magnified and a hundred times better. No, a thousand times better. No, a million.

This is how it was meant to be, and this is exactly what I always wanted.

* * *

Scar

It feels good walking into Sanctuary after all that working in the heat at the ranch. Would prefer to still be feeling the heat from kissing Lynn. But she's still far too wary and skittish. I won't get far if I scare her off by going too fast, and I want to go all the way with her. The sooner the better, but I can wait some.

I'm the first to arrive for the execs meeting Cross called this afternoon without giving the slightest indication as to why. But that's how he is, everything is on a need to know basis with him. I don't mind it as much as some of the others do, since just knowing what I need to do and when is simple, and worrying about it is complicated. I'm not, strictly speaking, an exec of the club, mainly because I was never interested in management. I usually sit in though, since my job of gathering intel from people not willing to give is and the backbone of what we do. Was the backbone. But now that we're transitioning into running guns, I'll pretty much be obsolete.

Just a couple of days ago that stung like all the fires of hell, but now, as I'm trying to figure out where to take Lynn tonight and thinking up ways of setting her at ease, so she'll let me undress her, it no longer bothers me as much.

I only saw her naked once—on the night I saved her from the Spawns—and fucking her was the last thing on my mind then. I didn't even get a good look before I wrapped her in the sheet and carried her out. I didn't exactly regret it, but I did think about seeing her naked again over the years. I'm thinking about it now, and it's not doing much to help the already painful hard-on all that kissing caused. But she's skittish and I can be patient. I'll have to be. It's another thing hunting with my father taught me. As did all the waiting to get even with my brother.

Rook and Hawk walk in, followed by Tank and Cross, cutting off thoughts of my brother, which always lead me down some dark paths. I'd rather be figuring out where the hell I'm gonna take Lynn for our first night together anyway, since I can't bring her here or the clubhouse in town. I'm certain seeing lots of bikers in one place will make her bolt. On her side, she lives with her mother. Maybe the ranch house, that looks like it has plenty of available bedrooms—

"Christ, it smells like a barn in here!" Tank exclaims way too loudly and with way too much flair for it to be an offhand comment. "It's just like old man Gannon's farm. Cross, remember that time your dad and Ms. Brown decided to try and straighten us out by sending us to help him over the summer?"

Cross chuckles as he takes his seat across from me. "Yeah, I remember. It lasted all of two days though."

"I couldn't take it. I still have nightmares about the smell. Don't know how you can stand it, Scar," Tank says. "Though for a Miss Illinois, I'd go the extra mile too."

"Alright, alright," I say. "You've had your fun, Tank, now let's get on with this, so I can go back to my beauty queen."

My skittish little doe. She'd be miles away, if she heard Tank right now.

"Yeah, Tank, let the man live his life," Rook adds, since he also has very little patience when it comes to Tank's many and varied jokes.

Tank leans back in his chair and raises his hands in surrender. "Fine, fine. I just wanted to lighten the mood before we get down to business."

His tone suggests the mood will need lightening, and the way they all glance at me tells me it's mine that'll need it after we're done here.

Cross holds my gaze even after all the rest look away.

"What's going on, Cross?" I ask since I could never handle dramatics very well.

It's bad enough he called me here for an execs meeting, which this clearly isn't since not all the execs are present. For once, I wish that man would lay down all his cards at the same time.

"The three jailed Spawns that we could never get to escaped two nights ago," Cross says, obliging me.

"Why did this need a meeting?" I ask as he pauses. "Now we can get them too and our job will really be done."

"Reaper escaped with them," Cross adds and that hard ball of hate that's always there deep in my chest hardens into something cold and jagged.

I refuse to call him by the street name he gave himself—Reaper. My brother always was a pretentious piece of shit. Hell, I refuse to call him by any name, even the one my parents gave him, which is Reggie.

"If he's a Spawn, he'll have to go too," Cross says almost apologetically. "You know what we always said. You leave one alive and twenty come back to haunt you."

That's one of our MCs wisdoms passed down from our founders, and the goddamn truth besides.

"Reaper never joined the Spawns," I tell them. "He never joined any MC, since he could never play well with others. He had his own little gang. But he was very tight with the Spawns, and as far as I'm concerned that's the same thing as being a member."

The ball of hate keeps growing bigger and colder, until I hardly feel my body anymore, just the hate. I was gonna kill my brother the last time I was in Illinois, back when I met and lost Lynn, and get my revenge once and for all.

Before then, I had my parents to consider, but my father died a couple of months before we headed out on that job, and my mother had been dead almost eight years by that time. They did wrong by me, making me live with him even after he tore up my face, but he was their son, and I have a code.

Though all bets were off once they were dead and buried. The shit with Lynn got in the way, and before I could get another chance, he was inside.

"Reaper dies either way," I add. "And I'm the one who's gonna send him to hell."

They give me a hard look. It's no secret my brother gave me the scar I'm named for, and it's no secret I hate him for it. But I think it was unclear that I'll settle for nothing else but his dead body at my feet as my revenge. That's the only way. Anything else would be dumb, since he'd keep coming after me until I'd be the dead one, if I let him live. It's simple really.

"See, I told you it was like that between them," Tank says to Cross who gives him a very dark look.

"What was?" I ask.

"Cross thought you'd wanna save Reaper, since he's family and all, but I told him there was no love lost between the two of you," Tank says. "You told me all about it that one night you almost had him back in Fairview, Illinois."

"Yeah, the coward left town after he told me where Lynn was," I say, my memory zooming back to that night.

I told Tank the whole fucking story, while asking him to help me save Lynn. My dear brother's parting gift that night was telling me how much he enjoyed fucking her in all holes, and how much she enjoyed it too. She enjoyed it so much she screamed, is how he phrased it.

She'd been missing for two weeks at that point, and I'd never been readier to kill. And right now, the same as it was that night, I want to kill him just for hurting Lynn, never mind the hell he put me through growing up.

"I stay out of personal business, and it doesn't get much more personal than two brothers squaring off their affairs," Cross says. "Do what you have to Scar, and know that Devil's Nightmare is behind you."

I nod curtly, which is my way of thanking him. "I'll keep the club out of it."

It's Cross turn to nod, then he faces Hawk. "Find the Spawns and keep good tabs on them. Then we'll ride one more time. Find Reaper too and give the info to Scar."

"We should call Ice back," Tank says and like always, it's impossible to tell if he's joking or being serious.

Cross shrugs. "He left without a cell phone, just promised Roxie he'd check in from time to time. I think the man needs some down time, even if he doesn't realize it. Besides, I'm not about to ask her to call him back so he can go kill a few more guys. She'd bite my head off, and I'd never hear the end of it."

They all chuckle and I would too, if I could see past the cold hate that talk of Reaper always brings up. But this time, I'll get him and he'll get his. This time it'll finally be done.

Cross gives out the rest of the instructions, and Hawk assures me he'll let me know the moment he learns Reaper's whereabouts.

I hope the bastard doesn't flee to Mexico, which is a very real possibility. But I'll follow him down there if I have to. I just got my second chance at him, and I'm not letting it slip through my fingers this time.