The Recluse

by Snow, Jenika

  I was a tangled mess of need and want inside.

  I was going to stop by Tosco’s and pick up a lemon raspberry cake for dinner tonight. I actually felt my cheeks heat as I thought about the way Fin watched me the last time I’d eaten the cake. His eyes had been locked on my mouth as I’d taken in each forkful, and although I felt extremely on edge, as if I were a specimen under a microscope, I couldn’t lie and say I didn’t like him looking at me.

  There was this very animalistic aura that surrounded him. It made me feel feminine in every single way.

  I cleared my throat as my thoughts tried to go down a much dirtier path. I wished in these instances that I had girlfriends I could talk to, people I could share these intimate details with, but I’d always been what people called antisocial. I was just a shy girl, an introvert. Maybe that’s why this job had called to me so much.

  Here I was out in the middle of nowhere, the wilderness surrounding me, only one person to interact with. And even going into town was small and intimate, nothing like the city where it felt congested and like I was suffocating. I could live here for the rest of my life, I thought.

  Once I paid and had all the bagged groceries back in the cart, I made my way out of the grocery store and toward the SUV. I stopped before I got to the street to make sure no cars were coming, and my focus landed on a young guy leaning against the side of the store. He had one foot braced on the brick, a cigarette hanging from his lips. His other hand held a bottle wrapped in a brown paper bag. You didn’t have to be a rocket scientist to know what was in it.

  He pulled the cigarette out of his mouth and exhaled a cloud of smoke before bringing that paper bag wrapped bottle to his mouth and taking a long drink. And the entire time, his focus was on me. He couldn’t be much more than my age, maybe a year or two older than I was, but he definitely had this aged look, like he’d seen a lot of shit in his short years.

  He looked rough around the edges, as if he spent more time on the streets than at home. His clothes were disheveled and a day away from being utterly filthy. I noticed the serpent tattoo on his arm, one that looked like it had been given to him in the dark with how badly it was done.

  His eyes were locked on me, the expression he wore, the way he slowly smiled when he pulled the bottle away, showing a missing tooth at the side of his mouth, had my body revolting.

  I made my way across the street and quickly went toward the SUV. I didn’t like the way he made me feel. It was the way some men made me feel when I had to walk home from the pub a few nights.

  Dirty.

  They made me feel lewd and obscene, as if I were naked, and nothing I could do could shield myself from them.

  Once the back door was open, I started shoving in the grocery bags, just wanting to get in the vehicle, wanting to get back to the house… back to Fin. That last bit didn’t surprise me, although it should. I liked his presence.

  He made me feel safe, not just because he was a big, Viking-sized man, but because there was a presence about him that made me feel like nothing could penetrate the safety that surrounded me when I was with him.

  I put the last bag in the back and shut the door and was about to turn around and put the cart in the little corral, when a shocked gasp left me. The guy who’d been standing by the side of the building was now on the other side of the cart, his hand on the red handle, his cigarette now gone as he grinned at me.

  He brought the bottle up and took another drink before saying, “You have a couple dollars you could spare?” His voice was scratchy, as if he’d been smoking for the past forty years, although he hadn’t even been alive that long.

  He gave me a wider grin. I swallowed but didn’t answer right away. It wasn’t like I wasn’t used to people asking for money. That happened quite frequently in the city. But I just felt uncomfortable with this man, as if what he really wanted had nothing to do with cash.

  I slowly shook my head. “I’m sorry. I don’t.” His smile faded, and he moved around the cart, coming closer to me. I shifted the cart so it was still between us.

  “You’re telling me all those groceries you just bought, this big, nice SUV you drive, you can’t spare a couple bucks to someone in need?”

  I started to get really nervous. “This is my employer’s vehicle. I’m sorry. I can’t help you.” I started pushing the cart toward the corral, but when he gripped my forearm and jerked me back, instinct took over.

  His grip was strong, bruising even, and I knew he’d be going for my purse next. After that? I didn’t know. He seemed desperate for just about anything if he was willing to attack someone in the parking lot of a grocery store while it was still light out.

  But living in the city meant you had to know how to take care of yourself. It had been something my father instilled in me when I was younger. So I’d taken self-defense classes religiously. I’d never had to use them, not until now.

  I brought my knee up right to his groin, and the grunt of pain that came from him gave me pride. He doubled over, grabbing his crotch as he struggled to catch his breath.

  He stumbled backward, his body hitting one of the other vehicles, the car alarm going off and the brown-paper-covered liquor bottle falling from his grasp. The bottle didn’t break, but the sound of it clanking on the pavement seemed to echo loudly. The alcohol that was left inside poured out onto the asphalt.

  He hauled ass out of there, the commotion drawing attention. I shoved the cart in the corral and got in the Suburban quickly, locking the doors and squeezing the steering wheel tightly.

  My heart was beating like a racehorse, and a light sheen of sweat covered my body. I looked down at my forearm, the skin red and feeling raw. I knew there would be a bruise before the night was over with.

  Half an hour later, I pulled in front of the house and cut the engine. My pulse had calmed slightly, but my mind was still running wild over the situation. My arm burned, the redness starting to show purple and blue on my skin.

  I closed my eyes and just breathed. I pushed the experience away—tried to, at least—knowing I couldn’t let it affect me or I’d obsess over it. Things could have gone a lot worse, but they didn’t. I’d handled myself, diffused the situation just like I’d been taught, and I was whole.

  Maybe I should have called the police, but I’d just wanted to get out of there. And besides, it wasn’t like I knew who the guy was. Aside from the serpent tattoo on his arm and the missing tooth he sported, he was probably like any other guy who thought they could take advantage.

  I exhaled once more and smoothed my hands over my thighs. Things weren’t so bad, I kept telling myself. I let my mind go to Fin and it made me feel more at ease.

  He made me feel more at ease.

  The one thing about Finland Hawthorne was he not only wanted meals prepared each night, but he wanted me to actually eat those meals with him. At first, I declined, not feeling comfortable. I was his employee, after all, and eating with my boss seemed very personal and almost intimate.

  But he insisted, almost demanded, and after the first couple times of my initial awkwardness, I started looking forward to these moments where we sat across from each other and just talked. He was a quiet man, reserved, very personal. And that’s how it had always been with him.

  But I felt like he opened up to me, little by little, piece by piece. He wanted to know so much about me... the little things, what I liked and disliked, what my favorite season was, if I preferred horror or comedy movies. And telling him about me was so easy. I wanted to share bits of myself with the man I was falling for harder each day.

  It was dangerous to feel these things, and a part of me wished I could stop.

  I actually felt myself smile as I thought of those things, how he made me feel. Thinking about him pushed away the horrible experience at the grocery store. I inhaled, just letting it sink in, just letting myself absorb it.

  I’d have to face these feelings eventually. I couldn’t keep pushing them down, couldn’t keep hiding them. And altho
ugh eventually I’d have to be honest with him, because it would just be too hard working for Fin while my feelings for him continued to grow, a part of me thought that maybe this wasn’t one-sided.

  The way he looked at me constantly, as if he always had to know where I was, certainly wasn’t something an employer did. Not that I experienced anyway.

  So maybe if I was honest, he’d be honest as well?

  Or maybe if I told him the truth, I’d lose my job, have to go back into the city, and I’d never feel this way for another person again.

  9

  Fin

  If I were being honest, Kitty leaving the house set me on edge. I didn’t like her away from me, and I didn’t want to scare her off by being overly possessive. But when she told me she was going to the store to get groceries for the week, I nearly told her I’d take her.

  Don’t smother her.

  Don’t scare her off.

  That’s what I told myself over and over again, and I’d been surprised as hell at myself that I actually listened to that inner voice. I hadn’t wanted to, that was for damn sure, but I let her go, watched her take my Suburban, insisting she use that vehicle because it was the safest, because it was big like a fucking tank.

  And when an hour passed, then nearly two hours, I started to pace, feeling like a trapped tiger. The town is a good half hour away, I kept telling myself. It would take time to get there, for her to shop, for her to come back.

  I needed to quit being an obsessive, crazy asshole. But thinking these things, feeling this way for Kitty, came naturally, so naturally it should terrify me.

  But it didn’t.

  I tried to focus on work while she’d been gone, but I realized that not having her in the house, not knowing she was near and safe, made it impossible.

  There was an alert from the security system that let me know a vehicle was at the gate. I looked at the monitor and saw the SUV, actually breathing out in relief. I felt like this weight lifted off my chest, knowing she was finally back.

  Once she pulled the vehicle to a stop in front of the house, I was out of my seat and heading outside. I opened the front door and made my way down the steps just as she was getting out of the driver side. She popped the back of the vehicle, and I went around to start grabbing bags.

  “You don’t have to help,” she said softly, and I waved off her comment.

  Of course I was going to help. What kind of man would I be if I made her do this shit on her own?

  It took about five minutes to get all the groceries in the house. I noticed she was avoiding me, not looking at me, keeping her distance. It didn’t sit well with me and had my hackles rising. I followed her into the kitchen and studied her face. She looked nervous as she continued to bite her bottom lip, pulling at the pink flesh.

  “Is everything okay?” The first thing that came to mind, that had every protective instinct rising in me, was something happened in town. She seemed fine before she left, but now? Now, she looked—acted—almost on edge.

  She nodded and said, “I’m fine.”

  I was successful in what I did, not only because I knew how to run a multimillion-dollar company, but because I also knew how to read people. I knew when they were lying, knew when they were nervous. And there was definitely something wrong with Kitty. I was also successful at what I did, because I didn’t allow a challenge to go unchecked. And if I wanted something— the truth—I didn’t stop until it was mine, until I uncovered it, until I knew all its secrets.

  I leaned against the entryway frame of the kitchen, crossing my arms over my chest and just watched her. She started unloading the groceries and setting them on the counters, but I took note that she kept favoring one side toward me.

  She was hiding something.

  I moved farther into the kitchen so I could look directly at her, so she couldn’t avoid me. And then I examined her, trying to look for signs on what was wrong. She kept lifting her eyes to me and darting them away.

  “I feel like something’s wrong, Kitty. What happened in town?”

  She smiled and shook her head. “I just drove around for a little bit to get the layout of town then went to the grocery store.”

  I let my gaze travel over her face, along her neck and shoulders, looked at one arm, then went lower still. I was about to continue my way down to see where she was injured, but the mark on her arm had my entire body tightening instantly.

  The skin was red, with undertones of purple and blue underneath. A fucking bruise. The mark normally wouldn’t have had me on edge for the most part, but it was the fact that it was very clearly an indentation of fingers.

  I braced my hands on the granite island in the kitchen and leaned forward, my gaze still locked on her wrist. “What happened?” I tried to ease my tone. The last thing I wanted to do was frighten her. “Who did that to you?” I felt enraged.

  Somebody touched her.

  Somebody hurt her.

  She exhaled as if tired and placed her hands flat on the counter before looking up at me. She wasn’t afraid of me, of my tone. I sensed that from her. Good.

  I tried to be gentle, to be soft with her, but I was the type of man who was anything but. But I’d try, I’d try really fucking hard for her, because she deserved that and more.

  I stared into her eyes, wanting to tell her that I could be that safe space she needed, that I’d protect her, keep her safe. I could see that resistance fade on keeping whatever she was hiding to herself. She sighed once more and looked down at her hands that were still braced on the counter.

  “It was just some guy at the grocery store. I’m sure he was drunk. I could smell the alcohol pouring off of him.”

  Although outwardly I probably looked like her words hadn’t affected me, but the truth was, they did. My blood was boiling, everything inside me demanding I go find this fucker and rearrange his face.

  “He put his hands on you?” I felt pretty good for not sounding like a deranged animal as I said that. She nodded slowly and started gently rubbing at her bruised wrist. “Do you know who he was?” My heart was beating a mile a minute.

  “No,” she said and shook her head.

  “Did he have any distinguishing features?” I tried to sound curious, nonchalant, but I heard the hardness creeping in my voice.

  She looked at me for a long moment before saying, “I’m fine, Fin. I promise.”

  “Kitty,” I said and leaned in a little closer. “Did he have any marks? Scars? Tattoos? Anything like that?” The town was small enough, and I’d lived here my whole life, so unless he just moved here, I’d know who this fucker was.

  Her throat worked as she swallowed. “He had a snake tattoo on his arm. And he was missing a tooth.”

  I growled low, let that fucking sound leave me with so much power I saw her eyes widen from the fact.

  Josh.

  I knew who the bastard was. He was a town drunk, a lowlife who harassed anyone who wasn’t a local. He’d been arrested for petty shit more times than anyone could count. And because Kitty had just moved here, he probably assumed she was just passing through or too brand new to know what a piece of shit he was.

  I was going to beat that fucker’s ass.

  “That look on your face,” she said softly, and I forced my grip on the counter to relax.

  I pulled back my shoulders and straightened, giving her a smile, but I felt as if it didn’t reach my eyes. “What look?”

  I saw her swallow again, and then she was rubbing her palms up and down her thighs. “It’s a look like you want to go find him.”

  That’s because I do. I will find him.

  I gave her another smile, this one pulling at the corner of my mouth. “Go after him?” I tried to appear like I was relaxed when I was anything but. “I’m not a maniac, Kitty.” But I am when it concerns you.

  Her expression told me she didn’t believe me, that a part of her probably thought I was fucking crazy.

  But she didn’t press and instead nodded and went back to
unpacking the grocery bags. And I just watched her, listened to her tell me what she planned for dinner tonight, how she’d gotten me Tosco’s for dessert.

  And although I heard every word, the one thought that kept going through my mind was how I planned on finding Josh and hurting him like he fucking hurt my woman.

  10

  Fin

  I would’ve never—had never—done anything that would be considered reckless, that would and could give a bad light to Hawthorne Oil. But the fact that some little prick put his hands on Kitty and hurt her had every single piece of common sense and rational thought leaving me.

  And I reveled in it.

  If I didn’t do this, didn’t make that little fucker pay in kind, it would fester inside me until it was a poisonous substance that I’d never get rid of.

  I was like that with everything in my life, this need to finish what was started, a positive but also a negative.

  I’d left shortly after dinner and had seen on her face that she knew what I was doing, what I planned on doing. And when I got home and if she asked where I’d been, what I’d done, I would tell her the truth. I wasn’t going to sugarcoat anything, wasn’t going to lie. There was no point.

  And I’d already come to the realization that I would handle this tonight, that when I got back to the house, I would sit her down and tell her how I felt. I was done waiting.

  She’d only been here a week, yet it felt like a fucking eternity that I’d been holding this in. She could make me wait, could have all the time she needed, but these feelings I had for her needed to be said out loud.

  And that needed to be done tonight.