Woodsman: A Bad Boy Romance

by Abby Brooks

  “If he makes you feel good, and he treats you good, then damn it girl, he is good. Sometimes right doesn’t make a lot of sense. But you know it when you stop listening to your head and start hearing things with your heart.”

  I close my eyes and imagine her sweet face looking up at me. Her eyes, blue like the sky in winter, sharp and intelligent and oh, so kind. The moment is fading and I hold my breath, certain that if I hold still long enough, she’ll stay with me. That I can have her back, that she’ll run her hand through my hair and tell me just exactly what I need to hear. But she’s gone. Hell, she was probably never even here. Just a figment of my imagination, summoned by memory and emotion.

  I climb out of the shower and towel off. Run a brush through my hair and pretend it’s my Nana, smiling at my reflection in the small mirror in Ethan’s bathroom. Darkness has settled itself in for the night and I get dressed in my pajamas, realizing that I’ll be sleeping alone. The crickets sing, their rhythmic chirping the only thing to keep me company as I settle down on the couch to wait and watch the front door. I can’t sleep alone in that bed. It’s his and I don’t want to be there without him.

  Hours or minutes later, I’m not sure because I fell asleep daydreaming about my Nana, the sound of gravel crunching under tires wakes me. Adrenaline shoots through my system and I lurch into a sitting position ready to race to the door only for fear to freeze me in place.

  Who’s out there?

  Is it Ethan?

  Or is it Joe?

  A door thumps shut and Bay’s collar jingles through the night as he sprints to the front door. I stand as Ethan pushes through. Our eyes lock as Bay runs to me, his tongue lolling out the side of his mouth, tail wagging as he bumps his massive head into my hand.

  I open my mouth to speak, a thousand thoughts desperate to crawl past my lips at once, and Ethan holds up a hand to silence me.

  “I have some stuff to say.” He shoves his hands into his back pockets and leans against the door frame. I close my mouth and wait for him to speak. It takes a while.

  “I’m a private man, Skye.” He pauses as Bay gives up on me and wanders over to him to collect his pets. “I don’t open up to many people because every time I do, they let me down. I see the world differently than just about everyone and after all these years, I’m mostly happy to be alone than to spend time with other people, feeling like a square peg in a round hole. That’s why, when I realized I needed to leave LA, I was happy to move out here. I have the skills to be almost entirely self-sufficient and if felt damn good to rely on myself and not have to fuss with all the bullshit that comes with having other people in my life. And then you came along.” Ethan takes a long breath in through his nose, his eyes boring into mine.

  “I’m so sorry—”

  He pushes off the wall. “I’m not done.” Pulling his hands out of his pockets, he crosses the room and stands so close to me, I can feel the heat of his body through the thin fabric of my night shirt. “After spending all this time with you, after knowing what it means to connect with someone deep down to the marrow of my bones, going back to being alone sounds like the seventh level of hell.”

  My lips part and he brings a hand up to my cheek.

  “I love you, Skye. I love you from the bottom of my heart and top of my soul. I love talking with you. Laughing with you. I love fucking you. I love that I’m the only man who’s ever been inside you. The thought of you being with someone else makes me downright angry. You’re mine and I’m yours and that’s a truth bigger than the both of us.”

  “Do you mean it?” I whisper as he gathers his thoughts.

  Confusion furrows his brow. “Mean what?”

  “Do you love me?”

  “God, yes. Irrevocably. Undeniably. With everything I am and then some more.”

  “I love you, too. And I’m sorry I questioned you. I know who you are, Ethan Masters, and you are not a bad man.”

  “But I have done bad things and Skye? You were right to question me. You were right to bring up the shit that spins around in your head. And I was an ass for walking away.”

  There are so many things I want to say to him, but he lowers his lips to mine and all the thoughts in my head scatter like dry leaves in the wind. We undress each other almost reverently, removing clothing slowly, unveiling our bodies to each other as if for the first time.

  I kiss his lips and jaw, his collarbone and shoulder. I taste every inch of him, exploring him and delighting in what I find. And when I return to his mouth, he brings his hands up my thighs, lets them slide around the curve of my hips and waist, up my ribs, his fingers grazing my breasts, before cupping my face between his hands.

  We make love that night, moving in unison, our bodies finding a rhythm and working together while our eyes are locked together. We whisper our love between each breath, nipping and sucking and sighing and biting. He rolls his hips and I arch my back and we crash together like the ocean upon the shore. I cry out as his cock drives into me and he breathes my name like a prayer and then, like as my orgasm hits a crescendo, he cums, spurting into me in two hot jets. I blink up at him while he stares down at me, our chests heaving as we catch our breath.

  “I love you, Skye LaRue.”

  “And I love you, Ethan Masters.”

  In the other room, my phone rings. I jump and Bay barks, both of us startled by the unfamiliar sound. No one calls me. I don’t even recognize my ringtone at first. Confused, I run into the living room and pull my phone out of my purse. Ethan wanders into the living room, tying the drawstring on a pair of low-slung sweatpants as I stare at the caller ID.

  “It’s Ali.”

  “Answer it.”

  “I’m not sure I want to.”

  Ethan shrugs. “Then don’t. But if it were me, I’d answer. You guys need to talk.”

  Frowning, I accept her call. “Hello?”

  “Skye?” Ali’s voice is nothing more than a whisper. Rough and raw and shaking.

  “What’s wrong?” I instinctively cross the room to stand next to Ethan and hold the phone so he can hear.

  “He’s got me, Skye. That man from the bookstore. Joe Sylvio. He wants me to tell him where Ethan is but I don’t know. I’m so afraid.” Her voice cracks and she chokes on a sob.

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m at home. He’s been…” Ali trails off and makes a sound that I’ve only ever heard come from wounded animals. “He’s back.”

  And with that, the line goes dead. I stare up at Ethan, eyes wide, heart pounding.

  I know in my heart two things to be true. First, we have to go get Ali before anything bad happens to her. And second? Ethan will know exactly what to do.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Where does she live?” I ask as soon as Skye hangs up.

  “Not far from the bookstore. In a little apartment complex.”

  Fuck. That’s not ideal. Apartments are small and surrounded by people. The last thing I need is to confront Joe there where a stranger could get caught up in this. It’s bad enough that Skye and her friend are involved. I don’t need to keep adding people to the list of possible collateral damage.

  “Go get dressed,” I tell Skye.

  She hesitates, chewing on her bottom lip. “What are we going to do?”

  “We’re gonna go save your friend.”

  While Skye changes, I head outside with Bay trotting along beside me, grabbing her phone as I go. Still unsure as to how I’m going to solve this problem, I pull up the call history and dial Ali’s number. It barely gets through the first ring before Joe answers.

  “I thought that would get your attention,” he says in his little weaselly whine of a voice.

  “Why don’t you let that girl go and you and me settle this like men.”

  “Like men?” Joe laughs. “What the fuck does that even mean?

  I chuckle. “The fact that you even have to ask tells me everything I need to know.”

  “Here’s what we’re gonna do, asshole. You
’re gonna drive down here and park in the lot outside the bitch’s apartment. You’re gonna get out of your truck and walk up to the front door with your hands raised. When you’re inside, I’ll let this little cunt go. Then you and me will go back to LA so I can collect the bounty you have on your head.”

  “Maybe,” I say. “Although I’m thinking we’ll just play most of it by ear.”

  Without waiting for him to say one more thing, I end the call and turn off the phone. Skye comes out to stand at my side. My gun is in her hands, still safely tucked in the holster.

  “I should have taught you how to handle that thing,” I say.

  Skye gives me a funny look and pulls it out of the holster. Drops the magazine and locks the slide open, letting the bullet I had in the chamber fall out into her waiting palm. She sends the slide home and holds the gun out, sighting down the barrel. “I know my way around guns,” she says. “My Nana made sure of that.”

  “Well aren’t you just full of surprises?” I take the gun from her and slide the magazine back in.

  Skye’s busy trying to look tough, but I know she’s never pulled the trigger on anything more deadly than a soda bottle before. She might know how to work a gun, but she doesn’t know what it means to point one at something with a pulse. Still, it makes me feel a little better about taking her with me knowing that if she needs to protect herself, she can.

  Bay is displeased when I tell him he has to stay at the cabin and makes a big show of hanging his head as I close and lock the door. It’s late and I should be tired, but adrenaline has me on edge. I’m wired.

  “What are you going to do?” asks Skye as we get close to the little strip of shops that makes up downtown Wistful.

  “I’m going to save your friend from a bad man.”

  “Yeah,” she breathes. “But how?”

  There’s tension in her voice and I look over to find her staring at me with wide eyes and parted lips.

  “Are you gonna kill him?”

  Silence falls on the cab of the truck. “Not if I don’t have to.”

  Skye blinks. Once. Twice. Then she nods and gives her focus back out to the street in front of us.

  Ali’s apartment building is almost too small to count as living space and I can only pray that I don’t have to use my gun. There’s no way I could discharge a weapon and not wake the entire town. I pull up into the empty spot beside what has to be Joe’s car. The thing is too sleek and black to belong to anyone here in Wistful.

  “Stay here,” I say to Skye. “Slide into the driver’s seat and keep the engine running. If you hear anything, anything out of the ordinary, you get the hell out of here. Understand?”

  She nods and I climb out of the truck, slamming the door and walking up to Ali’s apartment with my hands raised just like Joe told me. I’ve got my gun tucked into the waistband of my pants, hiding under my t-shirt. Joe will expect me to have a gun. Hell, he’s probably counting on it.

  My instincts are going crazy as I walk up to the mostly open front door. This is all just too easy. There’s no way I’m going to walk into this apartment and find Skye’s friend in here. Joe is too much of a sadistic bastard for anything as simple as that.

  I push through the door and it creaks on its hinges, announcing my arrival like a goddamn tornado siren. Not like it matters, wherever he is, he’s got eyes on me. That’s for sure.

  From somewhere deeper in the apartment, I hear the muffled sounds of sobs and whimpers. It’s got to be the girl. Ali. From the sound of it, she’s struggling, fighting hard to be heard and something about it puts my already frayed nerves on edge. Abandoning stealth and safety, I rush towards the sound and find Ali bound and gagged on the floor. Her eyes are wild and mascara-stained tears roll down her cheeks. She shakes her head and gestures towards the door with her chin.

  “I’m so sorry,” she says the moment I pull the gag from her mouth. Before I can even ask why, a scream rips through the apartment door before it’s abruptly cut off.

  It’s Skye.

  My stomach drops into my feet and I’m halfway outside before I have time to think. I explode through the door and there she is, struggling in Joe’s arms. He’s got one hand covering her mouth and the other holding a gun to her temple.

  “You’re so fucking predictable, Masters,” he says. “Of course you’d bring her with you. Too afraid to leave her at home where you can’t be sure she’s safe. And of course you leave her in the truck instead of walking her into danger. Love is a weakness. I thought you were tough enough to know that.”

  I stay silent, reaching back to lift my t-shirt up enough so I don’t get tangled in the fabric reaching for my gun.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” says Joe, pulling back on Skye so she whimpers into his hand. “You just leave that piece where you have it.” He inhales deeply, closing his eyes. “She smells good, doesn’t she? Like sex and wildflowers. I bet she fucks real nice.”

  I meet Skye’s gaze and there’s this moment of clarity between us. Her eyes are wide, but it’s not from fear. She’s trying to catch my attention. As soon as she sees that I’ve noticed, her entire demeanor changes.

  She melts into Joe, swaying her hips side to side, arching her back so her ass grazes his cock. Surprised, he looks down, ever so slightly softening his grip on her mouth. And that’s all that my little spitfire of a woman needs.

  She pulls her head back to give her enough room to open her mouth and then bites down into his palm as hard as she can. Joe screeches and pushes her away. Skye manages to spin and kick him in the balls as I’m reaching for my gun. Joe doubles over, swiping at her on his way down and clipping her in the forehead with the butt of his gun. She stumbles and falls, but that’s all the time I need. I reach back, draw my own gun out of its holster, and take the shot while I have it.

  The gun blast is deafening and my ears ring madly as Joe crumples to the ground, blood oozing from his head. Skye sobs, and somewhere, a dog starts barking. I hurry to her, check her head, which is bleeding profusely but isn’t really that bad of a wound, and then hold her and rock her until the police arrive.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Wistful doesn’t get too many homicides. The police chief keeps wandering around Ali’s parking lot with his hands on his hips, puffing out his cheeks and looking lost. I don’t think he knows what to do. I don’t blame him because I don’t really know what to do either.

  They question us all together, standing right there next to Ethan’s truck while the crime scene tape goes up over Ali’s door rather than taking us down to the station. Chief Hawthorne takes our statements while everyone in charge is still so shell-shocked they don’t know what’s going on.

  Of course, we all have the same story to tell, each of us nodding in agreement with whatever the other says. We tell Chief Hawthorne that Ethan and I stopped by to check on Ali after a strange phone call from her and found the door to her apartment hanging open. Ethan went inside and found her tied up and struggling with a strange man hovering over her.

  According to our story, Ethan managed to get the guy off of Ali but he ran outside just as I was getting out of the truck, curious about all the screaming. The man put a gun to my head but I bit him and Ethan, who is licensed for concealed carry, pulled out his gun and shot the man in the head.

  We don’t mention the connection between Ethan and Joe. We don’t mention Ethan’s ties to LA or the fact that Joe knew Ali at all. Our story is close enough to the truth that they’ll never think to check on the details. Especially not with Chief Hawthorne wrapping an arm around Ali and asking about her mom. Telling me that it’s a shame that something like this had to happen to us. Promising Ethan that Wistful isn’t the kind of town where this stuff happens very often.

  The investigation doesn’t take long. Just a week or two of some very simple questions for the three of us and then it’s over. After several weeks of no news from LA, Ethan starts to relax. No one else is coming for him. It takes me awhile to stop having nig
htmares, but even those fade over time. It’s amazing what a person can get used to.

  Even Ali and I end up mending fences. It’s slow going. Her betrayal hurt. A lot. But I don’t think holding grudges is healthy, so I’m working on that.

  Ethan and Bay have moved into the homestead with me. If I thought our days at the cabin were long, I had no idea what actually constitutes hard work. We’ve made it our mission to fix all the things that are broken at the homestead.

  It’s even more slow going than forgiving Ali.

  Apparently, as helpful as Handy Pete was, he was more of a fast fix kind of guy than I ever could have guessed. Almost everything he worked on needs redone. Which honestly, is fine with me. I like working with Ethan. Even hard jobs are fun as we laugh and joke our way through them. And you know what? Seeing all the little changes and improvements pile up and knowing it’s the culmination of our hard work feels really damn good.

  My family built a legacy into this house and I thought it was going to die with me. Now, I’m starting to think I’m not only going to get to improve it, but I’ll also get to work my own additions into it. I can easily see Ethan and I staying together and raising a family here. In fact, as weeks stretch into months, I become more and more set on it.

  Each night, after our long day, we sit on the porch and drink a bit of Maker’s and stare out at the stars. I can’t help but think that somewhere, Nana is pleased. That she’s looking down at us and nodding her head in approval. I like the way it feels.

  It’s chilly tonight. We’ve got our chairs shoved close together and an old blanket Nana made stretched out over our laps. Ethan shifts and the floorboard under him squeaks.

  “I should fix that,” he mutters after taking a sip of his whiskey.