Haley Addison was the kind of woman who inspired a wide range of emotions in a man.

Impatience.

Lust.

Aggravation.

Lust.

Frustration.

And yeah—definitely lust.

Except Zach Mummert wasn't feeling any of those things right now. Right now, he was feeling nothing but rage. And rage was a living, breathing monster. White-hot, expanding, its claws sinking deep. Scoring flesh and muscle. Consuming thought and awareness. Searing every inch of his body, leaving him shaking and breathless.

Zach tightened his hands around the steering wheel. A piece of him—that miniscule piece that fought against the white-hot rage—cautioned him to relax his grip. Warned him to slow down. The unexpected March snow covered the streets, turning them slick, treacherous.

If he didn't slow the fuck down, he'd run the risk of wrapping the truck around a pole.

Fuck it. If it happened, it happened.

He turned a corner, the tail end of the truck fishtailing behind him. He clenched his jaw, spun the steering wheel in the opposite direction, brought the truck out of the skid and kept going.

This wasn't the best neighborhood to be having an accident in. Any bystanders who might venture out into the cold night would be more likely to strip the truck—and him—than offer assistance.

So why the fuck was he even driving into this neighborhood?

He knew the answer to that question. What he didn't know was what the fuck Haley was doing here.

Or why the fuck he was chasing her down.

Rage bubbled to the surface again. Again? Who was he kidding? It had never left. It had been with him for the last thirty minutes, ever since Jenny Emory—his teammate's sister—had pulled him outside and dropped that fucking bombshell on him.

Someone was hurting Haley.

She had bruises on her wrists and arms—bruises she was trying to hide.

He tried to tell himself it didn't fucking matter. Haley was nothing to him, just a waitress at Mystic's, the bar and restaurant he and the rest of the hockey team hung out at. Hot-headed. Mouthy.

Full of fiery attitude that matched that wild red hair of hers.

Sarcastic as hell.

A pain in his fucking ass.

And sexy. Sexy as fuck.

They'd been butting heads for the last few months. Circling each other like two fucking alpha dogs ready to fight for the top spot in the pack.

Haley would slice his fucking balls clean off if she knew he was comparing her to a dog.

A quick grin, icy and brutal, curled his mouth. Anyone who saw it would probably run in the other direction, mistaking it for a dangerous scowl.

At least, they would if they were smart.

Is that what they had seen when he'd confronted them earlier? His teammate Jason and his girlfriend, Megan? He'd stormed back into Mystic's right after Jenny had dropped her bombshell, leaned over the table, and demanded to know what the fuck was going on.

Demanded to know where the hell Haley had disappeared to.

And Megan, who was supposed to be Haley's best friend, tried to shrug it off. Tried to act like she had no idea what the fuck he was talking about.

And Jason...Christ, that sorry piece of shit had actually started getting out of his chair. Like he was ready to take Zach on or something. He liked Jason but man, he had some fucking growing up to do still. Maybe Megan would help him with that.

Especially when Jason found out that his sister, Jenny, was dating Tyler Bowie, their team's goalie. How the fuck could Jason not see that? It was pretty fucking obvious to everyone else on the team, no matter how much they were trying to hide it.

Fuck it. That wasn't his problem. He was more worried about what Jenny had told him. More worried about finding out where Haley was. Fuck if he knew why.

Megan had made one final attempt at blowing him off, like she had no idea what he was talking about. And fuck, that pissed him off. She called Haley her best friend? Bullshit. Best friends didn't cover for each other, not like this.

Not when it came to someone being hurt.

Yeah, Megan was definitely the smarter of the two, because she saw what Jason didn't: Zach's slow-burning fury. So she'd told him Haley had gotten a message on her phone then cut out, leaving Mystic's to go to another bar, a pool hall somewhere in this shitty fucking neighborhood.

Zach slowed the truck and glanced at the built-in GPS system. He should be closer now, not even a block away. The bar was on this street somewhere.

There, up ahead on the corner to his right. The neon from the single sign in the window cut through the darkness of the night, like some kind of pathetic beacon.

Zach's gaze scanned the street, searching for a spot to park the truck. He found one, half a block up. Lucky? Maybe. Or maybe it was because most of the residents in the neighborhood didn't own cars.

And what the fuck was Haley even doing here?

He climbed out of the truck, hitting the automatic locks and engaging the alarm system. Yeah, like that would fucking help. Fuck it. The truck was insured. Let the bastards strip it for all he cared.

He pulled the collar of the leather jacket up around his neck and started walking. A gust of wind hit him when he turned the corner, vicious and biting, tearing through the thin material of his shirt.

Doing absolutely nothing to dampen the rage that fired his blood.

Why the fuck was he even here? What was he going to do? Confront Haley? Demand she tell him who was hurting her?

Throw her over his shoulder and take her back to his place?

Yeah, that would go over really well. She'd really cut his balls off then.

Fuck it. He was here now. Might as well go in. Have a beer.

Wait for Haley to tear his head off.

He pulled on the door, felt a blast of heat hit him in the face. Light made him blink as he stood just inside the bar, letting his eyes adjust to the brightness as his gaze swept the interior.

A long bar ran down the length of the wall to his right. A jukebox and two poker machines stood against the wall to his left, silent sentinels, battered and alone and forgotten. Only three of the nearly dozen stools were occupied, their haggard patrons slouched over the bar. The bartender, a slim guy with cautious eyes and a stained sweatshirt hanging from his skeletal frame, paused in the act of pouring a shot.

Zach stood there, his shoulders tight, tension zipping through him while four sets of eyes studied him. Sizing him up, taking his measure. Was he friend? Or foe?

Let them look. They'd find out soon enough if they tried anything. He wasn't here for them, wasn't here to cause trouble. He was here for one reason and one reason only: to find Haley.

The clack of pool balls bouncing against each other drifted from the back. Zach's gaze slid past the bar, back to the darker room toward the rear of the narrow building. He saw the corner of a single pool table; caught a glimpse of a long, lean leg clad in faded denim.

The swing of long curly hair, it's fire bright and vibrant even in the shadows.

Zach stepped away from the door and walked toward the far end of the bar. His bootsteps were loud, echoing against the chipped and scarred tile floor in the odd silence.

That's what was wrong. The bar was quiet—too quiet. No music, no blaring television, no noisy conversation. Just the hollow sound of those pool balls smacking against each other.

He slid the stool out, propped his foot on the sticky bottom rail, and asked for two beers. He didn't care what kind, wasn't in the mood to be picky. Not here.

Zach tossed a bill on the bar and grabbed both bottles, raised one to his mouth and took a long swallow. The sound of the pool balls hitting against each other was louder. Harder. Angry somehow.

Or maybe he was just projecting. Anticipating what was to come.

He pushed away from the bar and headed toward the back room. Three small tables, covered by faded red-and-white plastic table cloths, lined the right wall. A handful of cheap wooden stools were tucked under a narrow shelf that ran across the left wall—probably designed to accommodate the drinks of a large crowd.

Yeah, right. Zach doubted that this place had ever seen a large crowd. At least, not recently.

He moved deeper into the room, pulled one of the stools out with the toe of his boot, and leaned against it. Haley's back was to him as she bent over the single pool table and lined up a shot. His eyes slid down to her ass, nice and firm, cupped by the faded denim that hugged her from the waist down. The sight of her hips swinging from side-to-side unleashed a flare of heat low in his gut, one that had nothing to do with anger.

Was she so focused on making her shot that she hadn't noticed him yet? Or was she just ignoring him?

He doubted it. Her mouth would already be running, hurling one insult after another at him if she knew he was here.

She pulled back with the stick, shot the cue ball across the green field, then slowly straightened, those slim hips still swaying. He caught a glimpse of the white cords dangling from her ears, trailing down to the cell phone shoved in her front pocket. She was listening to music, totally oblivious.

Unaware of him standing there.

Unaware of any potential danger that might be lurking behind her.

Anger surged through him once more, replacing the heat that had been building in his gut from watching those lean hips sway. Stupid ass woman. Hadn't she ever heard of situational awareness? Didn't she know how dangerous it was to be that oblivious of her surroundings? Anyone could come up behind her. Grab her. Haul that sweet ass off before she even had a chance to scream.

Zach's grip tightened around the bottles in each hand, hard enough he was surprised the glass didn't shatter. He pulled a deep breath in through his nose and forced himself to relax. He raised one of the bottles to his mouth and took a long swallow, his eyes never leaving those swaying hips.

Haley swung her head from side to side, sending that long mane of wild fiery hair swinging. Her head bopped in time to whatever music she was listening to. She brought the cue stick up in front of her, strummed it like it was some kind of fucking guitar, her hair flying as she moved her head back and forth.

Air guitar? Really?

What the fuck was she listening to?

Zach bit back a grin as she kept jamming out to music only she could hear. She moved her left arm, sliding it along the cue stick like she was laying down some heavy chords. The sleeve of her sweater slid up, revealing the pale skin of her slender arm.

Revealing the purple and yellow of old bruises that circled her wrist like some kind of morbid bracelet.

Zach's grin died. He pushed off the stool, the legs screeching against the old tile as he took two angry strides toward her. Had she heard it? Or did she finally realize that she wasn't alone in the room? Did she finally sense the danger?

She spun around, her hazel eyes wide as she changed her grip on the cue stick, holding it front of her like a club. For a split second, there was fear in her eyes. Then recognition.

Then anger, bright and hot.

She ripped the earbuds from her ears. The angry strains of an AC/DC song echoed around them, distant and tinny, as she stared at him. Her eyes narrowed, anger flashing in their depths.

She backed away, came to a stop against the pool table. Her strong grip on the cue stick didn't relax and for a fleeting second, Zach wondered if she might actually hit him with it.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Yeah, she was definitely pissed. But there was something else in her voice, just below the anger. Something that made the words waver, something that made her voice just a little breathless.

Fear?

Relief?

A combination of the two?

Zach didn't say anything, just held the second bottle of beer out to her. She narrowed her eyes even more, her lips flattening into a tight line as she watched him. She released her grip on the cue stick and reached for the bottle, her gaze never leaving his.

Zach grabbed her arm, his grip firm yet gentle, and held it up to the light hanging above the pool table. The bruises were even more defined, their mottled color marring the perfection of her creamy skin.

"What's going on, Red?"

Her eyes flared, filling with irritation and surprise—but not before he saw something else in their depths.

Panic.

He clenched his jaw and released her arm when she pulled it away. She shook her head and stepped to the side, moving around him as she pulled the sleeves of her sweater down.

Covering the bruises.

Hiding them.

"Nothing. Leave me alone."

"Doesn't look like nothing to me."

She shrugged and stepped around the table, placing it between them. A smile curled her mouth. Brittle. Bitter. "I said it was nothing. Just a little rough sex play."

A muscle twitched in his clenched jaw. He forced himself to relax, took another long swallow from the bottle, his eyes never leaving hers. "Is that so?"

"Yeah." Her gaze slid to his, quickly darted away.

Zach laughed, the sound harsh and hollow. "Sweetheart, rough sex isn't supposed to leave bruises. Not like that."

"What the hell would you know about it?"

"Plenty. Want me to show you?"

Haley laughed, the sound shrill and sarcastic. "I already told you—you aren't man enough to handle me."

"Any time you want me to prove otherwise, just say so."

Her mouth opened, quickly snapped shut as she pinned him with that narrowed gaze once more. She shook her head and looked away. "What are you doing here?"

She was changing the subject, refusing to jump to the bait he had thrown out. Ignoring his question about the bruises. Did she really think he was going to let it slide?

Maybe he would. For now.

"I heard this was the best place around to come to shoot some pool."

"You heard wrong." She raised the bottle to her mouth, tilted her head back and drank. Zach watched the muscles of her slender throat work as she swallowed. Heat unfurled low in his gut. Intense. Urgent. He didn't move, didn't even blink. The heat was nothing new. It was a constant companion now, roaring to life whenever he was near Haley.

He pushed it away, focused on the anger simmering just below the surface. She wanted to play games? Ignore his question? Pretend nobody was hurting her? Did she really think he could be so easily distracted?

Fine. Let her think that.

Zach leaned against the table, watching her. "Why'd you leave Mystic's? I thought you were going to hang out after the game."

She wiped her mouth with the back of one hand and shrugged. "Changed my mind."

"For no reason at all, huh?"

"Yup. Pretty much."

"You sure about that?"

Her gaze met his. Steady. Unflinching. Maybe even a little bit impatient. "Yeah. I'm sure. The company was giving me a headache."

Zach didn't stop the brief grin that crossed his face. "The company? Or just me?"

"Ding, ding, ding. Give the man a prize." She walked around the pool table, the cue stick in one hand, studying the balls spread out on the faded green surface.

Ignoring him.

"Who was that on the phone?"

"When?"

"Right before you left. You were reading something on your phone. What was it?"

A shadow crossed her face and she looked away. "Nobody. None of your business."

"Anything to do with that bracelet of bruises you're wearing?"

"I told you, they're from—"

"Rough sex. Yeah, I heard you. I'm not buying it."

"Ask me if I care."

Zach laughed and took a swig of beer. "Yeah, it's obvious you don't. Don't you think you should?"

"Don't you think you should mind your own fucking business?"

"I love it when you talk dirty to me, sweetheart."

Haley's head snapped up, her eyes narrowing into slits that did nothing to hide the glittering anger. She opened her mouth—no doubt to cuss him out—but the bartender poked his head around the corner, interrupting her before she could say anything.

"Haley. I'm closing up."

And wasn't that interesting, the fact that the bartender knew her name? Did she come here that often? Was she a regular?

And why the fuck was she hanging out in this shitty dump in the middle of this shitty ass neighborhood?

Haley absently waved a hand in the bartender's direction then placed the stick back in the rack, next to a dozen other sticks. Balls banged against one another as she pushed them toward the corner pocket. Clack. Thunk. Clack. Thunk. Haley's hand tightened around the eight ball before sending it flying—just a little too hard.

Probably wishing it was his head, Zach thought.

It hit the rail, bounced, rolled back. She pushed it again, sent it rolling to the side pocket, where it dropped in with a loud thunk.

Haley grabbed her beer, drained it, then waved it in his direction in a mock salute as she moved past him. "Thanks for the beer, Mummert. See you around."

What the fuck?

Zach drained his own beer, his gaze following the saucy swing of those slim hips as she moved toward the door. She stopped long enough to snag a jacket from the back of one of the stools then kept going.

Like she really thought he wouldn't follow her.

She didn't know him at all, did she?