by Celia Kyle
She reached into her purse and tugged her cell phone free. From memory, she typed in Stone’s number. She would have put it into her phone’s address book, but that would have been too close to permanent. Having him on speed dial would have been like conceding defeat. She didn’t need the man’s number in the phone, not if he was going to tell her where to find Deuce. She’d never have to talk to the gorilla again once he told her what she wanted to hear.
Four rings and it went to voice mail. Like the other thirty-two times she’d called, one call for every day she’d missed seeing Deuce.
“This is Stone Redd. If you need immediate assistance, please dial zero now or leave a message…”
“Stone, it’s Elly Martin calling about Deuce Karn. Can you please call me back? I need to know that he’s okay. That he’s not—” She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “That he’s still alive. He didn’t do what you said. I swear. The council is wrong and—”
The beep let her know she’d spoken too long. Again.
“Cat on the brain?”
Elly dropped her hand and jerked from her thoughts, raising her attention to face the person intruding on her lunch break.
Recognizing who stood before her, she glared at his smiling face. Sometimes she hated having brothers. Unfortunately, he was one of seven of the annoying things. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Joey.”
“Uh-huh.” He slumped on the bench beside her. “Pull the other one. Dad’s worried because you’re still asking questions about him.”
Ignoring her brother, she picked up her forgotten sandwich, taking a nibble and enjoying the sweet flavors of the peanut butter and jelly. Maybe if she ignored him, he’d go away. This was her time, damn it. Her bit of normalcy that she’d snatched back from Freedom, and he was ruining it by intruding. It’d taken her two weeks to work up the courage to each her lunch in her favorite spot. Two weeks of panic attacks and fighting with her own mind.
She still hadn’t managed to sleep in her bed overnight. Occasional naps, but most of the time she slept on the couch. Maybe if Deuce were at her side…
“You need to get past it, Elly-belly.”
She clicked her teeth at him. She hated that nickname, the “endearment” she’d been saddled with when she was just a child and she’d been more “belly” than “Elly.”
“You need to go fuck yourself.” Couldn’t people just let her be? She’d told her family about Deuce, even going so far as to beg her father to intervene on the man’s behalf when it came time for his punishment.
It hadn’t made a difference. They kept telling her to move on, release her worry and get back to living life. Forget about the man.
Her family was not touchy-feely. But they were men and she couldn’t hold that against them.
Men endured captivity, healed from the physical wounds, and then pretended the rest had never happened. Men weren’t nearly raped. Men didn’t have to accept they weren’t anywhere near a match for their captors. Men…were men.
But the pain lingered in Elly’s heart. The terror caught her in the middle of the night.
“You’ve become a raging bitch since you got back.”
She snorted. Nah, she’d finally found her balls. Back there in that room, scared for her life, she’d found ’em and put ’em to good use. She wasn’t about to go backward now.
Plus, being a raging bitch helped her pretend everything was fine when she was in public. She could fall apart in the privacy of her own home. In the shower. Where her guards couldn’t hear her sob.
“And you’ve always been an ass. Funny how that works.” She took another bite of her sandwich, smiling when a group of frolicking kits scrambled atop the fountain wall and then one sweet girl tumbled into the water. Poor thing.
“Damn it, Eloise. Pay attention.”
She quirked a brow. “Really? You think busting out with my real name is going to get me to listen? Try again, Josiah.”
With a sigh, he leaned against her, dropping his head to her shoulder, and his familiar warm, woodsy scent drifted over. “You know we’re all worried about you.”
“And I’m worried about Deuce.” She shrugged, but Joey was unwilling to be dislodged. “It’s life. Y’all get to haul your worry around with your ‘poor Elly’ and boohoos. But it’s nothing for you when you go to bed at night. It still lives in me and you guys don’t get to dictate how I deal with things. You don’t get to tell me what to do when it comes to this. Leave it. I love you, Mom and Dad, and the rest of the family. But if you keep pressing this every time we see each other, it’s not gonna end well. Back off.”
She said the words without malice, no hint of her anger and frustration tarnishing the syllables. It wasn’t a threat, merely an FYI.
Another sigh, but at least he lifted his head from her shoulder. While she’d ended up short and plump like her mother, her brothers had taken after their father. That meant they all topped six feet and weighed over two hundred pounds.
“Fine. I’ll talk to the gang.” He pushed up from the bench. “But I’m not making any promises. Uncle Carl is telling Dad you’re still calling. Which worries him. And that worries Mom. And that—”
“Sends you boys into a panic. What, did she start crying?”
“Yes, you little shit.” The words were said without heat, a rueful smile on his lips, and she grinned in return.
“Okay.” She gave him a mock salute. “Your duty has been done. You’ve asked me to quit, I said no, and now you’ve got your marching orders. You can safely tell everyone you tried your best, but your sister has turned into a stubborn bitch.”
“Well, I wouldn’t say bitch.”
Elly quirked a brow. “You already did.”
“Oh. Yeah.”
She grabbed a potato chip and threw it at him, striking him in his chest. “Good-bye, Josiah.”
Before she could jerk away, he ruffled her hair. “Bye, Eloise.”
With that, her brother strolled away, hands stuffed in his pockets. He worried. Probably more than anyone else since he was only a year older than her.
But she couldn’t fight their worry and couldn’t guarantee them that she’d brush off her concern for Deuce. Hell, she should call a spade a spade. She was near obsessed with the bad-boy lion. True, they’d only spent a short time together, but she felt something more…just more.
With a sigh, she gathered her leftovers and stuffed it all back into her lunch cooler. Another hour over and it was time to get back to work. Not that she didn’t enjoy her job. Being the small town’s librarian gave her a chance to see everyone.
The old biddies came in the mornings with their knitting and sat around chatting as they held their book club meeting. Then the mid-afternoons brought Elly the children, squirrel kits and lion cubs who loved hearing stories and tearing the kid’s section apart. The local pride and her colony lived in relative peace—there was no controlling drunk-ass men—and the town proper was a solid no growly zone.
The place didn’t fall quiet until the teenagers showed up, those kids having learned enough to not cause trouble for Elly or they’d find their happy asses outside the doors. Then they’d have to explain that to their parents.
Bag in hand, she traipsed across the park, enjoying the last few rays of sunshine until she was closed back up in her air-conditioned building.
Elly waltzed through the automatic doors and then got behind the counter, waving at her coworker as the woman ran past her. With a laugh, she settled at the front desk, ready to spend the next few minutes surrounded by quiet. Well, until the kits and cubs showed up to tear the place apart.
The heavy rumble of an engine destroyed the relative silence, but it was Miss O’Leary’s gasp that drew Elly’s attention. “Ma’am?”
The woman was ancient, a hundred if she was a day, and Elly always worried the lady would decide to keel over by the Stephen King section.
“I just can’t believe it.” Miss O’Leary shook her head, loose jowls swaying with
the movement, and her gaze was focused on something in the street.
She wasn’t going to tell the woman she looked like a basset hound. She wasn’t. First it was because she’d been taught to respect her elders, and then because she doubted a lioness wanted to be thought of as a dog.
“Believe what?” Elly got up from her desk. It wasn’t like the place was hopping with readers.
“That boy.” She clucked her tongue. “Can’t believe he’s showing his face here after all these years.”
She followed the old woman’s line of sight and her gaze landed on a large man astride a motorcycle across the street. Clad entirely in black, the man had to be sweating up a storm. “Who?”
“That Karn Junior. He hasn’t been in town for years. Left before your colony came and settled in Colwich. Sixteen years, maybe.”
The man threw his leg over the bike and dismounted, straightening to his full height. Damn, he was big. Yeah, the leather added a little to his bulk, but it couldn’t have been that much. He was probably caked in muscles when all that clothing was stripped away.
“Are you sure, Miss O’Leary?” The woman was blind as a bat.
“Of course I’m sure. I bounced that boy on my knee. I should hope I’d know him when I see him.”
“He hasn’t even turned around.”
Miss O’Leary harrumphed.
With a roll of her eyes, Elly kept watching. She followed his movements, the smooth way he handled the heavy motorcycle, the ease with which he kicked out the stand and let it rest against the asphalt.
The actions, so effortless, so familiar. The stranger whipped off his helmet and set it on the back of the bike. Then he turned around, giving her an unobstructed view of his features.
“Deuce.”
“That’s it.” She snapped her weathered fingers. “The boy never did like being called Junior and refused to answer to Little Karn. Told everyone he wanted to be called Deuce.” Elly sensed the old woman’s regard. “Didn’t know you knew the Prime’s son.”
“Prime?” She swallowed, dread building in her chest.
“Of course, that’s Karn Pierce’s boy.”
Karn Pierce. Right. The Colwich Prime, leader of the local pride, and biggest asshole known to man.
Lovely.
Deuce obviously didn’t go by his real name with Freedom. He’d told her his name was Deuce Karn.
“Well, fuck.” The words were out of her mouth before she could call them back.
“Oooh. Miss Martin said ‘fuck.’” Elly recognized the high-pitched voice as belonging to one of her regular rug rats.
Double lovely.
Chapter Four
“The words ‘wait here’ should always be taken as a suggestion because men really should know better than to try ordering women around. Especially if they don’t wanna see their balls in glass jars.” — Maya O’Connell, Prima of the Ridgeville Pride and glass jar aficionado.
Deuce looked around his deceased grandmother’s home, noting the thick layer of dust that littered every surface. If the woman had been alive, she would have whipped his ass from one end of the house to the other and back again.
He was back in his hometown. Back in Colwich. Back… He shook his head. He’d deal with his family later. Then again, it would probably be sooner than he hoped. The minute his father and brothers heard about his return, they’d be on his doorstep. He prayed Elly would still give him a chance after she learned about his past.
Everything had remained the same as the day his grandmother had died. Back then, he hadn’t had the strength to touch a single thing. No, as soon as the funeral had ended, he’d left, unable to continue facing the past.
Another look around the place and he realized he wasn’t going to get it all done in a day. Lugging the box of groceries through the entry and on toward the back of the house, he stopped in the kitchen. More dust.
He tugged on a nearby drawer and found his grandmother’s stack of towels. A little musty, but mostly clean. He dusted a spot on the counter and settled the box on the cleared bit.
Now, on to the rest of the room. He needed a clean place to eat and a decent place to sleep. The remainder of the place could wait for tomorrow when he could find someone to get the home into shape. He wondered if there’d be anyone in town willing to step across the threshold.
Glancing down the hallway, Deuce noted his footprints in the dust he’d disturbed. He’d pay them a lot.
With a sigh, he got to work, tugging out another handful of towels and wetting a few in the sink. First he’d wipe away the bulk of the dust and then he’d get to sterilizing things with the antibacterial wipes he’d purchased. The scent would drive his lion crazy, but it couldn’t be helped.
He couldn’t bring his mate back to a filthy den.
He paused in the middle of wiping the counter. His mate. Damn. Until two days ago, he wasn’t sure he’d ever see her again.
Eloise Adele Martin.
Elly to her family and friends.
Deuce’s dick hardened in his leather pants. Memories of the feel of her small hand wrapped around his cock assaulted him. She was so tiny and perfect, snuggling against him as if she’d been made to stand at his side.
Then again, she had.
Thinking about Elly kept his mind occupied while he cleaned, surfaces shining by the time he’d worked through the small kitchen. The refrigerator was busy cooling, freezer lowering to the right temp so he could buy some perishable groceries in the morning. He couldn’t live on instant noodles and warm soda.
At least in Colwich he wouldn’t have to drink light beer along with the rest of the guys. He wouldn’t drink at all. No uncomfortable discussions about drinking in the tiny town. Especially considering their opinion of him.
Deuce looked around and was satisfied with what he’d accomplished. It wasn’t the best, but it’d do for now.
On to the bedroom.
Leaving the kitchen behind, he tromped up the stairs, noting their disrepair. He’d have to get a few guys in here to do some repairs as well. He hated that he’d let his grandmother’s home fall into such poor shape.
Then again, he hadn’t anticipated ever setting foot in the place again.
Halfway up the steps, the rough pounding of a fist against the front door grabbed his attention and he sighed. At least he’d gotten the kitchen squared away. He could always see if the bed-and-breakfast would rent him a room. He didn’t think he’d get a chance to clean upstairs.
Deuce turned and retraced his steps, mentally preparing for the coming confrontation. His lion stretched and roared, letting him know the beast was right along with him. He’d been in town long enough for the gossips to get to work, and if he had to guess who he’d find on the other side of the front door…
He turned the knob and let the wood panel swing inward. “Dad.”
His father looked old. Sure, the man had a lot of years on him, but his face was haggard, pale, and drawn, with more wrinkles than seemed possible. The once wide and powerful shoulders were slumped and narrower. Right along with the rest of him.
Of course, the barely concealed hate was still present. “Karn.”
He despised that name. Almost as much as his father despised him. Huh. “What do you want?” There was no sense in being polite and pretending his appearance was a social call.
“You gone.”
A movement behind his father drew Deuce’s attention and he found his brothers pacing the front yard. “Uh-huh.” He turned his gaze back to his dad. “How’s it feel to want?”
“Listen here, you no good—”
“Piece of shit. Right. I got it.” He nodded. The words weren’t anything new. He would have thought the old man could come up with a few different names to call him over the years. “Thing is, this house belongs to me. Me. Not you, Eaves, or Felix. If Autumn—”
“Don’t you say her name.” His father took a step forward, yellowed teeth bared, and Deuce countered the move, flashing his fangs and letting his eyes
yellow at the threat. “You don’t have the right to even think about her after what you did.”
Pain tore through him at the memory, flashes and snippets of that night slipping through his mind. But the beast shoved them away, locked them back into the vault where they belonged.
He shook his head, breaking free of the pain. “I’m not leaving, Dad. I’ll stay out of your way, won’t go into your territory, but right, wrong, or indifferent, this is my house.”
“I want you gone.” His father’s growl was low, threatening but weak.
Deuce’s was not. His sound filled the entryway and spilled into the yard, rolling through the space with ease. The crunch and crack of bone from his partial shift followed until he was near bursting with muscle and power.
“And I said I wasn’t leaving.” The words were garbled but recognizable nonetheless.
“Are you trying to ruin what happiness she has?”
The question hit his heart, but he wasn’t about to back down. He’d talk with Autumn himself. If his sister didn’t want to see him, wanted to keep their secrets after all these years, so be it, but he’d hear the words from her mouth.
“Dad?” His brother Eaves’ voice was deeper than he remembered and the power of his lion gave him the height and weight he’d been missing when Deuce left. “Someone’s tearing down the road.”
His father growled once, low and threatening, and Deuce’s lion couldn’t have cared less. He recognized he was stronger than his dad and could take the man in a fight. He didn’t want it heading there, but his father’s hate of him ran bone deep.
A small four-door car whipped into his driveway and parked beside his father’s truck, and then the driver was running. Right for him.
Her curves were as he remembered, lush and begging for his touch. Her long hair flowed behind her as she rapidly closed the distance between them, strands catching the afternoon light, almost glowing in the waning daylight. And that smile—he’d seen it once, at their rescue, and dreamed of it every night.
That smile was back.
Deuce’s sweet squirrel had returned.
“Elly.” Deuce’s voice was gravelly and deep, reminding him of the threat that still remained on his porch. He turned his attention from his mate and glared at his father. “You need to leave.”
