Out of the Darkness
a Hope Valley novel
Jessica Prince
Copyright © 2019 by Jessica Prince
www.authorjessicaprince.com
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
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Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Epilogue
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About Jessica
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I’ve been dying to write Xander’s story ever since I came up with the idea for his perfect heroine, Sage, and now that it’s finally here, I’m so excited for you to read it!
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HOPE VALLEY SERIES:
Out of My League
Come Back Home Again
The Best of Me
Wrong Side of the Tracks
Stay With Me
Out of the Darkness
CIVIL CORRUPTION SERIES
Corrupt
Defile
Consume
Ravage
THE PICKING UP THE PIECES SERIES:
Picking up the Pieces
Rising from the Ashes
Pushing the Boundaries
Worth the Wait
THE COLORS NOVELS:
Scattered Colors
Shrinking Violet
Love Hate Relationship
Wildflower
THE LOCKLAINE BOYS (a LOVE HATE RELATIONSHIP spinoff):
Fire & Ice
Opposites Attract
Almost Perfect
The Locklaine Boys: The Complete Series Boxset
THE PEMBROOKE SERIES (a WILDFLOWER spinoff):
Sweet Sunshine
Coming Full Circle
A Broken Soul
GIRL TALK SERIES:
Seducing Lola
Tempting Sophia
Enticing Daphne
Charming Fiona
STANDALONE TITLES:
One Knight Stand
Chance Encounters
Nightmares from Within
DEADLY LOVE SERIES:
Destructive
Addictive
Prologue
Sage
It could be said that a person’s upbringing was what molded them into the grownup they’d eventually become, and as far as I was concerned, that was sound logic. After all, I was nothing if not the product of my environment.
My father was a big, burly, rough-around-the-edges nonconformist with a penchant for being a bit of a conspiracy nut, but he was the best father on the face of the planet. He’d lived for two things only: his Harley and his little girl, and from the time I was big enough to wrap my little arms around his waist, I lived to be on the back of his bike. There was nothing better than the feel of the sun on my face and the wind whipping through my hair.
To most people, men and women alike, he was scary as hell, but to me he was a gentle giant. I’d had the hard biker wrapped around my little finger from the moment I came squalling into this world, and he’d made me his little biker princess.
The worst day of my life was when I was sixteen and he got locked up, but that didn’t mean our connection broke. We wrote letters, he called, and when I got old enough to make the trip on my own, I went to see him as often as I could—which, unfortunately, wasn’t nearly enough. I missed him with everything I was, and during the years he’d been locked up, a gaping hole had formed inside of me, growing and growing until it became impossible to fill.
My mom was an altogether different story. She never dug the biker life. My dad might have worshipped the ground she walked on but love and family weren’t enough for her. She wanted it all, and not having it made her bitter.
Once my father went down, my mother’s true colors came bleeding out. Men came in and out of our lives at an alarming frequency, each of them loaded and the polar opposite of my dad in every way. She’s chosen them strictly for their money. They served a purpose, and that purpose usually consisted of new wardrobes, expensive jewelry, and flashy cars. All she saw when she looked at them were dollar signs.
I was nothing more than a pawn in the twisted games she played with the opposite sex, a piece she’d pull out and shuffle around the board whenever it suited her. It was my job to make the men feel sorry for me. If Mom felt one of her sugar daddies slipping, I came into play. I was the poor little girl who’d lost her father and was looking for another man to take his place.
I’d gotten pretty damn good in my role. I became an accomplished con artist, tugging those poor, unsuspecting bastards’ heartstrings until Mommy Dearest could bleed them for more before moving on to the next victim.
I was a cliché. The girl with daddy and mommy issues. My adoring father had been taken from me when I was far too young, leaving me with an emotionally stunted, cold mother who treated me more as an accessory than a daughter. Because of that, I went searching for love in all the wrong places.
I picked losers, cheaters, users, abusers . . . you name it. I was so desperate for an emotional connection, that I tied myself to men who didn’t come close to deserving me in an attempt to fill that hole. I started going through men with the speed and frequency of my mother, searching for something to make me whole, yet never finding it.
Until I met John. I’d convinced myself he was exactly what I’d been searching for, so I dove head first into our relationship. We moved at warp speed, getting engaged and married within months of knowing each other. He’d put that ring on my finger, and in return, I gave him every single piece of myself, ignoring all the glaring warning signs in the process.
It took far too long to pull myself out of that yawning chasm, but once I finally did, I promised myself I’d never let another man treat me the way my ex had. I’d made far too many mistakes, and after John, I swore I was done.
But the nagging ache that something was missing refused to go away, eating at me until I could no longer take it. So, one morning, out of the blue, I made the decision to start over. I was going to wipe the slate clean and build myself a new life.
I bailed on the crappy studio apartment I’d been calling home for the past few months; turned in my notice at my dead-end, boring-as-hell job; packed my shit; and loaded my car.
I had no idea where I was going or what I’d do when I got there, but I had a full tank of gas and I’d decided wherever that got me was the place I’d call my new home. I was my father’s daughter, after all. I didn’t need a plan. I just needed the wind in my hair and the sun on my face.
I drove the badass ’67 Mustang my dad had lovingly restored and given to me before he’d gone inside. The sleek black convertible with two white racing stripes was my most treasured possession. I drove with the top down the whole way, and when my baby hit empty I’d hit beauty as far as the eye could see. I’d never experienced anything like Hope Valley, Virginia in all my twenty-seven years.
Rolling hills leading to breathtaking mountains kissed the stunning blue skies. The main drag was something you’d expect to see in a small mountain town in a Hallmark movie. The sidewalks were made of board planks, giving the place a kickass old-timey feel. Planter boxes lined several of the shop windows, all filled with brightly colored flowers. Even the windows along the second story of a large, cool-as-shit historic building had boxes brimming with flora. Most of the buildings looked to have been built in the early 1900s but were all perfectly maintained.
There was a town square, complete with a gazebo and a clocktower. A freaking clocktower. How cool was that? From what I saw as I made the slow trek through the main drag of town, this little slice of heaven had everything a girl could need. There were clothing boutiques, a hair salon, grocery store, a couple cute little cafes, restaurants, and even a couple of bars. One in particular, The Tap Room, caught my interest for its awesome name alone.
My first stop—after fueling my baby, of course—was a small coffee shop called Muffin Top.
I was a hardcore caffeine addict to the point my dad had teased that it was actually coffee I had running through my veins. Sadly, I couldn’t make a decent cup of joe to save my life, so wherever I decided to call home needed to have a place that made excellent coffee.
As gorgeous as the town was, if the coffee tasted like crap, I was going to push on and see where I landed next, so I didn’t delay putting this place to the test.
And it passed. With flying colors.
Not only did the coffee shop with the best name ever serve the best coffee I’d ever had, but the pastries were simply to die for. And when I told the woman behind the counter as much, she smiled so big I thought she’d tear her face in two.
She’s been open and friendly in a way I found somewhat surprising. I was of the mentality that a book should never be judged by its cover, but sadly, I knew from experience that there weren’t a lot of people out there of the same opinion.
I was a biker chick and I wore that like a badge of honor, mainly because, to me, it was. Ripped jeans, Harley tees, motorcycle boots, tons of silver and leather, the former as jewelry, the latter as jewelry and clothing. I never went anywhere without a full face of makeup, and I wore my long, mahogany locks in fat, loose curls with plenty of volume up top.
I’d walked into Muffin Top after hours on the road with wind in my hair, making it wild. I was in a pair of short, frayed jean shorts, black motorcycle boots, and a vintage Lynyrd Skynyrd concert tee of my dad’s that I’d altered to fit me, meaning the neck had been cut out to drape over my left shoulder, showing off my lacy black bra strap, with the hem knotted at the small of my back. My wrists were covered in bangles, and I had a tangle of long necklaces strung around my neck.
I’d gotten so many nasty looks from girls all my life that I was completely immune to them. But Danika Parrish, the woman who owned Muffin Top, gave me a top-to-toe look and declared, “Thought you were my kinda chick when I watched you roll up in that fine-ass car. Now I know you’re my kinda chick, seeing you in that shirt.”
After that and my compliment on her brew, we got to chatting. Seeing as it was a small town, she knew I wasn’t a local, and when I told her—after tasting the coffee—that I was there to stay and needed to find employment tout de suite, she’d told me about a position that had been open for months at a place just down the block.
By the time I hit the one-week mark in Hope Valley I’d already scored an adorable little cottage to rent, found my morning—and afternoon and evening—coffee joint, and landed myself a job.
I left my old life behind. I’d gone in search of a new one, and to my delightful surprise, everything was working out beautifully.
So I never could have suspected that a big, bearded Sasquatch of a man would step onto the scene and rain all over my parade.
Chapter One
Xander
The temporary fog of my release was already beginning to fade as I rolled off the woman beneath me and collapsed onto my back.
I couldn’t afford many vices, not with the darkness I had lurking just below the surface. Most days, it felt like I was holding on to my sanity by the tips of my fingers, so I had to remain as clear-headed as possible. That meant drugs were out of the question, and I couldn’t risk much more than a slight buzz when it came to booze.
That left sex as my only means of escape, and even that wasn’t cutting it anymore. Used to be, I got off and could get at least five minutes of relief from the war zone in my head. Now it was barely a handful of seconds before the darkness came creeping back in.
“Damn, baby, that was incredible. As usual.” The woman next to me shifted to her side and leaned in as if she was about to kiss me.
Grabbing hold of her wrist before it could land on my chest, I scowled and warned, “You know the rules, Mallory,” before sitting up and swinging my legs over the side of the bed.
“Of course. How could I possibly forget your rules?” she said to my back, her tone laced heavily with sarcasm. “You can fuck me, but kissing is out of the question. Silly me.”
A beleaguered sigh slipped past my lips as I scrubbed at my face. “You know exactly what this is,” I muttered without turning to look at her. “I was straight with you from the beginning.”
“Yeah, I guess you were. But I just thought that, since we’ve been playing this game for two months now, maybe something had changed.”
“It hasn’t,” I answered swiftly and bluntly, pushing to my feet and heading to the bathroom to deal with the condom. After washing up, I rested my hands on the basin and took a few deep, fortifying breaths to try and tamp down my frustration.
I was pissed at Mallory for playing this game, but I was more pissed at myself for ignoring the warning signs I’d been seeing for a while now.
Things with Mallory started the same as all my hookups. I picked her up at Rebels, a seedy, run-down biker bar just outside of town; brought her home, and fucked her. I got her number simply because she was a good lay, but I made it clear I wasn’t up for more than a couple orgasms a month. Our relationship—if you could call it that—consisted of me sending perfunctory text messages whenever the mood to get off struck, which wasn’t nearly as often as one would think. They normally read along the lines of You free tonight? followed by, My place. 10:00 if she answered in the affirmative. And that was all there was to it.
When I started getting messages from her asking if I wanted to do dinner or maybe meet up for a drink at The Tap Room—the local bar most everyone in Hope Valley frequented, which was reason enough for me to avoid it—I didn’t bother replying.
I didn’t date. I didn’t do romance. If a woman was looking for hearts and flowers, I most certainly wasn’t her guy. But it never failed that the chick would get it in her head that she could save me. More times than not, they convinced themselves they were the ones who could heal my soul. When that happened, it was time to cut them loose.
And it appeared that my time with Mallory was officially up.
Avoiding my reflection, I turned my back on the mirror and started out of the bathroom. I was hoping Mallory would be dressed and ready to go by the time I hit th
e bedroom but I wasn’t so lucky. I avoided confrontation as often as possible. Hell, with the exception of work and times like this, I tried to avoid human contact all together, but it looked like tonight was going to be chock-full of discomfort.
Moving to my discarded boxer briefs on the floor, I slipped my feet into the holes and began pulling them up to cover my junk as Mallory sat up straight, wrapping the sheet around her breasts. “Xander—”
“It’s late. I need to crash.”
“All right.” I thought that would be it, that she’d get the hint and leave, but no such luck. “You know, I could stay. I mean, I could sleep here. Then maybe in the morning—”
“No.”
I saw her freeze out of the corner of my eye but didn’t acknowledge it as I slid on a pair of sleep pants.
After several moments of silence that grew thick with tension, she spoke. “No?” she asked in bewilderment. “Are you fucking kidding me? You’re kicking me out?”
Was she for real? In the two months we’d been screwing she’d never once been invited to stay the night. I’d made it crystal clear I didn’t do that either, so why she’d decided to take offense to it now was beyond me. Then again, pretty much everything regarding women was beyond me, and I’d stopped trying to understand them a lifetime ago.
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