Parker (Striking Back #3)

by S. M. Shade

  Parker

  Striking Back Book Three

  By

  S.M. Shade

  Copyright © 2015 S.M. Shade

  Cover Art by Kellie Dennis at Book Cover by Design:

  www.bookcoverbydesign.co.uk

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Chapter One

  Macy

  The door closing behind me makes me cringe. I almost expect to hear a loud clang of metal on metal, for I feel like a prisoner. He’s the criminal, yet I’m confined.

  I know I’m being melodramatic. I’m no prisoner. In fact, I’m incredibly lucky my friend Evie told me about this place. Run by three brothers, Striking Back is a shelter for abused women and for now, it’s home. An abused woman, is that what I am? It’s not exactly what I aspired to be at twenty-three.

  I’ve always done what was expected of me. I graduated high school and went to college. My work as a copyeditor keeps me busy and out of trouble. I like to think I’m smart, level-headed, but if that were true I wouldn’t have landed here.

  Don’t get me wrong, this is a nice place and believe me, I’m grateful. After Al lost his damn mind and punched me in the face—twice—I had to get out of there. I tried staying with a friend, but he camped out outside her apartment. He followed me to work, alternately begging me to take him back and threatening me when I didn’t capitulate.

  A restraining order would only have enraged him so instead of calling the police, I came here. To hide like a scared child cowering under a bed. It doesn’t exactly make me proud. “Here is your room, dear,” Ms. Den, the housemother, chirps, putting an end to my self loathing thoughts. “Dinner is at six-thirty. Just let me know if you need anything.” She gives me a smile before leaving me to explore my room.

  It’s simple, but clean and I’m glad I don’t have to share a room with a stranger. A twin size bed rests against one wall, made up with clean sheets and covered with a cheerful yellow comforter. A wooden dresser and small night stand round out the furnishings. Ms. Den explained that I’m to share the bathroom across the hall with the two women rooming on either side of me.

  It’s not a terrible place to be, reminds me of college a bit, but still I feel anger rush through me. Why should I have to live here? Why should I have to be dependent on a charity when I’ve worked so hard to make it on my own? I have plenty of money in the bank to rent an apartment or a house, but money isn’t the problem.

  Allen fucking Pearson is the problem. Wherever I move, he’s sure to find me, so until he’s out of the picture, this is my new life. At least my job allows me the luxury of working at home. I open my suitcase and stare at the unorganized jumble inside. I didn’t have time to grab much. A few clothes, my laptop and phone, and a few toiletries are all I own at the moment. Thank goodness Evie loaned me her Kindle or I’d be bored to tears.

  Physically and emotionally exhausted, I stretch out on the bed to read until my eyes grow heavy. Fear grips me the instant I wake, as I struggle to figure out where the hell I am. The clock on my phone tells me it’s after one a.m. and my stomach growls. I haven’t eaten all day. Maybe I can find some peanut butter or crackers or something in the kitchen.

  The hallway is dimly lit and the silence is eerie. Maybe it’s just because I’m in an unfamiliar place. I feel like a cat burglar creeping through the day room and into the industrial kitchen.

  I’m perusing the contents of the refrigerator when the clearing of a throat damn near makes me hit the ceiling. “You! I almost pissed myself!” I gasp, my brain to mouth filter failing to engage.

  A deep chuckle fills the room, and I glare at the shadowy figure seated at the counter. “Sorry.”

  “You want to tell me who you are and whether I need to arm myself with a knife or cheese grater or something?”

  “You can’t hurt someone with a cheese grater.”

  “Depends on how low you grate.”

  “Ouch.” He stands, and I can see he’s a big guy even in the gloom. When he switches on the light my stomach tips before slowly righting itself. It’s a damn good thing we met in the dark. If I’d seen him in the light of day, I’d still be trying to talk.

  “I’m Parker Reed. Jensen had a family emergency so I’m filling in on security.”

  “Mason’s brother?” I ask. That explains a lot. The Reed brothers are known for being gorgeous. Ev’s boyfriend Mason runs the place and he’s a walking wet dream.

  “Not how I like to be known,” he replies, his thick sculptured lips curling into a mischievous grin. “But yes. You’re Evie’s friend aren’t you?”

  I nod, totally immersed in those pale blue eyes. What do you call that color blue? I’m not sure there’s even a word for it. Sky blue? Ocean blue? I’m going with fuck me blue, because that’s what they make me want to scream. “Macy Tanner.”

  He sticks out his hand and I’m fascinated by the flex of his tattooed bicep. Shit. I’m staring when I should be shaking hands. His smirk tells me I’m busted. “It’s nice to meet you, Evie’s friend.”

  “Glad to meet you, Mason’s brother.”

  He laughs and shakes his head. “Are you hungry?”

  “Uh…yeah. I slept through dinner so I thought I’d grab a snack.”

  “Let me show you where they keep the good stuff.” He winks at me and walks to another large fridge. After rummaging around for God knows what, he pops a plate into the microwave.

  I try not to ogle his good stuff as he moves around the kitchen with more grace than most guys will ever possess. I have to get a grip. I never react this way to men. After Al’s bullshit, anyone with a penis should be my enemy. “What would you like to drink?” he asks, popping the second plate into the microwave. “Coke, iced tea, water?”

  “Water’s fine, thank you.”

  A high pitched beep fills the room and he retrieves two plates loaded down with roasted chicken, mashed potatoes, and green beans. “Wow,” I exclaim, taking a seat across the counter from him. “Better than peanut butter.”

  His lips curve into a smile. “You look like you’ve had a bad day. Food always cheers me up.”

  My fingers creep to brush against the bruise beneath my eye. “I’ve had better.” I look into his eyes, unable to bear the thought that this man would see me as the type who would stick around to be abused. “I left the first time he hit me. He never got violent before.”

  “I’m glad you made the right decision before he could seriously injure you.” His voice softens. “Everything seems like shit right now, but it’ll get better. It’s good to see you have an appetite.”

  “I always have an appetite,” I snort, laughing. “I’m not afraid to eat.”

  “As tiny as you are?” Amusement dances in his eyes. I’ve always been slim, no matter how much I eat.

  “High metabolism I suppose.”

  “Same here. So, I guess we’ll have room for that chocolate pie I spotted.”

  “I never turn down chocolate.”

  * * * *

  “I should let you get back to work,” I say reluctantly, taking my last bite of chocolate pie.

  He chuckles and a tiny dimple appears in his cheek. “I’m working. We h
ave a guy watching the cameras and the alarm is armed. We just like to have a little muscle close by in case there’s trouble.”

  Little? This guy is solid muscle. “Is there often trouble?”

  “Nah.” He pops our dishes into the dishwasher, and I wipe our crumbs off the counter. “We’ve had a few assholes show up at the door, but they don’t get any farther. It’s safe here.”

  “Al would never know to look for me here. I feel safe.”

  “Good.” I’m greeted by another charming smile. “I’m going to watch a movie in the dayroom. If you’re not ready to go back to bed, you could join me.”

  “If you don’t mind. I’m wide awake.”

  “Happy to have some company.”

  I follow him to the day room and settle on the small sofa in front of the T.V. while he puts the DVD in the player. “What are we watching?”

  “The best movie of all time.”

  “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest?”

  “Fight Club.” Of course that’s his favorite.

  “Hmm, never seen it.”

  “Ditto for your movie.”

  “You’re missing out on Nicholson at his finest,” I tell him, curling up with a throw pillow.

  “This movie might top your list after tonight,” he warns, plopping down beside me. Even though the movie is interesting, I feel my eyes grow heavy, but try my best to stay awake. My best sucks.

  The next thing I know, thin light is seeping between the curtains of my room and I’m being lowered into bed. Parker carried me to bed like a child. “You should’ve woke me instead of lugging me up here,” I mumble.

  “I’ve got boxing gloves that weigh more than you. Get some sleep.”

  “Night.”

  “Good night, Macy.”

  I’m out like a light until a tap on my door wakes me. “Come in,” I mumble, sitting up in bed.

  I’m met with Ms. Den’s kind eyes. “I just wanted to check on you, dear. You weren’t at dinner or breakfast. You need to eat.”

  “Thank you, I’m fine. I couldn’t sleep last night so I came downstairs. Parker made me some dinner.” I glance at my phone. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sleep so late.”

  She perches on the edge of my bed. “No worries. I just want to be sure you’re okay. Women tend to want to hide in their room when they first arrive, but isolating can lead to depression.”

  It’s sweet she’s so concerned. “No hiding out, I promise.”

  “Okay, then. I’ll let you wake up. There’s coffee in the kitchen.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Den. For everything.”

  “You’re very welcome, honey.”

  Sleeping until ten has its advantages. The bathroom is free and I take a long hot shower. Throwing on a pair of jeans and a tee shirt, I head downstairs to face the day. The day room is empty, but I hear voices coming from a large adjacent room where two women are sitting at a table organizing and stapling papers.

  “Hi, you must be Macy,” one of the ladies greets. “I’m Georgia.”

  “And I’m Molly,” the other speaks up. Both scan the bruise on my face with a look of commiseration.

  “Nice to meet you. Can I give you a hand?” I ask, sitting beside Molly.

  She brushes her long blonde hair back over her shoulder. “Sure. We’re stapling these fundraiser flyers to a sign up sheet. Ms. Den will have volunteers pass them out later.”

  I lose myself in the mindless work and friendly conversation. I expected a really depressing place full of downtrodden pitiful women when I arrived, but it’s not like that at all. I always pictured victims of domestic abuse as the typical battered housewives who deal with violent husbands for years before escaping. But it seems my story is common as well.

  Molly is also here to protect herself from an asshole ex-boyfriend who’s stalking her. Georgia’s story is more devastating and tears fill my eyes as she explains her husband was molesting her four year old daughter, and the court was still forcing visitation. “Staying here keeps her safe,” she says. “If I have to hide her until she’s grown, I will.”

  “She’s lucky to have you,” I assure her, placing my hand over hers, and I’m rewarded with a small smile.

  Ms. Den announces lunch is ready, and we move to the dining room. There are only a few residents present. I suppose some have found a job outside of the shelter. Two ladies sit at a long low table on one side of the room with four school age kids. Everyone is upbeat, talking and laughing as they eat. Maybe it won’t be so bad here.

  I settle into a routine over the next few days. Wake up, shower, eat, and work on my laptop until lunch. After helping Ms. Den prepare lunch, I work until early evening. Evenings are spent chatting with the other residents, playing cards, or watching T.V. It’s comforting and safe, but I’m dying to get out, so when one of the volunteers announces a day trip to Eagle Creek Park, I don’t hesitate to sign up.

  I’m amazed at the resilience of the kids who live here. After being uprooted from everything and everyone they know, they still laugh and play. A sweet little girl named Jamie sits on the floor in front of me, her little hand resting on my knee as I paint her nails a sparkly pink. “Mommy, can we get Pizza Hut for dinner?”

  Her mother, Lana, looks up from her law and ethics textbook. “Sorry, peanut. We can’t afford it or have it delivered here.”

  Jamie’s lower lip pops out. “We used to eat Pizza Hut every Saturday before.”

  “What’s your favorite kind of pizza?” I ask, blowing her nails to dry them.

  “Sausage and cheese. It’s sooo good.” Her little eyes roll back in her head. This one’s a born drama queen.

  “My favorite is pepperoni.”

  “They burn my tongue,” she says, making a face. “Mommy!” She bounds to her feet, all thoughts of pizza forgotten, and bounces over to her mom. “Look! They’re sparkly. Will you do my toes?”

  Lana smiles at her daughter and sets aside her textbook. “Sure, baby girl.”

  It occurs to me there’s something I can do to brighten the little girl’s day and give back a little to these wonderful women who accepted me so warmly. I hunt down Ms. Den to see if it’s possible for me to order pizza for the fifteen residents.

  “Jamie got to you, didn’t she?” Her creased face shows her amusement as she shakes her head.

  “I’d like to do something nice for them. Everyone has been so good to me.”

  I’m caught off guard when she gives me a warm hug. “Let me make a call.”

  An hour later, Parker strolls through the door in a cloud of sexiness with five large pizzas in his arms. “Hey delivery man,” I tease, hoping he can’t hear the tremor in my voice when those fuck me eyes land on me.

  “I hear this was your idea,” he replies, placing the boxes on the kitchen counter.

  “Jamie really wants Pizza Hut.” Laughing, I try to hand him the money for the food. “Thank you for picking it up.”

  A smirk raises his lips and he shakes his head at the money. “I’ve got it.”

  “What? No, I’m the one who ordered them.”

  “That’s sweet of you, but S.B. can afford it.”

  Does he think I can’t? Anger and embarrassment rush through me as I realize he sees me as some helpless damsel in distress. And why wouldn’t he? Look where I am. “Take the money, Parker. I want to do something nice for the other residents and you’re ruining it. I have a job. I can afford it.”

  His grin is infuriating as he takes the bills from my hand and leans to whisper in my ear, “You know, the tips of your ears get pink when you’re angry. It’s kind of cute.”

  I don’t know whether to kick him or lick him. In the end, I try to be diplomatic. “Would you like to stay and have some pizza?”

  He watches me pull out a stack of plates and a big bowl of salad. “I wish I could, but I have to get going.” My stomach tightens at the sight of his impish grin. “Enjoy your dinner, Macy.”

  Parker

  “Forget it, Alex. I’m not going
to a gay bar. Meet me at Hype. There’s a dance floor, you’ll like it.”

  “Fine,” Alex huffs into the phone. “Meet you at ten.”

  “Bye, dipshit.”

  “Later, ass nugget.”

  I press the end button on my phone and go back to running line drills across the gym. Maybe I don’t have Mason’s bulk, but I’m just as strong. Really, who needs a chest like a shaved gorilla?

  “Evening, Parker,” Janice greets, tossing her purse on the front desk. Mason hired her last month after Anna quit. Okay, maybe she didn’t hand in her resignation as much as shatter the front window while calling me a dick. Christ. I fucked her one time, two days after we met and she was talking about what our kids would look like. I politely explained—again—that I wasn’t interested in a relationship, and smash, glass everywhere.

  I swear Mason hired Janice because she’s old enough to be my grandmother. No chance I’ll take her home and she’ll wig out. “It’s Friday night. Don’t you have a date?” Janice teases.

  “Yep. She just doesn’t know it yet,” I reply, grinning.

  “You should find a nice young lady and settle down,” she lectures. “Quit being such a gigolo.”

  Laughing, I unwrap my hands. “Gigolo’s charge, Jan. I provide a valuable free service.”

  “Until your pecker falls off.” Nothing like hearing a sixty year old woman say pecker. Janice looks like somebody’s sweet old granny, but you can never predict what will come out of her mouth. She’s great.

  “I protect the merchandise. Mason will be in to teach in an hour or so,” I tell her, changing the subject. “Place should be quiet until then.”

  She waves me away. “I’ll be fine. Get out of here and have some fun. Youth doesn’t last forever.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  * * * *

  Hype is packed to the walls with couples, women wearing as little as possible, and men looking to get them drunk and naked. I don’t particularly care for hanging at the club, but it’s the best place to find a girl for the night. Well, not the entire night.