Page 12 of Some Like it Violent

I glanced at my nightstand where I’d left my phone before bed, but I knew it wasn’t going to be there. Although service out here was sketchy on a good day, when it was weather Armageddon? I had no luck in actually being able to make or receive calls.

The house was freezing when I pushed off the covers, and the urge to pull the comforter back up to my chin was strong. But my body was sore, and I needed to move around to get my blood circulation going again.

I stood and had to move around a chair that was pushed up right beside my bed. I opened my dresser drawer and pushed shit around until I found the thickest sweater I owned, grabbed a pair of wool socks, and turned to face the bedroom door.

The furnace must have gone out again. It had been on its last leg from the moment I moved in, so I’d been expecting this outcome. I’d been trying to stretch its lifespan, since I didn't have extra funds to replace it, but it seemed even my stubborn attempts at denial couldn’t resuscitate old, broken parts. Of course, it had to happen at this exact moment in my life when it had been turned on its head by an escaped, convicted murderer.

Fuck my life.

I left the room and stood at the railing, hearing faint banging downstairs. My throat was tight, and my heart instantly started beating faster. What did I expect—Kane to be gone?

I went into the bathroom and shut the door, locking it so I had the faux sense that I was safe from this storm—literal and figurative. For long seconds, I stared at my reflection in the mirror. I almost didn’t recognize the woman staring back at me. I was pale, my dark hair tangled from sleeping the day away, and there was no hiding the dark circles under my eyes.

“Yeah, fuck my life for sure,” I whispered and splashed cold water on my face, hoping it would wake me up, but all it did was amplify the chill already clinging to my body. When I stared at myself again, my reflection looked like someone who had spent the night dealing with a nightmare.

Except this wasn’t something I could wake up from.

The intensified sound of banging came through the closed door and brought me back to my new reality. I focused on it and could hear the sharp, rhythmic, metal-against-metal sound rising from downstairs.

“I can’t stay in here forever,” I whispered to myself.

My pulse raced as I left the bathroom and hesitantly followed the noise. It took me downstairs to the utility closet near the kitchen where the furnace was housed. When I rounded the corner, the sight that greeted me made me pause.

Kane was crouched in front of the furnace, tools scattered around him like he’d raided my tool bag and had gone to work. He had his faded blue prison shirt off and tied around his waist, his thin, white cotton tank top showcasing how muscular this man really was.

A dirty rag lay beside him, and I could see him using his large, bare hands as he worked on the old, rusted unit. He looked huge in the tiny, cramped space with his broad shoulders damn near brushing the walls on either side of him.

The dingy prison garb only emphasized his raw, brutal body and presence.

“What are you doing?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

He didn’t look up right away, his focus locked on the furnace as he worked on it for a while longer. “Fixing this piece of shit,” he finally said, his voice gruff. He glanced over his shoulder at me, his expression void of anything. “The heat exchanger is cracked.”

I had no idea what that was, but I assumed it was something important. “Can it be replaced?”

He looked back at the furnace. “It’s an expensive part, and your furnace is old as fuck. It’d be cheaper to buy a new one.”

Shit.

The way Kane explained it—in layman's terms—was with a calm and confident tone. It made me believe he knew exactly what he was doing.

I watched him for a moment longer, unsure what to feel at this moment. This whole situation was… weird as hell.It was surreal watching a man who’d broken into my home last night work on something as mundane as a broken furnace, as if this were some kind of normal interaction between the two of us.

My gaze flicked instinctively to the front door. Could I make it out? If I ran now, could I escape into the storm and actually find my way to safety?

Kane’s low voice shattered that thought.

“Go ahead,” he said, deeply and darkly.

I snapped my focus back to him. He wasn't even looking at me, but then he glanced over his shoulder once again, his dark blue eyes cutting into me.

“Go on, Evelina. Run into that weather. Freeze your ass off. Get lost in the storm. Break an ankle so you can't get to safety and then die from the elements.” There was a pause as he let those words sink in. “I’ll find you before you get far, and I’ll haul you right back here. Save yourself the trouble… unless youwantme to hunt you down. I’d be so fucking turned on.”

My jaw locked as my anger flared, but it only got worse when he rose, faced me, and pulled something from his pocket to hold up so that I could see what he had.

In his palm were spark plugs. I assumed they were from my car.

“You havegotto be kidding me.” My fists tightened, my nails digging into my palms.

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