Page 3 of Hell and High Water

Joy floods through me when I’m in his arms.

Just the way I feel safe in Gavin’s, pressed against that massive chest, my safe harbor from the storm. He’s a mountain, impervious to everything that could hurt me.

A faint scent of wood and tobacco graces his skin, a touch of motor oil from working in the shop. He’s home, my sense of safety, but he’s powerful, too.

With all the violence of an earthquake.

The rumble shivers through me when he kisses my ear, his stubble grazing against my neck. I could stay lost in him forever.

But just as the trembling subsides, I feel urgent, powerful hands at my waist, pulling me closer, driving my ambition, challenging my every choice, drawing me out to be more. It’s my sense of purpose, focused and honed to a razor’s edge.

Evan makes me fight, even if some of the time, it’s with him.

Evan’s teeth along my collarbone send me into a frenzy, my nails on his back, his chiseled chest flexed above me as he takes me again and again. Our love is animalistic, barely restrained, and visceral.

He tears down my defenses, exposes my weakness, demands that I rise to the challenge and overcome each and every fear. He is searing heat and light, a fire blazing in my chest and beckoning me to join him, to move forward.

We climax together, our bodies joined, and I feel him, liquid fire, fill me up.

But then it’s running down my back, down my side, sharp pain.

“Evan…” I call, but he’s not there. He’s nearby, somewhere in the dark.

I turn and see him, far off, drifting farther.

And he’s covered in blood, blood gushing from his chest as he stumbles and falls back into darkness. I can’t save him.

A hand on my shoulder turns me, tugging me insistently. Gavin slips from my grasp, blood on his lips, fear in his eyes. I can’t reach him, our hands slick with gore and mud. He slips away.

Shocking claps ring out in my mind.

The gun fires again, and again.

Stinging like a whip crack against my soul, lashing me over and over again, taking everyone I love from me. Until the final shot takes me, too.

Straight through my chest, the shock rips the darkness from my eyes, jolting me up and back to reality.

The sheets under my hands are soaked, my body drenched in sweat, my chest heaving. Everything is cold and dark, but all too real. And everything hurts.

“Holy shit…” I grit out through chattering teeth. Sitting up makes me lightheaded.

A sharp stab in my side adds to the ache of stiff, freezing muscles. I must have kicked the covers off in my tossing and turning.

“How long have I been out?” My own voice sounds dry and cracked with disuse.

My hand runs up my side, finding bandages wrapping my middle. My vision blurs slightly as I brush past the spot on my side, the source of my pain. A flash of a mountain road, a roaring river nearby, and it’s gone. What happened to me?

And where the hell am I?

My surroundings are dark, a bedroom. It’s stark, empty, neat. The only other thing in a room is a plush chair by the wall across from the bed. That’s as much as I can make out with the curtains drawn and the door closed. My eyes adjust slowly, the pounding throb in my head fading slightly.

Several deep breaths later, I orient myself, sitting on the side of the bed. Every movement is dull agony.

And I start to remember why.

The last thing I remember, I was on my way out of town. I stopped, fighting with the fear of abandoning my friends, my lovers. Rachelle, my Aunt Rachelle, she found me, stopped me from leaving. How had she known how to find me?

She told me something. Something life-altering. Something unbelievable.

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