by Sabrina York
She just wasn’t interested.
She didn’t need a man, and she didn’t want to deal with their shit.
Her life was just fine. She had two great jobs—one waitressing at Millie’s Diner during the lunch shift, and this job at Hardbodies, slinging drinks from 5pm to midnight. Tips were pretty good. She loved her bosses and she had a place of her own. A place where she was safe and alone.
Sure, it was only a motel room right now, but soon she’d have enough saved to get a small apartment and some real furniture of her own.
The thought of decorating her own place was exciting.
The thought of having the freedom to decorate her own place was better.
And, by God, if she wanted to leave a paper towel on the kitchen countertop, she damn well would. No one had the right to berate her for something like that. Not anymore.
She wasn’t sure why she’d stayed in her marriage for so long, other than some twisted sense of loyalty—or maybe fear—but she was free now. The divorce was final and she was out. The best thing that had ever happened to her was Baron Hadley beating up the chief of police’s son in a drunken brawl. The fight had resulted in charges against her husband, and he’d gone to jail.
There had been no one to stop her exodus.
Oh, her in-laws had tried, but they’d failed.
Granted, she was worried what might happen when Baron got out—he’d been furious when she’d filed the paperwork to end their marriage—but she’d decided to let tomorrow worry about itself.
At the moment, she was happy to enjoy her freedom, pull her life together and not date Emma’s cousin. Not date anyone.
“Just meet him?”
Oh, Lord. Was Emma still talking?
“How about I invite him to the bar and you can look him over?”
“Look him over?” Melissa snorted a little laugh. “You can’t judge a book by its cover.” She’d been beaten by a very nice looking book. More than once.
“I agree. But I’m telling you, once you talk to him, you’ll see. He’s a puppy dog.”
Awesome. Despite her disinclination to date any man, she would only be exposing this sweet puppy dog to a ferocious pit fighter. Baron would eat him alive.
“Thanks anyway, Emma. I really do appreciate the sentiment.”
“Oh, all right,” her friend muttered in a disgruntled tone. “If you change your mind, let me know.”
“I will absolutely let you know.” She would absolutely not change her mind. “Now, I better get my station set up, or Isaac might just take me in the back room.” They shared a chuckle; the owner’s proclivities were no secret amongst the staff of Hardbodies. He and his wife often slipped off to the playroom, lovingly referred to as the dungeon.
Melissa didn’t understand such inclinations. She was even more mystified by the loving relationship between the Dom and his sub. She’d lived beneath a man’s boot for the past seven years and she’d hated every moment.
But there was a world of difference between Isaac and Avery’s relationship and her marriage to Baron. For one thing—and this was odd—despite the dynamics of their play, Isaac didn’t seek to control Avery. He never belittled her. In fact, it almost seemed as though he cherished her. Sometimes it even seemed as though Avery were in charge, not Isaac at all.
Weird.
But the two of them seemed happy together. That was all that mattered. It was hardly Melissa’s business.
It was just…unfathomable.
“Would you do a quick round?” Emma asked.
“Sure.” Melissa tied on her apron and headed onto the floor. Most of the people here at this hour were regulars and even though she’d only been working here a few months, she already knew their drinks. It only took a few minutes to check in with all of them.
The only table left was a booth in the corner where Joseph McCoy sat with a stranger. It took her a fraction of a second to size the new guy up. He’d be a straight whisky kind of guy.
He was a tall man, and broad, made more ominous still due to the fact that he was dressed in biker leathers and sported a long scraggly beard. She’d always hated beards on men. They hid too much. She didn’t bother meeting his gaze. That was, until he responded to her, “Can I bring you something else?” with a slow, sexy drawl.
“Whisky, ma’am.” Two little words and they sent frissons of unexpected pleasure shafting through her.
Against her will, she looked at him. Their gazes clashed, clung.
Damn, he had beautiful blue eyes. Her attention flicked to his lips, framed as they were by that beard. They shouldn’t look so kissable. Or maybe she shouldn’t notice how kissable they looked.
She was still a woman, despite her vow of celibacy, and her body responded to his magnetic presence.
That in itself was reason enough to keep her distance.
She was about to spin on her heel and head back to the bar when Joseph stopped her. “Say,” he said. “You two probably know each other.”
Melissa blinked, and then glanced back at the bristly bear.
No.
He was not a man she would have forgotten.
“Andy grew up in town too.”
Andy? She didn’t know anyone named—
Oh, hell.
Her gaze sharpened. She tried to see past the beard and the leathers and the weathering of his face. He was older. Harder. Remote. But the eyes she remembered.
“Andrew Grant?” she asked through a lump in her throat.
A waft of regret blew through her like a hot wind.
She remembered Andrew from way back when. From a time when she had been young and carefree. When her parents had been alive and her boyfriend had been sweet. When life had seemed to be full of opportunities.
“He’s here to settle his father’s estate.”
Of course. She’d heard his dad had passed and in a momentary flight of fancy, had imagined buying that old house she’d once thought so perfect.
“I am sorry for your loss,” she said and to her surprise, his lips twisted.
But his only response was a gravelly, “Thanks.”
“Andy, you remember Melissa Hadley?”
“I remember Melissa Divine,” he said with a devastating smile.
Hell. Hell on wheels.
She looked away.
The need to escape rose in her so she nodded to the two men and with a quick, “Nice seeing you again,” she headed back to the bar to get their drinks.
But her mind was in a whirl.
Andrew Grant was back in town.
The years had turned him into a powerful, dominant, alluring man. A man who stirred feelings inside her. The kind of feelings she swore she would never succumb to again.
Nothing could more effectively decimate the peace she had so painstakingly created than a man like that.
One thing was certain. She needed to avoid him like the plague.
Andy stared after Melissa as she scuttled back to the bar like a frightened rabbit.
He didn’t remember her being skittish, and he hated to think what might have happened to make her so. It was an energy he recognized—having seen it so many times in his mom. The thought made him sick to his stomach.
“So…” he said. “Hadley?”
Joseph snorted and shook his head. “She married Baron right out of high school. They moved out to his ranch, so we didn’t see her much until…”
“Until what?”
“Until she moved back to town.”
For some reason, Joseph’s frown was grim so Andy asked, “Why did she move back to town?”
“The usual. Divorce.”
That howl of satisfaction at the news was probably below him. But if Melissa was divorced, she was available. His inclination to stay in town for a while grew.
“Irreconcilable differences?” he asked casually, though there was nothing casual about his need to know.
Joseph huffed a laugh. “I suppose. He liked to beat her up and she preferred not to spend ever
y other weekend in the hospital.”
Holy. Fuck. The acid churned in his gut as his suspicions were confirmed. “That bad?”
“Probably worse. She never reported him.”
Yeah, sometimes victims were too afraid of their batterers to get help, and in some instances, as with his mother, the victims were practically prisoners. Until one day things got out of hand and then they were just dead—
“Of course, Baron didn’t keep it in the family. One night he got drunk and beat the shit out of Tom Connolly.”
“Wait. The police chief’s kid?”
“Not a kid anymore. And not afraid to press charges. Her hubby is doing time for battery.”
Fucking-A. “How long?”
“Five years.” Not long enough. “When they took him off to county, she moved into town and Isaac hired her. Took one look at her and hired her on the spot. He does that sometimes, hires lost souls. Fortunately, she’s a great waitress.”
“What do you mean, he took one look at her?”
“Oh, yeah. Apparently the night before he was scheduled to surrender himself, Baron took his frustrations out on her.”
“Son of a bitch.”
“You got that right. Her face was a mess. I don’t even want to imagine what the rest of her looked like.”
Andy didn’t need to imagine. He knew. He’d had plenty of experience staring at himself in the mirror as a kid.
“Well, good for her for leaving.” It was the first step. The best step. The only sane step.
“Yeah. We worry she’ll go back to him when he gets out.”
That did happen. But it wouldn’t. Not if Andy had anything to say about it. “How much longer does he have?”
“Nearly the full five years. But you know how that goes. He could qualify for parole if he can convince the board he’s a good guy.” Joseph shrugged. “No one had any idea he had such a temper until he blew up.”
Andy nodded. “My dad was the same. Deacon at the church. Chamber of Commerce president. Popular guy.” No one had known the hell going on behind closed doors at the Grant homestead. Not until his brother Danny opted for the ultimate escape. And even then, their father had concocted a story to cover up the truth.
At the thought of Danny, Andy’s fury rose again and scored him with sharp talons.
He hadn’t needed to die.
If only Andy had seen how desperate he had been.
If only he’d reached out instead of curling into his own miserable ball.
If only they’d stood together against their father’s fists.
Shit, they’d only been kids, but they’d been large and strong.
Together, they could have taken the fucker down.
But hindsight was 20/20. And the mindset of a former SEAL sure as shit wasn’t the same as that of a scared kid.
It was astounding, when he looked back, to see what he’d once allowed. How he’d been brainwashed to think his father was more powerful than God. That he had the right to terrorize everyone in the family.
He was not that scared kid any more.
He would not tolerate any kind of abuse to his person, and that passion extended to any victim of abuse.
Especially the girl he’d had a crush on in high school. A woman who now gave him a flare of excitement in an otherwise barren existence.
God help Baron Hadley if Andy ever got his hands on him.
He couldn’t hold back a grim smile as he considered the prospect.
Then again, maybe God would look the other way.
He so often did.
Chapter Three
Though she was only scheduled to work until midnight, Melissa agreed to stay and close when Isaac asked her. She could use the extra hours and business at the bar had slowed down in the typical mid-week slump.
Unfortunately she’d forgotten about her car, and the fact that it was still back at the motel.
It wasn’t a long walk, and it was a lovely night, but strolls at two AM weren’t her habit. Terrence, the bouncer, offered to walk her home, but she hated putting him out. Besides, she had pepper spray in her purse, so she shot him a grin and declined.
She was glad she had. There was something soothing and sweet about the night air—the cool breeze and the clean scent. She tipped her face to the moon as she made her way down the broad, deserted streets toward home.
Her pace increased as the lights of the Grand Motel came into view. The motel was anything but grand. It had seen better days for sure, but it was priced for her budget, close to both her jobs, and it was clean and safe. That was all that mattered.
But even as the thought entered her head, she heard the ominous echo of footsteps behind her.
Her heart clenched and all her nerve endings stood on end.
She surreptitiously riffled in her purse for her pepper spray, but before she could find the cylinder, someone grabbed her from behind.
She screamed. Of course she did.
The sound bounced off the uncaring walls of the motel and was abruptly cut off as a foul hard hand covered her mouth and nose.
Panic sluiced through her.
First of all, she couldn’t breathe. Beyond that, the bastard, whoever he was, started dragging her away from the lights, into the darkness. A sinister chuckle danced over her shoulder. His hot breath scorched her neck.
No. No.
No.
She’d been a victim too long to let it happen again.
She fought him.
Like a feral creature.
In a way she’d never fought Baron. In a way she should have.
Using the moves she’d learned in the class she’d taken at the rec center last month, she reached back and gouged at his face, slammed her elbow into his midsection, whipped around and kneed him in the groin.
All of which merely made him angrier.
His hold on her tightened with bone-breaking intensity.
She couldn’t stop her whimper as his fingers dug into her upper arm. Then he hauled back a fist and slammed it into her face.
Any other woman would have been stunned by the impact. Perhaps incapacitated.
Melissa was used to such brute force.
She knew how to respond.
She curled into a ball and pretended to be unconscious because that was what he wanted.
But by the time he bent over her to lift her into his arms, she’d found her pepper spray and was ready.
She got him right in the eyes, and when he lurched back with a howl, she rolled out of his reach, bounded to her feet, and ran.
She was nearly to her door when he caught her again.
Snarling foul curses, he stared at her. “You’re gonna pay for that, bitch,” he growled. And then he hauled back that meaty fist.
Squeezing her eyes closed, she braced herself for the blow. This one was going to be bad.
But it never came.
A howl of pain issued forth. Surprisingly, it wasn’t hers.
When she opened her eyes, it was to see a dark shadow looming behind her assailant. He had the bastard’s fist in his grip and was bending it backwards.
An ominous snap resonated in the air.
Her attacker’s eyes widened and his mouth opened and he let go a high-pitched shriek and fell to the ground, clutching his broken arm.
The shadow stepped into the light.
Melissa stared at his familiar, bearded face.
For a moment, she was possessed of the urge to run; in many ways, this man was more ominous than the other. But then he spoke. As before, his voice calmed her. Soothed her.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
She nodded mutely.
“Call 911. I’ll keep a watch on this guy until the police arrive.”
“I-I-I…”
“Melissa.” The firmness of his tone cut through her shock. “Call 911.”
“Okay.”
After that, everything was a blur. She made her statement to the responding officer and watched as they carted her mugger a
way and then, when Andrew asked her if she needed a drink, she blithely followed him to his room.
Normally, she would never do such a thing, follow a man to his room.
But she did need a drink, and frankly, she didn’t want to be alone just yet.
He seemed to understand that, and for some reason…she trusted him. A tattered remnant of those halcyon days of youth, perhaps.
“I didn’t realize you were staying here too,” she said as he closed the door to his room. She scanned the interior. It was tidy and, other than the rumpled bedspread and some books on the bedside table, there was little evidence the room was occupied.
Andrew chuckled and headed over to the kitchenette and opened a cupboard, extracting a small bottle and a plastic cup. “Pretty fancy place,” he said. He shot her a smile as he poured a few fingers into the cup, which he then handed to her. “Sorry. This is all I have.”
She gave it a sniff. “What is it?”
“Scotch.” A dimple blossomed on his cheek above his beard. “It’s my emergency backup Scotch.”
“Emergency backup Scotch?” She took a sip gingerly. Then another. It was smooth and smoky, and warmed her.
“I always carry some.”
“Do you?” She couldn’t help but laugh, but that was probably just reaction. There was nothing funny about a man who carried a flask of alcohol with him at all times.
“Mmm hmm.” He sat in one chair and gestured to the other. He was much less intimidating when he was sitting, she decided. Or maybe it was the warmth of the Scotch in her veins. “I’ve been riding the Southwest and I don’t always find a place with good Scotch when it’s time to bed down.”
“And Scotch is necessary for a good night’s sleep.” She knew the type. Baron hadn’t been partial to Scotch, but he’d been partial to drinking something every night.
“Not necessarily.” The creases at the corners of his eyes crinkled. “But I enjoy a drink now and again. And nothing sucks more than inferior Scotch. How is it?”
“Good,” she had to admit. “But I’m not a fan of whisky.”
