by Ann Collins
BATTLESCARS
by
ANN COLLINS
Battlescars. 1st Edition
Copyright © 2013
All Rights Reserved
Cover Art by Manfred Rohrer.
This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locations are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used fictitiously.
All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Epilogue
Newsletter
A Note from Ann
Chapter One
His neighborhood bar was one of Dyson’s favorite places. He liked the smell of the smoke, the neon lights that cut through the haze and the long mirror behind the liquor bottles. He even liked the aloof bartender, the no-bullshit kind of guy who lined them up so Dyson could knock them down without a single question about why. But tonight, he especially liked the mirror, because the most gorgeous woman he had ever seen had just walked in.
Sure, he was halfway drunk, but she would have been a ten if he were stone cold sober. He knew all the women in here – knew their type, anyway. They could be hot as hell, only to turn cold as ice after they got what they wanted, which was usually a roll in the hay and maybe a few weeks of a sugar daddy for their trouble. This one, though. He hadn’t seen this one before. She was the kind of woman he’d never forget, no matter how much whiskey had been involved.
She sashayed across the floor with an air that said she was oblivious to everything and everyone in the room. She had something on her mind. Dyson had something on his mind, too – he was spending so much time looking at her ass that he barely noticed when he reached the bottom of his drink. The bartender – ever the conscientious one – did notice, and poured him another. Dyson sipped it as he discreetly eyed the sexy young woman.
She was an odd bird for this bar, more of a lady than the typical females that walked through the door. Her clothes weren’t revealing at all, and that gave her a mystique that the barely-dressed women playing pool in the back just couldn’t match. Though she was covered up, she clearly knew what suited her. Her jeans were just tight enough, and her walk had just enough sway in it to tell Dyson that she knew how she looked, and she certainly looked good.
He immediately started thinking about how those long, smooth legs would feel wrapped around him. Racy thoughts about a woman he had just laid eyes on sixty seconds ago, but hey – it had been a while.
She had a notebook in her hand and a look of boredom on her face, as though she had been here before and knew all the ropes. She slipped onto a stool at the far end of the bar, away from everyone, and nodded as the bartender slid an ice water over to her. She even won a short grin from the usually sullen guy.
A regular, then?
Dyson nursed his drink and watched her some more. He was on the verge of saying something to her when one of the usual losers from the pool tables made his way over and beat him to it. Something new and interesting, Dyson thought, and took another long pull of his whiskey as he settled in to watch the show. He wasn’t worried. A guy like that was clueless with a woman like her, and it was just a matter of time before he struck out.
Sure enough, it was clear in under a minute that she wasn’t having any of it. Though she was polite, she was doing her level best to ignore the loser sitting beside her. As usual, he was a bit too drunk to listen to reason and so kept hitting on the lady despite her obvious body language that told him to leave her alone. She finally glared at him, and Dyson grinned behind his glass. This girl was going to blow up in a minute, and he was willing to bet she would look pretty damn cute when she did.
Another pool-shooting reject slithered up on the other side of her, and Dyson was instantly more alert. He was certain the young lady could hold her own against one asshole, but two of them? That would intimidate her at the very least. It was as though a switch flipped in Dyson’s head, one that made him almost sober in the time it took to evaluate the situation. It had always been that way with him, that feeling that he had to be ready for whatever might be thrown his way.
Right now, he was paying close attention to what might be thrown her way.
Dyson knew this crowd, and he knew what these guys were capable of doing. Most of the guys who came into this dive weren’t exactly of the highest social caliber, which is part of the reason he usually liked it – he preferred those who had no bullshit to dish out. But there were times, like now, when all that lack of culture culminated in a couple of dicks who didn’t know when to back down.
The woman was holding her own, but it was obvious to Dyson that she was pissed. He could see the fury in her eyes from all the way over on his side of the bar. He could also see a touch of fear, and that put him on edge. A woman who was just mad could definitely hold her own; a woman who was scared might need a little help. It was clear that the pool players didn’t realize that the woman was getting angry, and when the second guy sidled even closer, Dyson dropped the coy glances and stared at them openly in the mirror, daring them to look his way.
The men didn’t, but the young lady did. Her eyes met his in the mirror and she locked gazes with him, staring right at him as the first would-be suitor made an even bolder move – he leaned down and whispered into her ear. He was a little too close for comfort, and when the woman lifted her hand and shoved him away, Dyson pushed his drink to the side.
The ever-observant bartender stopped polishing glasses and looked at Dyson, then over at the young lady. He didn’t say a word, but he raised an eyebrow in Dyson’s direction.
Dyson nodded as he backed off his stool.
The guys were ignoring everything but the woman, so they didn’t notice Dyson walking over to stand behind them. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked from one to the other. One of the guys had such a baby face that it was hard to believe he had gotten past the bouncer at the door – he must have flashed a fake ID. The other guy was definitely older, but clearly not wise enough to know better than what he was doing, which was leaning in far too close and putting his hand on the young woman’s back every chance he got. Each time Dyson saw the man’s hand brush the small of her back, his blood started to boil a little hotter.
The older jerk leaned in again, this time letting his lips brush the woman’s ear. She jerked away sharply and gave him another glare. This time she said something harsh, but Dyson couldn’t make it out. It didn’t matter. He had seen enough, and he didn’t need to hear her tone to know that she was feeling cornered.
“Okay, boys,” he said, in a clear and hard voice that allowed no disagreement. “It’s time to move on to other things. This young lady doesn’t want your attention.”
Both men turned at the same time. The younger one looked scared half to death, which only reinforced the idea that he was far too young to be in the bar anyway. The other guy played it much cooler, giving Dyson the once-over as though he was sizing him up for a good fight. The pool player smirked as though he was certain he had this guy handled.
If only he knew, Dyson thought, and smiled at the punk – the sort of smile that held no humor at all.
&nb
sp; “Go on,” Dyson suggested, cocking his head toward the sound of the billiard tables.
“The little lady was just getting to know us,” the older one said, and turned his smirk to the girl. There he went again, touching her, putting a sleazy hand on her thigh. “Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”
“Leave me alone,” the woman said, her voice devoid of emotion. She turned her eyes toward the guy and stared him down, and at the same time pushed his hand off her thigh with such force that he couldn’t possibly touch her again without crossing a line. The redness that crept up his face said that he knew it, no matter how drunk he was.
Dyson took a single step forward. “You heard her. I heard her. Did you hear her, my friend?” he called to the bartender, who took his time looking at all of them.
“Too bad they don’t know you’re a Marine,” the bartender said. “They should know better.”
Both men suddenly looked at each other. The younger one looked at Dyson with a flash of fear in his eyes, and then quickly looked away. The older one stretched, and then made a show of popping his neck and his knuckles, as though he was getting ready for a good old-fashioned throw-down. It took every ounce of restrain that Dyson could muster not to roll his eyes, but he knew that would invite a true fight, so he stuck to glaring instead.
The bartender leaned against the bar. Dyson knew, just as he was sure everyone else in the bar knew, that there was something more than just glasses under that bar – something like a baseball bat or a sawed-off shotgun, something that meant business. The bartender looked like just the man to handle that kind of business if it were warranted.
Dyson watched the men as the tide began to turn. They pulled away from the woman just the slightest bit. They glanced at each other. The older one bit his lip, while the young one took a deep breath, turned toward the bartender, and motioned for a beer. They made a few more comments to the woman, doing their best to ignore the fact that Dyson was standing patiently behind them, as though he had been a brief nuisance and they were too cool to deal with such things.
But the tension in their shoulders said they knew he was there. Oh, they certainly did.
And finally, as if it had been their idea, rather than Dyson’s suggestion, both of them moved away from the woman on the stool. They nodded at her, not quite rude enough to say anything negative but not nearly polite enough to say goodbye. They both gave Dyson long looks of empty fury and headed back to the billiards tables, where they immediately started talking very loudly about the idiot up at the bar who thought he had the women all to himself.
Dyson could ignore that. He had heard so much worse in his day.
Instead, he focused on the girl. He sat down on the stool next to her and gave her a smile, which won him a smile in return. She was neither warm, nor overly friendly, and who could blame her? She had already dealt with enough unwanted male attitude for one night.
Dyson turned to the bartender. “I didn’t know you had vocal cords,” he said, and the bartender shrugged, smiled, and poured Dyson a fresh drink.
“Nice talking to you,” Dyson said, and the bartender nodded as he turned back to the glassware.
Dyson turned to the woman beside him. Now that the crisis was over he could again focus on the fact that she really did look like a perfect ten. He looked from the neatly trimmed nails, manicured a perfect shade of pink, to the auburn hair that fell in natural waves around her face. Her skin had that healthy glow that was evident even under the neon lights. She was fresh-faced, and it wasn’t the kind of look that came from makeup. Dyson would bet money that she wasn’t wearing a lick of makeup at all. He had been around enough to know the difference between a woman who looked good until the lights came on at last call, and a woman who would look good in the full light of day.. Obviously this woman took good care of herself.
Her lips were full, the kind of lips that would look great with a bright red lipstick or without anything at all. The kind of lips that would look gorgeous wrapped around something long and hard. Dyson would normally run with such images in his head, but this time he tried to shake them off. It felt almost indecent to be thinking about her in such a way after those jerks had come onto her so hard.
But still…damn. She was worth a whole night full of second glances.
She sipped on her water and looked at him over the glass, her blue eyes locking with his. “Thank you,” she murmured. “I appreciate your help more than you know.”
Dyson smiled. “You are more than welcome,” he said, and then pointed to her glass. “Let me buy you a drink?”
She shook her head. “No, thank you. I don’t drink.”
Dyson digested that idea for a moment. “You don’t drink, but you’re in a bar.”
The woman held up her notebook as an explanation. “I’m doing the accounting for the bar owner. No drinking on the job.”
Dyson shook his head and laughed. “Okay…so let’s back up a minute. I know that you’re gorgeous and you’re good with numbers, but I don’t know your name.” He held out his hand. “Mine is Dyson.”
Her hand was cool in his, but her handshake was firm. “I’m Kayla.”
“Good to meet you,” Dyson said, waiting for her response as an awkward silence opened between them. She wasn’t forthcoming, and he didn’t want to push her. She seemed nice enough – grateful for his help – but not interested in anything more than a friendly hello.
Still, Dyson though, she was worth a shot. It wasn’t every day – or even every year – that he met a woman as naturally stunning as Kayla.
“Are you already an accountant? You look pretty young to be crunching numbers.”
She gave him a cool glance. Had he already offended her? Dyson looked down at his glass and tried to figure out what to say. He was always smooth with the ladies but something about this one had completely screwed up his sense of timing.
“I’m in college,” she said, her voice all business and no nonsense. “This is one of my part-time jobs to help pay my way through.”
“You take classes up at the university?”
She nodded and took another long sip of her water. End of discussion again.
“You do anything besides numbers? What do you do for fun?”
She shook her head and gave a rueful laugh. “I sit on bar stools and let guys hit on me.”
Dyson wasn’t going to honor that with a response. He took a long pull of his liquor and stared at himself in the mirror. After a moment, Kayla sighed.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I know that made you sound the same as the guys that were just harassing me, but it’s obvious you aren’t like that. So I really am sorry. But I just want to do my work and go home.”
“I understand.”
Dyson didn’t understand, but what the hell was he going to say? He wasn’t going to bare his soul to this woman who obviously wanted nothing to do with him, but there was something about her that was so intriguing already…something that made him almost understand the desperation of the two guys he had ordered away from her. She was the kind of woman who was already under his skin, but why?
Dyson took another long sip. Kayla sighed again, as though she wanted to say something, but she didn’t. She was looking at him, though. Dyson knew that feeling of someone’s eyes on him, that unexplainable tickle of attention that ran down his spine. It had held him in good stead many times, even here in this bar, where he had picked up more than a few women in his day.
He let her look her fill, then finally turned his gaze to her. To his surprise, she didn’t try to hide the fact that she had been caught looking – though she did blush.
“Like what you see?” he asked, his voice low and sultry.
She blushed even harder but to her credit, she didn’t take her eyes away from his. Dyson admired that forwardness in anyone, but especially in a young woman who had already dealt with one too many assholes tonight.
“Maybe,” she said directly.
Dyson grinned. This was more like it! Dyso
n knew just how to handle a flirt, and he felt relief as he prepared to settle into the comfortable territory of the typical boy-meets-girl-in-a-bar scenario. His smooth, practiced ease with women was back, and he was felt in control. “Oh really?”
“But I’m not available,” she told him, and shrugged sadly, as though she were really sorry that she had to cut things short. “And here’s my boss.”
A tall man with a serious, rushed air had come out from behind the mirrored wall. He smiled at Kayla and motioned her back, then was gone again. Kayla slipped from her stool and went around the bar, turning once to cast a final look back at Dyson. Then she gave him a curt nod and was gone.
“Shit,” Dyson breathed into his drink, emptying the glass. The bartender raised an eyebrow and Dyson pointed to the tap. He needed a beer to wash the bad taste of rejection out of his mouth.
“She’s something,” the bartender said, and Dyson looked at him with surprise. The bartender just went about pouring the beer as though he hadn’t said a word. He poured off the foamy head, topped the pint glass off from the tap, and set the heavy glass on the bar.
“You speak few words, my friend, but they are worthy ones,” Dyson said, and lifted his beer. “Cheers.”
Chapter Two
Kayla was dead tired. She yawned against her hand, even though it was already noon and she had slept in until she almost missed her first class of the day. It was Wednesday – one of her slower days – when she only had morning classes and her afternoons free. She thought about her friends, who could take a day off just as it was intended and spend the time doing absolutely nothing. She wished she could be like them, cruising around in convertibles, shopping to their heart’s content and maybe just going home, going back to bed and sleeping all day.
