Dad really should have had that fixed. Barrenridge was known for stray animals sniffing out food scraps, and a lot of them had grown bold over the years, breaking into homes to scare the crap out of people in the middle of the night.
Dad had gotten himself into plenty of stupid situations over the years with strays, but stepping on the tail of a bandicoot once when I was thirteen had made the top of the list. The thing had scratched and bit him and sent him screaming loud enough for Logan and Rowan to hear from their house. Within minutes they came racing, wild-eyed, each with a baseball bat in one hand.
Rowan had been shirtless—and at fifteen, starting to fill out nicely—ready to beat the crap out of whoever was hurting my father. I’d cradled the poor terrified creature to my chest and convinced Dad to quit dancing around like an idiot.
Logan had lost it. He had stood doubled over, hardly able to breathe, he had been laughing so much. Rowan had only grinned, then knelt beside me, murmuring softly as he ran a finger over the shaking animal, telling it everything was okay, that he wouldn’t let anyone hurt it. He had stayed with me until my father had finally stopped ranting, and the two of us released the shaking bandicoot back into the bush behind our houses.
Let’s just say that night had played on repeat in my head for years. Rowan’s gentle touch. The way he had been so unlike the rest of us, calm and composed, whispering softly. It stuck with me probably more than it should have. Funny how the softest memories always cut the deepest.
That was the day I first let myself get carried away with my teenaged fantasies regarding my best friend’s brother.
Sadie Knight had a certain ring to it back then. There was something about the way he had looked at me that always made my chest feel too tight, like a drawn bowstring ready to snap. It was the way he always knew exactly what to say. Exactly what to do.
For a while, I thought he had understood me more than Idid myself, but I’d been wrong about that. Wrong about everything, really.
Music and chatter filled the yard next door as I made my way down the side of my house. It was a pity the only thing separating our yards was a rusted old chain-link fence that had seen better days. Weak and falling apart, but somehow still standing—just like everything else in this godforsaken town.
Just like my life. Decaying, but refusing to die.
The clink of beer bottles had me picking up my pace. A motorbike revved, and deep voices shouted over music about something that had happened on the news the previous night.
I kept my head down to avoid a certain pair of eyes and quickly made my way to the outside garbage bin near the front of the house. I wasn’t blind. I’d seen him earlier when I had arrived—shirtless, bent over some sort of engine, just like he used to when we were kids.
I hadn’t let my gaze linger too long for fear he’d catch me out. I knew that the moment I stared into those caramel-coloured eyes, I’d be a goner. It was pathetic, really. Six long years, and the flame hadn’t even dimmed. Five seconds of laying eyes on him, and my pulse had quickened, that ridiculous flutter in my chest betraying me. It had made me feel more like a teenager than the grown woman I was supposed to be.
My stupid heart hadn’t caught up to the fact I didn’t even know who Rowan was anymore. Hell, maybe I’d never known him, not really. Yet there I was, still drawn to him like he was the light in a storm, even though we hadn’t even locked eyes, let alone spoken a single word. His presence lingered like a ghost—haunting and always just out of reach. I hated it.
So, I had to hide myself before he found me lingering.
My heavy footsteps echoed on the concrete path as I rushed back towards the side door. I reached out for the handle, butthe moment my foot hit the bottom step, a sharp, gravelly voice had my spine straightening.
“Well, well . . . look what we have here.”
I dropped my arm to my side, my shoulders reaching for my ears as I whipped around. The man was closer than I’d originally thought, and much more intimidating. His broad frame was practically hanging over the fence, while a beer bottle dangled lazily between his fingers, his greasy hair clinging to his forehead. I caught the faint reek of sweat and smoke, and something metallic underneath.
“Can I help you?” I said, my voice sharper than I intended.
My unease came out with a touch of venom—a coping mechanism I had accumulated.
He tilted his head, dragging his gaze down my body with a slow, arrogant smirk. I crossed my arms over my chest, suddenly conscious of the thin cotton tank top and pyjama shorts I was wearing. They barely covered my arse, and I silently cursed myself for forgetting what kind of place this was.
“Well,” he said, leaning closer, his smirk widening to reveal crooked, but white teeth. “Why don’t you come into the light so I can get a better look at you?” His voice lowered to a slithering drawl.
No thanks. I’d rather bleach my eyeballs. Or better yet, bleach his. Most women would have found him somewhat attractive. I might have been one of them, if I hadn’t met his type a thousand times over. He was exactly my flavour of mistake—cocky charm bred with arsehole intentions, all wrapped into one. I knew better now. Or, at least, I should have.
I held his gaze for a moment, refusing to give an inch. He thought he knew me, the same way his type of man always did. Thought he could reel me in with a few one liners, tell me whatever lies I wanted to hear, then gut me right where I stood.
“I’d rather not.” I didn’t move a muscle, just stood there waiting for him to grow tired of whatever this game was he was playing.
He pouted, like that was going to do anything but make me want to slap it off his face. “You’re no fun.” He nodded to the side door. “How about I come over there, then? You can tell me why I’ve never seen you around here before.”
I almost laughed at his attempt to toy with me. Surely the idiot knew who my father was. And that the old man wouldn’t lift a finger. That he’d let anyone from the Ridge Riders do whatever the hell they wanted without so much as a spoken objection. Which meant, I had to watch my mouth.
A patch like that gave him free rein in this town, and Dad was just another coward falling over himself to stay out of his way. One look at this bloke, with his score-settling, fist-swinging vibe, and I’d known he could beat me to within an inch of my life. And, my bet was, my father would still have made me the villain, blamed me for provoking him. For existing.
I didn’t want to find out if that would be the case, though, so I gave him the most forced smile I could muster, the kind of smile that said nice try, arsehole. Then I casually turned my back on him, even though my heart was almost launching itself out of my throat.
“I’m not done with you,” he growled out, his tone sharper, void of that oily charm he was pretending to exude. “Did you hear me, bitch?”