by R. A. Boyd
Daria blew a raspberry and Charlie was happy she stood far enough away not to get sprayed by the girl’s spittle. “Riley doesn’t do applications. She likes to talk to people and get to know them. She’ll be here tomorrow morning.”
Nodding like a bobblehead doll, Charlie said, “So will I. Thanks.”
“Can I ask you a question?” Daria put the pastry in a to-go bag and slid it across the counter.
It was probably about her hair. Everyone wanted to know why Charlie’s hair was grayer than a ninety-year-old lady who couldn’t find her favorite brand of dye at the beauty store. “Anything,” she said, smiling to put the girl at ease.
Daria seemed to think better of her words and shook her head. “Never mind. I’ll send Riley a text to let her know to keep an eye out for you tomorrow. Good luck!”
With a wink, Charlie thanked her again and grabbed the to-go bag.
As she turned around, her foot slipped on something wet, and she fought to level herself before she dropped all her good stuff and landed on the floor right along with it.
A man with dark red hair and eyes as grey as her hair stood before her. His shoulders were as broad as the door to the New Rose Inn, and the muscles in his neck were tense with irritation. It showed on his handsome face. One of his eyes was lowered in a scowl, and a low snarl echoed through his closed, full lips. He was a shifter.
She should have known. It was chilly outside, but all the man wore above his black denim jeans was a hunter green tee-shirt that hugged his thick arms. The only part of him that showed that the weather outside was just above forty were his hard nipples that pointed at her through his shirt.
Wait. This was the sexy, lumberjack looking Ghost shifter who gave the woman at the Town Hall the machete. Did he have it now? That would be so cool.
Ovaries and lady-bits, be still, she thought. Cheese and freaking crackers, she could see his six-pack abs through his shirt. If she had an open bottle of water, she would throw it on the tall drink of lust standing before her just to watch his shirt go seethrough, and fuel her naughty dreams for the next ten years.
“Clumsy human,” he growled as he maneuvered around her.
She flinched as if he’d taken that imaginary bottle of water and thrown it on her. How dare he? “Fuck off, and buy a bigger shirt while you’re at it,” she said through gritted teeth. “Are you advertising a stripper cabaret or do all assholes like to show their manly muscles.” Damn-it, that last part didn’t come out right. She was trying to insult him, not compliment his body.
The look on his face was purely priceless. His eyes were wide and unblinking, and his mouth opened and closed as if he couldn’t find the right words. He was probably used to people shying away from his large body and shifter growls.
“It’s an undershirt,” he barked out, obviously offended. “A bird crapped on my button down.”
“Pretty sure I don’t give a shit.”
Charlie walked back to her table and sat as if he wasn’t even in the store anymore. She had better things to do. Like order more clothes. When her father managed to find her the last time, she had to leave all of her stuff behind or run the risk of being caught by him. She’d bought a few staples when she got to town but had lost all of her favorite fangirl tee-shirts and jackets. It was worth it, though. She got away without him following her.
Sitting back in her chair, Charlie pushed her sandwich to the side and went straight for the pastry bag. As she took the first bite of the strawberry tart, she moaned and closed her eyes to revel in the taste of sugar, more sugar, and strawberries. The fluffy, buttery crust was the kicker that kept her mouth watering long after her first bite.
If her grandfather was looking up at her from whatever Hell dimension he’d managed to bribe his way into, Charlie bet he would be cursing her name and calling her chunky. He didn’t care that she jogged every morning and ate healthy most of the time. All he could see was the size of her body. She couldn’t put a carb or a sprinkle of sugar into her mouth without him adding in his two-cents of a shitty opinion.
Charlie had always been thick, and it took her until she was twenty-six to realize that her body was hers to love and that she shouldn’t give a shit about what anyone thought. She knew her body was a replica of an hourglass that had more than a few extra hours added to it. She had been that way since she was a child. Up until the day he died, her grandfather had made fun of her and said that despite her pretty face no man would want a chunky woman who didn’t want to stay at home and make babies. Her mother had always been too drunk to stick up for her. And her father…
Daria’s voice broke through the fog of the past, and Charlie sighed a grateful breath for it. “Hi, Mr. Simon,” she said when the douchebag shifter made it to the front of the line.
Simon. Nice name for a twat-waffle.
“Hey,” he replied gruffly. “Give me some of the strawberry and chocolate shits.”
Charlie couldn’t help but snicker. Chocolate shits. Even though his words weren’t friendly, she could still hear the smile in Daria’s voice when she gave him his total. Maybe she was used to Simon being rude. Fuck that. Rude people were only as nasty as you allowed them to be. Tell those bastards off well enough, and they stayed away from you.
Charlie opened her laptop, took another bite of her tart —up yours Grandpa— and started sipping her beverage. This was the life. Just because she was running away didn’t mean she had to suffer.
Suffer? That was just part of her daily life, but she was good at avoiding things. And she would keep doing it until she was brave enough to face the consequences of not running. Brave enough or too tired to keep running, whichever came first. But for now, she would allow the coffee and pastries to comfort her and make her feel like everything was still normal.
“What’s so funny, Clumsy Girl?” Simon said as he walked toward her table.
She grounded herself and realized she still had a grin plastered on her face. That grin was just a façade Charlie had grown used to. New people in new places didn’t warm up to you if you always had a constant frown etched on your face, and they damn sure didn’t like it if you were looking around like a scared puppy. They sure as shit didn’t. She learned that lesson months ago.
Charlie would have continued to sit with that fake grin, but here was the asshole reminding her that the smile was now like a tattoo on her lips. She hadn’t even noticed he was looking at her until he spoke, but now under his heated gaze, she wanted to get as far away from him as possible.
He was sexy as hell. Auburn hair that was longer on the top and cut close on the sides. A manly beard that framed his soft looking lips. Shoulders so vast and robust he probably had to turn sideways just to make his way through the door, and a tapered waist that most likely led down to a cock so big it could make her forget everything for a little while. Or a really tiny cock. It was a toss of the coin with men his size.
Old her would have hopped on Simon and rode him to orgasm-world just to shove away the anguish for a few hours. Breaking away and forgetting the pain by way of sex had worked for a while until the condom broke with that skinny dude. Charlie thanked the deities of broken prophylactics that she was on the pill. That wasn’t her now, but if he kept looking at her like she was tastier than the sweets in his bag of treats, she would revert and fade into him until she was tired of looking in his handsome face.
Just in case he got any funny ideas to sit down at her table, Charlie put her foot on the chair across from her. “Come any closer, and I’ll stab you in your thigh. Rude people suck.”
He stared down at her for a few moments, astonishment and humor fixed on his face. His handsome face. That beard would probably feel really good between her legs.
No. That wasn’t who she was. She’d done enough of that and had promised herself that she wouldn’t use sex to whisk her away from her life anymore. It was dangerous. Careless. But damn it all if it wasn’t fun.
The pain of remembrance shimmered through her body, and she
felt herself buckle inward as she grabbed her stomach. She couldn’t cry here. Not when everyone in New Rose thought she was so ordinary, and ordinary was what Charlie needed. This man was making all that shit she’d tucked away begin to trickle back.
“Please,” she said, ghosting him with a look that she could only hope conveyed strength and dismissive impatience, and not the desperation that was about to take her over if he kept looking at her like he could read her story and pass judgment on what she’d done. “Just go. Enjoy your chocolate shits.” Her breath trembled as she inhaled.
Something passed through his eyes as he watched her. Pity? Sorrow? She’d leave town right the hell now if he didn’t stop.
In the blink of an eye, all emotion seemed to fade from him. He gave her the finger and walked away.
That was better.
This was stupid. Completely and utterly stupid. Charlie’s primary goal in life was to avoid conflict, and right now, she was about to skydive right into the middle of it.
“Hello?” Charlie’s voice was just above a whisper. As she walked deeper into the narrow alleyway between the Inn and a bar just as small as the alley, she could hear the sounds of hard thumps and grunts of pain and wrath. Someone was fighting.
Today had been perfect, so of course, something had to happen to monkey wrench it. She didn’t want to get involved, but it wasn’t in her nature to ignore something like this. What if someone needed help? What if a woman was being attacked?
With another look around to see if anyone was near to call for help, she quickstepped her way through the dimly lit alley. One hand sorted through her bag as her eyes scanned for any hint of who was being attacked. The echoes of the scuffle grew louder as the alley opened up into a small courtyard.
Two large buildings loomed on either side of the square. An artificial grass rug and one park bench gave it a homey feel, but the blur of three men fighting made it look like a private fight club for shifters. Glowing eyes and chilling snarls filled the space between the bone-breaking thuds and cries of pain. Fists flew faster than Charlie could keep up with.
She was about to back away and let them fight it out until realization hit. Two of them were doing all they could to beat the shit out of the one guy. He was absorbing the punches like they fueled him on, but one wrong move and they just might kill him.
Finally, Charlie’s hand grabbed hold of her little pink stun gun. “Hey!” She couldn’t use it on all of them, but it might be enough to at least break up the brawl.
All three ghosted her with a glance, but the one with the grey eyes seemed to stare a little too long at her as if willing her to get the hell away from them. It was the asshole from this morning. Simon.
Why was she not surprised? He’d probably pissed someone off just by being his asshole self, but that didn’t give these two guys the right to gang up on him.
With her and asshole’s eyes glued to one another, the man that stood to the right of him pulled back his elbow and smashed it into Simon’s temple. Charlie winced at the crunch of bone, and she wasn’t sure if it was from Simon’s head or the guy's elbow. His eyes rolled back in irritation as his body crumpled against the wall.
The guy who’d snuck Simon barked an order at the smaller man. “Get the gun,” he said, sandy blond hair falling in his eyes.
Gun? Holy crap, they were trying to kill him. And she was next for interrupting their murder session.
Charlie’s heart rate hiked up even faster as he began to walk toward her. Fear dumped into her belly as she took a few steps back. They were still separated by ten or twelve feet, but no matter how fast she thought she was— even though she was slow and clumsy on her best of days— she couldn’t outrun a shifter. She gripped the stun gun to her chest and pushed the little button upward that switched off the safety.
“Back off.” Her voice shook. She wasn’t even mad at herself for sounding frightened. He could probably smell the fear rolling off of her in waves.
A handsome smile split open his face as his straight, white, and slightly pointy teeth gleamed in the muted light. In a blur of dark clothes and blond hair, one second he was near the far wall behind him and the next he was standing only inches in front of her. She gasped and almost pressed the button to stun. That would have totally hurt her boob.
The smell of grass, motor oil, and sweat invaded her senses as he reached forward and grabbed a few strands of her hair. She fought with herself not to pull away from his dirt-lined fingers for fear of him grabbing a handful of her hair to keep her from running. She wasn’t going to run. Nope. She wanted to give him every chance to relax so she could put his dumbass to sleep and watch him piss himself with the surge from her stun gun.
His blue eyes crinkled as he tugged her hair. “I’m not digging the bad dye job.” He looked down at her and frowned. “Reminds me of my grandma.”
With a gasp, she sucked in a breath so hard she almost choked. Charlie had never gotten used to the insults when it came to her hair, and for some horrible reason, people always pointed it out when they wanted to hurt her.
“Your grandma’s hair must have been sexy as shit,” she said, bumping up against the wall behind her.
He gave a full smile this time as he looked her up and down, eyes lingering on her lips. “I love that pretty mouth of yours,” he said, pulling his hand from her hair. “You sure are sassy.”
“So is your face,” she said, shoving her hand and the stun gun right above his Adam’s apple. So is your face? That was the best she had?
Right before she made contact with the soft skin of his throat, the crack and sizzle of the electric current pulsing between the metal prongs lit up the air like a bright blue firecracker. Charlie could see the exact moment the fifty billion volts of electricity disrupted the connection between his brain and the rest of his body. She knew it was sick, but she smiled in wonder as her would-be attacker seized and then dropped to his knees, eyes crossed, as he jolted on the ground.
“Wow,” she uttered. She knew she should scold herself for being so interested in his suffering, but his eyes had shown the unsavory plans he had for her. Besides, he and his compadre were going to shoot asshole-Simon. Shoot. Gun. “Shit.”
Charlie’s eyes went wide with horror and surprise as she remembered the other guy had a gun and was going to use it. She looked up just in time to see the small man with his weird looking gun trained on her, but just as the word ‘bitch’ worked its way through his lips, Simon reached up from his crumpled spot on the ground and punched the man in his crotch.
Squealing like a pig running from a butcher’s knife, he cupped his sack and fell to his knees. A string of curse words and snivels began to pour from his lips, but Simon quieted the man before Charlie’s head could even wrap around what was happening. Simon yanked the man closer to him by the collar of his shirt and then twisted his head until she heard a pop echo through the small courtyard.
Charlie’s stomach lurched, and everything she had eaten since she woke up came hurdling out of her mouth. Her silver, curly hair dropped down into her eyes, and she almost managed to stun herself with the taser as she tried to balance her hands on her knees and not throw up on her boots. Her heart hammered against her sternum, and the sound of blood rushing through her veins filled her ears.
“…still alive.” The sound of Simon’s voice broke through the fog as she started to pull herself together. Was he talking to her? Leaning against the grey, brick wall like he owned it, Simon held his phone to his ear and wiped away a trickle of blood that was already beginning to dry beneath his nose. “Little square between the bar and the Inn. See you soon.” He pressed a button on the phone and then shoved it in his back pocket.
Charlie’s eyes watered as she watched him. Hurp. “You twisted that guy’s head around.” Hurp, hurp. “That was so gross.” Not as gross as that woman cutting that man’s head off.
Interview be damned. She’d witnessed two people die within the last week. It was time to leave New Rose.
&n
bsp; With one hand still clenching the taser, Charlie hurped and sighed a few more times as she started feeling through her bag for a bottle of water. Once she wrapped her hand around it, she pulled it from her satchel, twisted off the top, and then took a long pull from it. She swished the cold liquid around in her mouth, gurgled, and then spit it out next to the barf. Seeing the barf made her want to barf again. Vomiting was disgusting but seemed to be her go-to action once her adrenaline started to level out after an ordeal. It had been that way since middle school.
Grabbing a stick of gum from her pocket, she looked up and saw Simon coming at her like she was next on his neck-snapping list.
“Come closer and I’ll put your ass down next to Feely McGee here on the ground and watch you piss yourself,” she warned, pushing the button on the taser to let Simon see the sparkling blue light.
He kept coming at her but stopped short and bent down to check the douche bag on the ground. “Helpful tip from your Sweet Uncle Simon,” he said, standing up and wiping the rest of the blood from his nose with the sleeve of his shirt. “Shifters recover pretty fast from having a taser used on them. If you’re going to use it, get as far away as you can, as fast as you can.” Pure annoyance filled his grey eyes as they traveled from her feet to her head. “Why are you here, Clumsy Girl?”
What? Why was she here? “You’re welcome, Simon.” She clicked the safety back on the taser and dropped it in her bag. “Ever the asshole, I see.” Shaking her head, she sucked her teeth and put her hand on her hip. How dare he? She just saved his ass. “You’d be dead right now if I hadn’t come along. You should be thanking your lucky stars above I heard your call for help.”
“Call. For help.” He deadpanned as he watched her. The guy on the ground started moving, and as he balanced on his hands and knees to get up, Simon kicked him in the face and put him back to sleep. “I didn’t call for help. I had it under control!”
