15.

Elise

 

It’s been a week since the bombing attack on Beau’s home. A home which we can’t even consider renovating until the fire marshal and police detectives finish their investigation. There have been some adjustments to living at the compound, such as always having men, pieces and hot mamas underfoot. I want a bowl of fruit loops, but find someone else got to them before me. So we buy more and I hide them, only to discover someone raided my stash.

They’re louder than I’m used to. Party more than I’m used to. And the constant cloud of smoke hovering above our heads in the common from all the cigarettes and other non-tobacco products smoked on a daily basis will probably end up causing me cancer.

Though I relish these quiet moments to myself—they come so rarely since we rolled back into town—I admit, missing waking up next to him this morning. Seems I’ve gotten used to his warm body wrapped lovingly around me, even in sleep. He left for work before I woke. I knew Beau would be gone, he and Duke and Chaos. Some kind of new acquisition. They didn’t really go into it. I understand not wanting to jinx the sale by talking about it until the ink is dry on all the signatures.

As I lay sprawled out on the bed, deciding on whether to get up or stay here for a while longer, my cell begins to ring, making the decision for me. Reaching over to the bedside table where I left the phone plugged into the wall to charge last night, I look at the display. It’s not a number I recognize, though, being local, I answer.

“Hello?” I say into the receiver.

There’s no response at first. Then music. The kind that comes from mobiles parents hang over baby cribs.

So I ask again, “Hello?”

“Hello?” I hear my voice say back to me. It’s a prank. Just a prank.

“Who is this?” I demand.

“Who is this? Who is this? Who is this?” The voice, my voice repeats, but each one goes higher and faster as if someone is playing my words back to me in fast forward. Then in that same high pitched voice I hear, “You shouldn’t go out today.”

Damn Hadley for giving out my number. And damn these townspeople for not letting go. Why can’t they just leave me alone? I pinch the bridge of my nose and hang up. The phone rings back several times before it goes to voicemail. Stupidly, I listen and I wish I hadn’t. It’s more of that mobile music and my voicemail message on fast forward. Then abruptly a shrieking laugh cuts off the message.

Somehow the attacks on my car or the empty house, as bad as they were, felt tame compared to the violation of some stranger’s prank over the phone. They found me in my bedroom. My sanctuary. Now I have nowhere safe. Nowhere they can’t get to me.

Shaking, I walk out of our bedroom in an almost zombie-like state. Forgetting to tame the bedhead hair. Forgetting that I only wear Beau’s Easyriders tee. Underwear. No pants. No slippers. My feet stick to god knows what on the way into the kitchen.

The kitchen. The innermost room in the compound. Therefore, the safest room in the compound. But not even the smell of coffee cures my woes.

“Jesus, lass. Are you sick?” The voice I’ve never heard before.

I scream and twist to the knife block sitting on the counter, pulling an eight inch butcher knife firmly between both hands.

“Fuck. Calm down.”

Twisting back to the intruder, I swing the knife wildly, narrowly missing his chest as he steps toward me, in an attempt to disarm the feral animal I’ve become.

“It’s okay, you’re okay.” He holds his hands up, not in surrender, but to reiterate his sentiment. “Elise, right? C’mon, lass. Put the knife down.”

I blink and look at my hands holding the knife, then back at the man who inches closer until one of his arms secures mine to my side. He snatches the weapon from my hands and sighs in a ‘crisis averted’ way, and slips it back into the block, before sliding onto a barstool where he picks up a steaming cup of coffee, sipping peacefully, as if I hadn’t just tried to gut him.

With my brain cleared, I look to the man to apologize but the words get lost. He’s, well, he’s buck-ass naked for one. And as much as I’d like to look away, it’s like my eyes won’t obey my command to do so. He’s an amalgam of piercings—both nipples, gauges in his ears, and even down home with a barbell through the head of his penis. And it’s a hell of a penis. It’s such a penis that I know he’s a natural redhead, not by the hair on his head. This guy—walking, breathing sex appeal.

“My eyes are up here, lass.”

Oh my god. Caught in the act of staring. My face burns. “Sorry about.” I wave my hand in the general direction of the knives. “Trying to kill you. You scared me.”

“Eh, day in the life. No harm, no foul.” As he swallows another sip from his mug, I take the time to notice his light spattering of freckles that I’ll bet turn the ladies on.

Somehow I thought he was being humble with his, ‘day in the life.’ The scar under his left eye suggests otherwise, along with offering a badass edge to his movie star face. As does the gunshot scar puckered over his right shoulder and one lower, left side pelvis.

Awkwardness from potential homicide aside, we’ve done the whole introduction thing backward. I mean, learning a person’s name should come before seeing him naked. He has me at a disadvantage. One I tend to rectify. “So—you got a name?” I ask. “I could give you one.” And I throw out an eyebrow waggle for good measure.

Snickering, he stands to pour another mug of coffee and good Lord Almighty, the back matches the front. What’s the saying, could bounce quarters off his ass? “They call me Scotch,” he says.

“Of course they do.”

“It’s more for the drink than the accent, if ya can believe it.”

At the pause in conversation, I turn to grab a mug of my own. Spooning sugar and pouring a couple glugs of milk. After my first fortifying sip, I lean against the cupboard, holding the mug below my nose to breathe in the steam.

“So what had you so scared there, lass?” Scotch had to go there.

“It was just a prank call. Probably some teenage punks. But—it was weird.”

“Weird?” he asks.

“Unnerving.”

There’s another question he’s poised to ask, I see it on his face, but before he can ask it Beau’s voice booms into the kitchen with us. “What the fuck, man?”

“Was just getting coffee, Boss. I was sitting here minding my own business when she wandered in.”

“But why are you naked, brother?” Beau’s tone softens. “We talked about this, not while Elise is here.”

“I just got in last night. I’m not even sure what’s up from down yet. Oh, and she tried to kill me with a butcher knife.” Scotch rats me out.

Beau whips his head to look between Scotch and me. “She tried to kill you?”

No. If Scotch tells Beau about the call or how wound up it got me, he’ll never let me leave the compound. So the moment Scotch opens his mouth to tell Beau the truth, I talk my lie over him.

“I was just in a bad mood this morning. I’m not used to being idle, it’s time for me to find a job.” For my part, everything I’ve said is as much the truth as the lie of omission.

Snickering, Scotch winks at me over the top of his mug he’d brought back up to his lips. “So tell us lass, what type of job interests you?”

“Well, my BA’s in hospitality, and I’m currently working toward my masters in finance.” Craning my neck to face Beau. “I’m over the phone sex now that we’re together.” And I sip from my mug again, too.

“Come here.” Beau tugs on the back of my nightshirt and brings me into his body until I hit his chest, wrapping those strong arms around me.

I actually girl-sigh, and notice Scotch rolling his eyes.

“What? I can’t help it, he feels good.”

“I’ve had several years of hearing just how good he feels. The walls are thin, lass.”

“Right, now I’ve got that image burned in the back of my brain for eternity.” I say.

That same time Beau’s grip tightens and he yells, “Jesus, Scotch.”

The Scotsman chuckles as he turns to drop his mug in the sink.

“Wait until you get an old lady.” Beau threatens.

“No offense, Boss, but my cock is happiest when I spread the love. Wouldn’t be fair to give all this to just one lady.”

Okay so the teeniest part of me agrees with him, because he is seriously impressive and I know impressive sleeping with Beau.

Scotch shuffles past us, patting Beau on the shoulder as he passes him. Then he pauses in the doorway and turns back around. “Hey, I bet she’d do well with the new club. Hired anyone yet.”

“No.” Beau releases me, pinning Scotch with a hard ‘what the fuck are you thinking?’ glare.

What does that mean? No he hasn’t hired anyone yet or no I wouldn’t do well with it? I’m smart. My GPA is spot-on. I could run the new club.

“Can I give you my resume?” I ask. His face remains devoid of expression as he listens to me, so I tease, “Hey, I’m even willing to sleep with the boss.” Just looking for a reaction.

Still nothing.

“What’s the matter babe? At least check my resume before writing me off.”

“You don’t have to work at all, Elise. I can take care of us.”

“Then what exactly am I supposed to do with my days? I’ve worked hard for my degrees.”

“You’ll be busy with the kids.”

Wait, what? I shove away, wondering when exactly my Beau had turned into a sexist pig.

“Oh no, you did not just go there.” One hand on my hip, using my finger to enunciate each word, I point at the air, in his direction. “You did not. We don’t have any kids, and you keep this shit up we never will.”

“Sorry, lass.” Scotch mutters. As I chance a look over to the man, he won’t meet my eyes and shrugs before withdrawing from the kitchen completely.

Whatever. He’s throwing me off my game. I’m angry, I have to keep focused. I mean, stay home with the kids? I did not work my butt off to get into DePaul’s graduate program to be forced into the role of the little woman. Elise Manning, soccer mom? I take a few steps away from Beau, because Boss can’t exist for me right now.

“I’m so disappointed in you,” I whisper. And move to leave too. But Beau can’t let it go, or let me go, reaching out he grabs my wrist. At first I think it’s to apologize, but no. His eyes, his face say he’s angry with me. Angry with me? Nothing raises my hackles more than someone who turns misplaced anger on me because he can’t admit his own idiocy.

In that moment I completely lose my cool, snatching up the mug that I’d left resting on the counter, and throw the remaining milky, sugary liquid in his face. He gives the desired result and releases me, lifting his hands to wipe the coffee from his face.

“Dammit, woman!”

“More where that came from,” I hiss.

“Fuck, Elise.” He strips off his cut, tossing it on the counter and begins unbuttoning his shirt to peel off the brown-stained transparent fabric. “Get to our room.”

“Did you just send me to my room like a two year old?”

“If the shoe fits.”

Okay, that went too far.

I try to remind myself there’s a learning curve for Beau and I, that despite our history, we’ve spent too much time apart, and need to get re-accustomed to each other’s quirks. But some things can’t be blamed on a learning curve, maybe him being dropped on his head, but not the curve.

“You will be sorry.” I warn with my finger pointing directly in his face this time. Then I stomp off to our room. Not because he told me to.

Inside our bedroom, my eyes go directly to the cell I’d tossed on the rumpled comforter before leaving after that call. A stupid crank call I don’t want to think about what with Beau being an arrogant, sexist pig. Unfortunately arrogant is a good look on him. Sexist pig, not so much.

The walls feel like they’re closing in on me. Surround by Beau’s brothers, no friends of my own. Stinking pranks. It’s all too much, I have to get out for a while. Just for the day.

Maybe it’s not smart of me, but I long for some alone time to clear my head. After a shower, brushing my teeth, and painting on a little light makeup, I walk back over to the bed and pick up my phone to check today’s weather on my weather app—temps today should reach the mid-seventies.

My hair falls in soft curls cascading down just past my shoulders to touch the silverish lavender fitted satin camisole slipped over my skin. I slide up my favorite faded jeans. Naturally distressed, even I have to admit they make my ass look freaking incredible. Between the choice of sneakers, black flip-flops or my silver wedge thongs, I pick the thongs, grateful the boys hadn’t unloaded my stuff inside Beau’s house, but piled it all in the garage.

After slipping the dental floss thin strap of my small, mirrored purse around my shoulders, I cautiously stick my head through the doorway to make sure Beau hasn’t planted a guard on the other side, to keep me locked away inside.

In the twenty minutes I’ve spent primping, he hasn’t even attempted to talk with me. I know he’d hate me leaving the compound wearing this ensemble without him on my arm. The boobs and ass look that good.

Seriously, I don’t get him. Expending all this effort to get me then damaging what we’ve built by turning into this guy I don’t recognize. I’m not the kind of woman who wants to be dominated. Even though, I’ll admit, I give him that in the bedroom. But I maintain how we are in the bedroom does not translate into our everyday lives. I love Beau, but what I want is to be his partner. Why won’t he let me be his partner?

Keys in hand, again, I glance side to side, to make sure I’m not being watched, as I walk casually outside to my parked car, which the brothers who work in Duke’s garage repaired and repainted despite my running back to Chicago. Because of Beau. And I can’t let myself forget that.

The next hurdle, I have to make it past Levi and Blaze, who still guard the fence. Only a couple years younger than me, both have that sexy bad boy thing going on. But Levi has something special. If I was a different kind of girl, the kind the town accuses me of being, I’d flirt, and flirt hard.

So as I turn the ignition, I plaster on my biggest smile and best bubble gum attitude, pull out of the parking spot, and drive slowly over to the gate.

“Hey boys,” I greet them after rolling down my window.

“Where you off to today, Elise?” Levi asks, leaning down close to my face despite Beau’s warning. The man’s a natural flirt. Exuding all that sexy, youthful confidence, he can’t help it.

“Just the library.” I lie.

“Aren’t you supposed to have an escort now because of the Horde and your house?” Blaze cuts in.

“Not that Beau ever said.” And that’s the truth. He never once mentioned an escort. “Besides, joining a club called the Horde? Really?”

Both men laugh. Blaze rubs his hand over the top of my head, messing my hair, and Levi tweaks my nose like I’m their little sister. Hello, I’m older.

Laughing along with them I say, “I doubt any of them can spell library, forget about going in one. They might spontaneously combust from all the intelligence assaulting them.”

To that, the two men reward me with tipped up lips and nods of agreement.

“I guess it’s okay. You need anything,” Levi says, “You call straight away. It’s our job to come running.”

When I look into his big eyes, I have to ask myself why a man would choose this life. Prospecting, by all accounts, sucks. Forced to do every gross, menial job the brothers can think of, to prove their loyalty.

I realize I’ve been staring when he reaches over to tug on one of my curls, and clear my throat. “You know Levi, you’re going to make some girl really lucky someday.”

A big dimple appears at the corner of his smile as he runs a hand through that dark, wavy hair.

“Nah, nah, nah…just because Bossman is content tethering himself to one pussy for the rest of his life, don’t go jinxing the rest of us. No offense.”

“None taken. You’re young, too young to understand you’re only chasing down different pussy every night because you haven’t found the one meant for you, yet.”

As he opens the gate he says, “Then let’s hope I stay too young to figure that out forever.”

All three of us laugh as I drive through the gate. Still laughing, I shake my head at the little punk as I turn onto the road, tossing a salute to the men before they disappear from my sight.

That went well.

What they don’t know as they happily guard the gate at the compound two miles outside of town, is that I just drove through town, past the library. I take the highway until I hit the interstate. Then I take the interstate. I want a Starbucks.

Three hours later I get a text from Beau.

Him: Where R U?

Me: FK U

Him: Calling.

Then my phone rings. “Beau.” I answer.

“Would you like to tell me why you left here without an escort?”

“Not really. Here I thought I was an adult who could go where I wanted, whenever I wanted.” Feeling proud of that response, I sit up a little taller in the seat and click on my blinker to merge into the left-hand fast lane to pass a tractor-trailer.

“That was before you became Brimstone. Elise, get home.”

“No. I’m fine.”

“Darlin’, where are you? I sent Blue down to the library, he said you weren’t there anymore.”

“Never went. Changed my mind. I’m allowed. You don’t have me barefoot and pregnant yet Beau Hollister.”

“Is that what this is about, the job?”

“Yes.” I grip the steering wheel tighter. “That and the fact that you baited and switched. The man I fell for wasn’t a Neanderthal. I’ll stay home and take care of the kids?”

“Well Dawna—”

“I’m not Dawna. I’ll never be Dawna. I’m Elise. I’m always going to be Elise.”

“Don’t you think I know that?”

“No Beau, I don’t think you do.”

“Dammit, come home now.”

“I can’t—not yet.”

“Elise, where are you?”

“I might be outside Nashville.”

“Nashville?” He screams into the phone. “What the hell you doin’ in Nashville?”

“I wanted a Starbucks?” Here I am, reverting to answering him in questions.

He, however, doesn’t answer me. He hangs up. Part of me aches for him, for making him worry or whatever, but the other more dominate part at this moment is pissed right the hell off. I feel like a prisoner the way he won’t let me live life. The man seriously needs to chill with the overprotective bit. How would the Horde even know where I am? It’s Tennessee for crying out loud.