Sweet Revenge

by Rebecca Zanetti

  Some souls were meant to be damned, and he deserved the agony of hellfire.

  The woman sighed, resigned wariness filling her eyes. “Well, I can’t leave an ex-marine in the alley. Come in and we can get you cleaned up, but if you’re injured too badly, I’m calling an ambulance.” She levered under his arm, her slender shoulders straightening to assist him.

  Intrigue and an odd irritation filtered through him. “You shouldn’t help strange men, sweetheart.”

  “All men are strange.” The grin she flipped him warmed him in places he thought would always be frozen. “Besides, I’m armed.”

  There wasn’t a place for a weapon in her little yoga outfit. He nodded anyway, pleased to be getting indoors. “Okay. Then I’ll behave.” Perhaps he should let her call for medical help, considering he was in town to find a doctor. The woman he’d been hunting the last five years. But he wanted to be on his game when he found the bitch. “What about Eugene?”

  Matt’s rescuer bit her lip. “I’m sure he’ll be along shortly.”

  Who the hell was Eugene and what kind of a threat would he pose? Matt tuned in his senses but failed to hear any footsteps. A couple argued several blocks away about who should drive home. They both slurred their words, so neither should drive. For now, Eugene was absent, and Matt needed to get inside and call his brothers.

  He released the woman and forced his feet to move toward his bike. He’d lost too much blood. “Do you mind if I park my bike inside? I’d hate for anybody to steal my baby.”

  She chuckled. “In Charmed, Idaho? Nobody will take your big motorcycle.” Yet she opened the doorway wide. “You can park inside to the left.”

  He rolled the bike inside an organized storage room holding toiletries and cleaning supplies. “What’s your name?”

  “Laney Jacobs.” She locked the door and gestured him toward another doorway. “Let’s get you an aspirin.”

  He stalked through another storage room that held all types of alcohol and into a closed bar. A sports bar with wide-screen TVs, pool tables, and dartboards. He glanced down. “You work at a bar?” He’d figured her for a yoga instructor or a teacher. Not a barmaid.

  She gently pushed him onto a wooden chair by a worn table. “I own a bar.” Her pretty pink lips turned down as she glanced at his demolished T-shirt.

  “Oh.” He frowned. The woman was much too delicate to be closing a bar by herself. Whoever the hell Eugene was, he needed a beating for leaving her alone at night like this. “By yourself?”

  She lifted a shoulder while walking behind the bar and returning with a first-aid kit. “My brother and I owned it together.” Her eyes remained down.

  He understood that kind of sorrow. “I’m sorry, Laney.”

  She blinked and met his gaze with those amazing green eyes. “Me, too.” Taking a deep breath, she straightened. “Let’s see what you did to yourself.”

  He gingerly tugged off his shirt.

  Her cheeks paled from rosy to stark white in seconds. Emeralds shimmered when her eyes opened wide. “You’re really bleeding.” Her eyelids fluttered, and she swayed.

  He caught her one-handed before she hit the floor in a dead faint.

  What the hell?

  Easily picking her up, he glanced around the bar. The booths were circular at an odd angle, and the chairs were hard. He could either place her on the bar or on a pool table. Gently, he laid her on a pool table, warmed by how nicely she fit against him. Indulging himself, he removed her hair clip so it wouldn’t poke her and allowed the curls to tumble free.

  She was pretty, and she was sweet, and no way in hell should he be touching her. Her kindness in asking him inside had been without any ulterior motive, and that just confused him. Even so, he ran a knuckle down the smooth skin on her face. The softness mellowed something new inside him.

  He’d been without a woman much too long.

  Now was not the time. Yet he couldn’t help taking a moment to appreciate her classic features. Delicate and soft women were a mystery to him and something he’d only seen on television. He believed they existed but definitely steered clear.

  This one? This one needed protection, and he’d have a nice talk with Eugene when the bastard finally showed up.

  For now, he’d lost enough blood. Flipping open the lid of the medicine kit, he frowned. Not what he needed.

  Prowling behind the bar, he searched the low shelves. Aha. A rusty tackle box rested in the back. Inside, he found thick fishing line and flies with hooks. Bending one, he poured whiskey over it to kill germs and threaded it like a needle. He took a swig of the alcohol, allowing the potent brew to slam into his gut and center him.

  Minutes later, he’d successfully sutured both wounds. The one on his upper chest took twice as long as the wide gash along his ribs. The guy who’d stabbed him knew how to use a blade.

  So did he.

  He glanced at the stunning woman on the pool table. How long did a fainting spell last, anyway? The phone behind the bar caught his attention. He slapped sterile pads across his wounds and reached for the phone to dial in a series of numbers while peeking into a tidy office behind the bar. A second doorway revealed a modern kitchen.

  “Swippy’s Pool Hall,” a man answered.

  “Deranged Duck 27650,” Matt said.

  Several beeps echoed across the line as it was secured. Finally, silence ensued.

  “Where the hell are you?” his brother growled.

  Matt wiped a hand down his face. Shane sounded worried. “I’m in place. Had some trouble in Texas, however.”

  “What kind of trouble?” Shane asked, computer keys clacking in the background.

  “Jumped by four men—well trained. They found me in Dallas as I was heading out here.” How had the commander found him in Texas? He’d been there only a week, to gather intel on the woman he’d been searching for. After helping his brothers to escape the commander five years ago, Matt had set out to find the doctor who’d implanted deadly chips near their spines—chips that would explode in several weeks, killing them. It had taken this long to track her down, but he was close. He could feel it.

  “No mention of a problem on any police forces or news outlets.” Shane sighed. “They covered up the scene quickly.”

  Which meant the commander had new resources in the government. Terrific. “Are you sure the woman is here?” Matt asked.

  “Yes. We finally traced her to Charmed, but we don’t know who she is. I’ve narrowed it down to a family practitioner, a veterinarian’s assistant, or the coroner.” Shane clicked more keys. “My money is on the coroner.”

  The woman they hunted had been a top-rated surgeon and biochemist before disappearing and hiding. Chances were she was still cutting into people. Most surgeons couldn’t let go of playing God. “I’ll boot up my laptop tonight and have you send me the files.” Matt’s gaze caught on a HELP WANTED, PAY PLUS BOARD sign in the window. “I may have found my cover while in town.”

  “Good. She went by the name of Doctor Peters while working for the organization, but I haven’t discovered her real name yet. When she went to work for the commander, they wiped her past.”

  Yeah. The commander was a master at making reality disappear. “Keep on it,” Matt said.

  “I will. Stay in touch, Mattie.” The line went dead.

  Matt rubbed his chin, his gaze on Laney. Pouring a glass of water, he maneuvered over to her. Now all he had to do was get her to hire him.

  Laney slowly opened her eyes and tried to ignore the bar swirling around her. What in the world?

  A man stood over her, and her memories crashed back.

  She shot up, her hand going to her aching head. “What happened?”

  “You fainted.”

  The low rumble of his voice matched his battle-scarred chest. A tattoo of some type of symbol gracefully decorated the area above his heart. Even with two pristine bandages, old wounds lived among the hard ridges and ripped muscles. And the guy was ripped.

  A
warning flutter rippled through her abdomen. She kept a line of sight on the exits. This is what happened when her routine was interfered with, damn it. Her bouncer and main waitress had eloped the previous week, leaving her high and dry… and on deck to close the bar at night.

  A pounding set up in her temples at even thinking of the next two weeks. She and Smitty, the bartender, would never survive the rush of bikers riding through town. Desperation swirled through her brain.

  Her visitor cleared his throat. “You’re drifting off, sweetheart,” he said.

  Her gaze swung back to the injured soldier. Actually, she was heading for a full-on panic attack at the stressful nights still coming her way. “Um, I’m fine.” Though being alone with the muscled stranger might negate that assurance.

  As if he’d read her mind, he set a glass of water on the pool table and took several steps back. Giving her space.

  “Drink,” he said.

  Not a man of many words, was he? She took the glass and sipped, allowing the water to cool her heated throat. The pool table was surprisingly comfortable, the gaze studying her, not so much. She knew better than to let strangers into her business when she was there alone late at night. “Who are you?”

  “Matt Dean.” He rubbed a hand through his shaggy hair.

  He still had dried blood on his impressive abs, and she shoved down the panic rising inside her. The mere sight of blood made her pass out within seconds. She shook her head and tried to focus. The man didn’t seem like he wanted to hurt her. If he had, her passing out would have been a prime opportunity. Even so, she eyed him for possible weapons. “Why are you in town?”

  He shrugged. “After the marines, I decided to tour the country for a while. I find nice places to visit, work for a bit, and move on afterward.”

  Sad. The guy was obviously running from old horrors. “Is it working? I mean, the traveling?” Maybe she should take off and just run.

  “Yes.”

  The blood disappeared as his physique took center stage. Wow. Strong, broad, and naturally cut, his body defined male. Intriguing gray eyes studied her with a knowing intelligence. The new warmth drifting through her veins had nothing to do with caution. Tension emanated around him with the promise of fire and passion.

  The kind of guy who’d burn a girl, but it’d be worth it.

  He gestured toward the sign in the window. “You need help?”

  Always, and right now from her own libido. “Um, no.” Hell yes, she needed help. But from a wounded soldier who veiled his expression so well? She had enough problems. “Thanks, though.”

  He grinned, and the air somehow thickened. “You have a ‘Help Wanted’ sign in the window.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t know you.” Even though he was half-naked.

  “Hmmm.” His expression shifted into wounded. “Don’t like hiring soldiers, huh?”

  Her back straightened, and she studied the battered planes of his strong face. Was he for real? “My brother was a soldier,” she reminded him quietly.

  “Then why?” he asked softly.

  She swallowed. The truth wouldn’t do, and she couldn’t think of a good lie. “This bar is my life, and I have to be careful with it.” In fact, the business was all she had. Of course, if she didn’t find help for the next two weeks, she’d never make it. Talk about being in a difficult, crappy spot.

  He grimaced and leaned back against a table.

  Her heart fluttered. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes.” He paled. “Just a bit of pain.”

  She bit her lip and glanced around at the clean bar. The man had kept her from hitting the floor and then given her space to get control of herself. If he’d wanted to hurt her, he would’ve already done it. Plus, she was beyond desperate, and this was just temporary. “You need money?”

  He pressed his lips together and shook his head. “No. I’m fine.”

  Crap. She’d embarrassed him. The guy was probably a war hero, and now she’d made him feel bad. Her throat thickened with the need to make things right. “Have you heard of the Rally in the Mountains?” she asked.

  He frowned. “The motorcycle rally in southern Oregon? Yeah, I’ve heard of it.”

  She took a deep breath. The least she could do was temporarily help the soldier. The guy had neither taken nor hurt her while she’d been defenseless, so that wasn’t his goal. “Well, the rally is in two weeks, and many of the bikers from the east drive through town. We’re incredibly busy for those two weeks.” She eyed him. At several inches above six feet and broad, he’d be a deterrent to any problems. He’d seen war—the guy was definitely wounded.

  And tough. He’d be able to handle any disputes. In fact, with that hard gray gaze taking in the room, the bikers wouldn’t mess around. Of course, with Matt’s thick black hair and strong-boned face, he’d draw in the women. The face of a fallen angel and eyes that had seen hell were an intriguing combination. As an amateur photographer, she itched to take his picture. To capture those shadows on film.

  The man needed help, and she needed a tough guy in her corner. Plus, he’d served his country and was one of the good guys in a scary world. “I need a bartender/bouncer for two weeks.”

  He smiled, revealing strong teeth.

  She swallowed again. Wounded and scowling, the guy was handsome. Smiling and charming, he was downright devastating. Her heart rate picked up again.

  His smile widened. Why? It wasn’t like he could hear her heart.

  Frowning, she scooted to the edge of the pool table. Strong hands instantly banded around her waist to lift.

  She gasped, not having seen him move. “You move fast.”

  He settled her on her feet and waited until she regained her balance.

  She tilted her head back—way back—to glance at his face. This close, a masculine shadow covered his jaw.

  His hands remained at her waist, warm and strong.

  “No,” she murmured.

  His eyelids creased. “Why not?”

  “B-because.” She couldn’t help but focus on his full lips.

  “A woman who ventures into a darkened alley and helps a stranger is brave and likes to take chances.” Challenge and something darker lurked in his eyes.

  He smelled like the forest: wild and free.

  Heat washed down her torso, and she tried to breathe slowly. What in the world was going on? She liked safety, and she liked security. Plus, she loved her daily routine. This guy would blow that to bits. “I hate taking chances.”

  His mouth quirked as he studied her. “Somehow I don’t think so.”

  “I do.” She pushed away from him.

  “Okay.” He turned and drew a shirt from the bag he’d tossed on a table and pulled it over his head. Dark gray, it matched his eyes perfectly.

  A yowling set up outside the entrance door. He pivoted, shielding her.

  Her skin chilled from his removed hands, while her heart warmed at how quickly he’d moved into protector mode. “It’s all right,” she said, stepping around him.

  One hand banded around her arm and tugged her back as the yowling increased in volume. “What is that?”

  She chuckled. “Let me go.”

  “No.” He released her and moved toward the door, gingerly unlocking it to open a crack. A heartbeat later, he stepped back, surprise lifting his dark eyebrows.

  Matted brown fur came into view first before a battered face. Eugene meowed at seeing her. She dropped to her haunches. “There you are.” Thank God.

  She rubbed his thick fur, careful to avoid his scars. He’d been wounded when she’d found him, and she was the only person he’d allow close. For a brief moment, she’d feared he was in danger again.

  “Thank goodness you’re all right,” she crooned.

  Matt locked the door and leaned against it, muscled arms crossed. “I take it that’s Eugene?”

  “Yes.” She smiled as Eugene purred like a diesel. “I thought maybe—” Oh. Too much information to the stranger. “Nothing.”<
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  Matt frowned. “Maybe what?”

  “Nothing.” She relaxed. “He’s fine.”

  “Why wouldn’t he be?” That gray gaze narrowed on her.

  She cleared her throat, feeling suddenly like a specimen on a slide. “Life isn’t always smooth, even in a small town.” Her life was nowhere near peaceful. Life was also too short to spend time dumping her problems on a guy who had enough of his own.

  “Are you in trouble, sweetheart?” he asked softly, pushing off from the door.

  Yes. Definitely. Trouble with all capital letters stood before her like every dangerous fantasy a girl had about tattooed bad boys on motorcycles. “No. So, how about you start tomorrow?”

  He rubbed his chin. “The sign says ‘Pay and Board.’ Where’s the room?”

  Heat flushed down her torso. “Um, no room.” No way, no how.

  “Oh.” He blinked and took a deep breath before wincing. “Okay. The forests look decent around here. I’ll head out and find a nice campsite.” He lurched off of the table, his face paling further.

  Thunder rolled above them as if on cue.

  She sighed. God, when had her heart gotten so darn soft? “Fine. There’s a room upstairs you can rent by the week while you’re here. I’m across the hall, and I have not only triple locks but a couple of guns I know how to use.” As a threat, it was accurate.

  Matt stepped into her space, bringing warmth and the scent of male. One knuckle tipped up her chin. “Sounds perfect. You saved me in the alley, and I owe you.”

  The absolute strength and determination across his face should scare her. Lava burned through her veins instead of fear. While she had issues, no doubt the biggest threat stood before her with hard muscles and bloody jeans—because against all caution, she wanted to avoid reality and jump into the heat.

  That’s how a woman already in danger got burned.

  Chapter 2

  Laney unlocked the apartment door and gestured for Matt to come inside as Eugene waited by the stairwell. “There are two apartments here on the second floor, and mine is across the hall. I own them both along with the bar downstairs.” The scent of male wafted by her as Matt surveyed the small living room.