Healing Hearts 10: The Scars That Bind Us

by Dixie Lynn Dwyer Dixie Lynn Dwyer

  “Are you okay?” he asked, his expression appearing insulted and angry. Perhaps because she stared at his scars, and thought he was some serial killer ready to slit her throat?

  Her entire body was shaking, even her throat, which made talking non-existent at the moment because the extra-large man’s hold did something to her. It sent warmth through her wrist and up her arm and then throughout her body. An attraction? No. No way. He released her and she couldn’t believe how incredible his touch felt as the sensations forced their way through her body, until she felt the loss of it as he released her.

  She cleared her throat. “Your keys. You dropped them when you were staring at the painting,” he told her in a rough, deep voice that kept her staring. This was so unlike her.

  He exhaled. “What?”

  She shook her head.

  “Here, take your keys and stop staring at me like that,” he said, and she felt like such an idiot. She insulted him and he thought she was scared of him because of his scars, maybe? Was she? He went to walk away and she found herself reaching out to stop him. When her hand gripped his arm of steel, he snapped his head back at her like he might strike. She pulled away.

  “I’m sorry. I was really not paying attention, and your eyes, they’re an amazing blue color, that’s all.” It wasn’t a lie. They were stunning blue eyes.

  He squinted at her. Didn’t say thanks but nodded. He then looked at the painting and she turned back toward it, as well. She felt weak. That was one of the signs of an episode. If she only got that she would be lucky. She quickly sat down on the bench that faced the painting. They were both quiet. She didn’t want to talk to him, to engage in a conversation with the stranger, but yet she felt compelled to say something. Before she could speak, she heard his deep, raspy tone of voice.

  “It’s interesting,” he whispered.

  “You think so, too?” she asked, not looking up at him but at the painting. Then she felt his eyes upon her, actually felt them against her skin. He was a tall man, six foot four maybe, and well built. She was five foot seven, and she could feel how small she was in comparison to him. Her guard went up as usual.

  “Afternoon, Joanna,” Beth, a woman who worked at the art museum, said to her. She quickly turned toward Beth, relieved for the distraction from all these emotions.

  “Hi, Beth.”

  Beth then smiled at the guy and gazed over his body. He was pretty good-looking and with those scars he had, he seemed mysterious and sexy. She was a bit surprised by the thoughts going through her head. She played with her keys and then exhaled. “Well thanks for my keys,” she said and stood up. She started to walk along to see more paintings and adjusted the light workout jacket she had put on before coming in here. She was wearing her spandex pants in black, a white tank top and bra that matched, and then the black overlay jacket. That was one thing about being a personal trainer, and having a dojo and gym for a workplace. She got to wear stylish workout gear.

  * * * *

  Leif didn’t know why he was still standing here. It was obvious that the gorgeous young woman was turned off, maybe even scared by his scars, and his size. She kept her jacket fisted closed, could barely hold eye contact with him and was shaking. Could be because of her reaction to the painting, but he didn’t think his scars helped, and instead made her reaction worse. He got that. Some women wanted to know how he got scarred and whether it was in battle. He hated bimbos and didn’t go out much at all. This woman was young, in great physical condition. Her green eyes were gorgeous.

  “Are you sure that you’re okay? You seem a bit shaken up?” he asked her and didn’t know why. He didn’t like when people asked him if he was okay, and especially after an episode or showing signs like he might lose it any moment. It was frustrating so why did he just ask her that?

  Her lips parted and then she nodded. “I’m okay.” She looked back toward the painting. “I just thought about the woman in the painting, wondered what her story was, and why she wouldn’t join in all that fun around her. She looked sad.”

  He looked back toward the painting. “I guess no matter how much fun and excitement could be going on in the background, if you aren’t happy, or your mind is bogged down with thoughts, then it’s too hard to join in the fun.” He looked back at her. She was staring at him again and it did something to him. Leif licked his lower lip. “Not so foreign to many of us.”

  “Unfortunately, that’s true,” she replied, and it was like something was shared between them. He squinted at her. She was young, too, maybe he shouldn’t even be talking to her. She was so stunning and could get any man, why engage in a conversation with one with scars, one that was fucked up in the head and could snap at any time?

  “What’s your name?” she asked him, and he looked down at her.

  “Leif.”

  “Nice to meet you, Leif. Do you come to the gallery often or is this a first visit?”

  He squinted at her and she cleared her throat, then pushed a loose strand behind her ear, looking so adorable as she scrambled for words. “I mean, not like you know “do you come here often?” she said in a funny tone like a pick-up line. He smirked. “Just…well.” She made a face, and looked away.

  “I come here whenever I feel a little off. Like I need to clear my head. When thoughts are all over the place and I want to get lost in the paintings,” he said to her, which seemed to affect her as she turned and looked back up at him.

  “That’s why I come here,” she replied.

  He didn’t know why, and didn’t know what made this woman, this person, so different from others he met, but he was relaxed and just spoke his mind. “There’s some new ones throughout. Want to walk and see them, together?” he asked, and then felt like he was a twenty-year-old virgin trying to hit on the pretty, sexy bombshell that could get any guy, someone way better than him. Jesus, he lost his touch.

  “Uhm…I only have a little bit of time.”

  She was letting him down easy. She wasn’t so nice after all and his scars, his fucking scars, made him lose his chance to talk to her. Did he want to get to know her? Did he actually feel an attraction to a woman after so long and wanting to feel nothing at all?

  “Sure, and the name is Joanna,” she said to him.

  He was shocked that she accepted. But was it out of pity? He tried not to snarl. He didn’t know who she was. Where she came from. Or why she seemed to be interested in him, but as they walked and looked at paintings, she calmed him, and made him relax, and that was just plain shocking.

  As she looked up at another painting, he couldn’t help but to take in her features. Long blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail, gorgeous green eyes and a thin, perfect face that was gorgeous, even her tanned skin looked soft, yet there was a hardness, or maybe a firmness to her facial structure. Perhaps from physical training.

  “What do you do for a living?” she asked him, just as he was going to ask her.

  “Computer analyst. I do a lot of freelance stuff.”

  “Military?” she asked, surprising him.

  “What makes you say that?”

  She looked him over, and boy did it shock him when his dick actually hardened.

  “I have friends and family in the military and I can usually tell.”

  “How about you? What do you do for a living?” he asked, and held her gaze.

  “I’m a personal fitness trainer, nutritionist, and martial arts instructor. I mostly work privately with clients.”

  “That’s impressive, are you heading to a client after this?” he asked, and couldn’t help but to look at her body. She had muscular thighs, he could tell even in the spandex she wore. Her waist was thin and more than likely under that jacket were muscles and great abs.

  “I started early this morning and then I’m going to the dojo down the block to train a class.”

  “Donny York’s?” he asked, and she squinted.

  “You know it?”

  “I know Donny. He’s a friend of my brothers an
d me. Flynn, one of my brothers, knows Donny’s brother that they call Coach, and Flynn helped him build up the training regimen for the elite combat class for police and military there.”

  “Wait, Flynn Fordom is your brother?” she asked him, and he felt the hit to his gut and then a weird sensation. Was he jealous that she knew Flynn, or intrigued and wondering how?

  “I met him and Knight when my friend Afina was hurt.”

  “Oh, yes that was pretty crazy. How is she feeling?”

  “She’s doing well. Your brothers were over at Avery’s house with everyone the other night.”

  “Cavanaugh and I couldn’t make it. We were involved with a computer job that went a little haywire.”

  “Cavanaugh? That’s another brother? How many are there?” she asked.

  “Just the four of us.” She looked at her watch. Did that make her nervous? She seemed a bit different.

  “How about you? Any siblings?”

  “Four extra-large, big brothers,” she said and smiled. Her eyes actually lit up, he could see it.

  “Close to them, huh?” he asked, and she looked at him.

  “Your eyes lit up.”

  “Yes, we’re very close.”

  “My brothers and I are, too. We all live together, share everything. It works out great,” he said, and didn’t know why he did. When he saw her face go flush and he realized that what his statement sounded like, he was shocked at himself and then his thoughts. Would that interest her? Getting to know him and his brothers? That could be a way to make him feel less inferior and capable of dipping into such a delicacy as Joanna.

  “I should get going,” she said.

  “Wait, we should meet up again.”

  How could he do this? Where the hell was this coming from? He looked away.

  “Listen, you seem very nice.”

  “Hey, don’t worry. I was just thinking we both like art. No big deal,” he said, and looked away and then rubbed along his cheek.

  “Leif, you seem really nice.” He looked at her gorgeous green eyes, and those sexy lips. “I am really nice. To very few people actually.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “I’m honestly a prick most of the time, and I don’t engage in conversations with people unless it’s forced. You are easy to talk to. It’s that simple.”

  She swallowed hard and went to speak and then stopped. He could see the emotion in her eyes and his gut clenched.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t date. I don’t do well with conversations with men.”

  “You seem to be doing fine.”

  She snorted, the pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, some kind of nervous habit she had. He didn’t want to lose an opportunity.

  “Well, we’re a lot alike. I don’t date either. I hate trying to force words out to talk to anyone, and especially women I don’t even know.” She raised her eyebrows up at him. “Except you, which is why I feel compelled to want to ask you to meet up again. As friends,” he added, but holy fuck did his body not react like a friend would react.

  “As friends? That’s it?” she asked.

  “Of course.”

  She thought about it a moment. “I’ll be back Tuesday at 10:00 a.m. I don’t have any clients that day until the afternoon.”

  “I’ll rearrange my schedule and meet you here.”

  “Okay.”

  They just stared at one another. “I should go.”

  “If you have to.”

  She looked at her watch. “Maybe one more painting.”

  He nodded, and they started walking, looking at the next painting and some sort of hope filled his mind. She was different. She was beautiful, and made him feel, actual react, and that wasn’t normal for him at all. Even the way he spoke to her was different than who he was. Leif knew he was a prick, a nasty fuck who growled and barked more often than he spoke normal. But the moment he saw her, and they exchanged words he was different. And now as they walked, he wanted things. He inhaled her shampoo, could sense the femininity of her presence beside him, and he wondered if he were capable of giving anything remotely meaningful and complete to a woman such as Joanna. Get a grip man. She said friends. Fuck.

  * * * *

  Ortley Flemming listened as his business associates discussed the plans. There were numerous ones in motion, and some that would get started within the next few weeks. He would make a lot of money helping transport military weapons across borders and arm groups considering themselves to be terrorist cells. He assisted in selling stolen art, jewelry, and even drugs through his connections within the United States. He was as strong as ever, and no one would catch him. No one would even figure out his involvement. The best part was he did it all from afar, and it was a farce for bigger plans. Bigger money and power to achieve. All taking place in the United States as they made billions of dollars. He looked at Fredrico Porcini as he spoke to the other men. They were onboard, money invested, and plans were made for the military weapons and the charade of terrorist activities to throw off the federal agents and CIA, as well as the military. By the time they figure out the strikes were smokescreens for what was really happening, it would be too late. Now he had his own agenda to fulfill. It would be difficult, but he was determined to make it a reality this time.

  “The preliminary attacks will take place throughout the region of Fallujah, where we have already planted information to feed the US military as they send troops in to investigate. They will take the heavy military presence near the storage facilities away and leave minimal guard. Our military teams will infiltrate, destroy and clear out the facilities. Four separate attacks will be taking place within the week, sending the US military and government into a frenzy,” Porcini told all those gathered in the private facility.

  “And the others? Where will those strikes be?” one of the men asked, and Porcini explained about the strategic locations of all, which would leave the roadways open for cargo trucks to remove the products needed.

  “Those trucks will separate and continue on to discrete locations, including airfields which will cargo them out by plane and to their prospective buyers. We will be making over a billion dollars, men, in one week’s time if we pull this off,” he added, and the men smiled and were excited.

  “What about potential problems with some of these elite military teams the US has? Some of those Special Forces guys, Rangers and Berets are resourceful?” Cole, one of the business guys asked.

  “They’ll be some casualties on both sides,” Porcini replied and looked at Topaz.

  “The families of the men who have volunteered for the most dangerous aspects of these will be fully taken care of if they were to die.”

  “Very good,” Cole replied.

  “Any other questions?” Porcini asked.

  When they determined there were none, the men all excused themselves and headed out of the room, leaving Porcini, Topaz, and Ortley. Ortley stood up and limped toward the windows. He nearly lost his leg when those Special Forces operatives arrived that night four years ago. In another location, his own sons rescued their sister right before she was to ship out here to the Middle East.

  “You don’t look happy, Ortley,” Porcini said to him. The man didn’t get it. Ortley lost everything. He saw nothing but red and made decisions in the heat of rage. Tanner shouldn’t be alive either.

  “I’m fine.”

  “You aren’t fine. Haven’t been fine since Joanna was rescued. Not even hearing of your brother’s wife’s death didn’t cheer you up.” He clenched his teeth.

  “Tanner is not my brother.”

  “Not by blood, but by a bond you shared since childhood. He betrayed that trust and he will suffer for it.”

  “There is nothing I can do from here. You know the reports, and about the feds and CIA investigating the latest hits on those two companies’ bosses. It wasn’t a smart move.”

  “Sure it was, because fingers will point at us first, but the information I plant
ed will bring it back to our enemies we can’t physically knock off. It will work out fine. Haven’t I proven to you that I can make the US government, the feds, and CIA agents, as well as the soldiers, do what I want? I send them the information that leads them nowhere. It keeps them busy and lets us make loads of money right under their noses.”

  “Money isn’t enough to take away the hatred I feel.” He gripped onto the back of the chair by the window.

  “Perhaps this might brighten your hope of what I am working on for you,” Porcini said, and then motioned with his hand to Topaz. Ortley watched as Topaz picked up a purple folder and brought it over to him. Releasing his hold on the chair to take the folder from him, they locked gazes. Topaz nodded, and Ortley opened the folder, his heart stopping a moment at the sight as he lost his breath.

  He ran his finger along the photograph. “Joanna.” He looked up, stunned by the sight. She was stunning, now twenty-five years old, and she shared the stunning green eyes of her true father. “How did you get this? Where is she? What is your plan?” he asked.

  Porcini chuckled and then walked toward the small wet bar and began to pour them three glasses of some expensive brandy Porcini loved. Topaz accepted one from Porcini, and then Porcini held one out to Ortley. He approached, but not before taking out the picture and placing the folder onto the table. He held it in his hand as he took the glass with his other hand.

  “To keeping promises, my friend. The revenge you seek will be yours. Be patient with me, and trust that I am working on a plan of action.”

  “You know I trust you, Porcini. I owe you my life.”

  “You’ve paid me back.”

  He looked at the picture of Joanna and held it up. “If she hadn’t been rescued, then my debt to you would have been paid twicefold.”

  “It will be resolved. They are complacent and unprepared. When they least expect it, our people will strike. My question for you is, when that time comes do you want to see her, or just allow the sale to take place?”

  Ortley thought about it. It was really Tanner he wanted to hurt, wanted to kill for what he had done. For taking what was his and destroying it all. Right now it could be Ortley, his wife, Holly, their four sons and their daughter in power and making billions. But no, Tanner fucked that all up when he betrayed him, leaving Ortley no choice.