Page 1 of Scar

PROLOGUE

FOUR WEEKS AGO

Julian “Scar” Ragna held his hand out, palm up. Rain pelted the leather of his glove. April was touch and go in Mount Grove, Pennsylvania. One minute it was blue skies and fluffy, white clouds and the next it was bitter cold with gray, angry clouds. Nothing like the blazing heat of Texas where he’d grown up.

Scar didn’t have a preference between the two. He didn’t have a preference about much these days. The buzz inside his head was getting louder and louder to the point where he was finding it hard to concentrate. Like radio static turned up to a screeching, ear-piercing volume. It had gotten worse in the past year and he had no doubt that it was due to separating himself from his family in Mount Grove.

Scar and his sister had grown up at each other’s throats. In their defense, all they’d known in their formative years was their parents’ verbal fighting. Trinity and he were homeschooled and didn’t have an outlet except each other. Their cattle farm was failing, and when the bank had come to take the land, their father had tried to keep them away with his gun. The action had cost him his life and their mom her freedom. Their aunt was less than happy to be forced to take in two small children she hadn’t birthed. Rather than band together to survive, young Trinity and Julian had turned on each other.

The older he got, the more he wanted to be anywhere else in the world but Millview, Texas. The Army had seemed like the answer to all of his problems.

Scar had so many regrets in his life, but leaving Millview was not one of them. He’d reached out to Trinity over the years, wanting to make amends, but she made her refusal loud and clear.

On his first day of basic training, Julian had met another young man who became his brother. José Santiago. A giant of a man who’d joined up for the noblest of reasons: to provide for his family. Scar wondered what Mrs. Santiago and José’s little brother Carlos would say now if they knew they’d met Scar all those years ago.

There was no way they recognized him. Scar didn’t even recognize himself.

Through the open visor of his helmet, Scar stared down at the puddle forming in his open palm. It was mesmerizing in the fading light. Beautiful, even, but also morbidly symbolic in a way, like Scar was collecting the souls of those he’d lost over the years with each dewdrop that collected in his gloved hand.

Drip…Patriot.

Drip…Farmboy.

Drip…Lamb Chop.

Drip…St. Nick.

Drip…Cajun.

Drip…Sparkles.

Drip…Pain lanced inside him, the ringing louder than ever. It physically pierced his head, making it impossible for him to think the name that was next on his list.

Because it certainly wasn’t the last.

How many souls had he collected in return? Seven lives lost. Hundreds more taken.

Scar turned his wrist, emptying the puddle onto the asphalt at his feet. He shouldn’t be here. He’d been foolish to believe that he could benormal, that he could havenormal. Scar would never benormal. Not after… He was darkness, a black stain on this small town he’d once called home.

When José had found him in that bar over eight years ago, it had seemed like it was destiny. Reunited with his brother at last. Perhaps he’d finally be able to put his past behind him.

José didn’t understand. None of them did.

Scar’s past wasn’t going anywhere. It was etched into his face for all to see.

The buzzing got louder as the rain got heavier. Parked in an unlit alley on Main Street, Scar straddled his motorcycle—aHarley-DavidsonHeritage he’d procured after the previous, now deceased, owner tried to rape a waitress outside a diner. The all-grain leather pants and jacket he wore were not just to protect him from road debris. He’d known it was going to rain, even when the forecast showed only chances.

As his former club was now scrambling to exchange bikes for vehicles, Scar was waiting to ensure all of them got out of town before he left. It was ingrained in him. He’d failed to watch his brothers’ backs once before; he refused to let it happen again.

José thought Scar didn’t want to be in Mount Grove. What would he think if he knew just how badly Scar wished he could be? That he too was running around in the rain, helping to wrangle up kids and had a wonderful woman to curl up to at night?

Scar slammed the visor of his helmet down, a poor attempt to close himself off from that train of thought. Scar could barely stand the feel of the cool rain on his skin. He’d never be able to stand the delicate touch of a woman.

If there was one person within the club Scar thought might understand his plight, it had been Jumper. The former SEAL had been buried alive for over three days before rescue. His ordeal and post-traumatic stress had changed him on a debilitating scale, yet the club was gathering this night to celebrate the man’s upcoming nuptials.

Scar was glad for his former club brother. Jumper wasn’t past his trauma, but he was working through it and he had a beautiful, strong woman at his side to help him.

So many of the brothers did now. The club, once a bachelor’s paradise, was now teeming with club kids and ol’ ladies. Good women who could stand at their man’s side with pride. They were incredible additions to the club family.

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