A Fourth Moment in Time

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

Troy “Whip” Johansen kept his gaze glued to the back door of the pool hall he owned and operated on the public square in Fallport, Virginia.

The library sat next door to his business, and when he got out of his car, he saw Raiden Walker locking up, his wife, Khloe, at his side.

But he didn’t want to talk to anyone, didn’t want to make nice.

The couple was better than a lot of people he came into contact with.

Didn’t try to make friends with him. They also, as far as he knew, didn’t bad-mouth him to others in town.

Though the main thing that had him tolerating the couple when he didn’t like most people was that Khloe was one of the veterinarians in town.

Still didn’t mean he was willing to engage.

Whip was very aware of his reputation among the locals.

They didn’t like him. Not that he gave a shit.

He wasn’t going anywhere. His pool hall, The Cellar, made good money.

It catered to those who liked things a little…

rough. Enjoyed a place where they could hang out drowning in cigarette smoke, loud music, and lots of booze.

“Whip!”

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. But he turned and waited as Khloe walked closer. “I’m late. Need to get inside and get shit set up so I can open on time,” he told her brusquely.

“I won’t take much of your time. I wanted to talk to you about a litter of kittens someone dumped at the clinic yesterday. Do you know anyone who might be able to foster them?”

Whip frowned. “How old?”

“I’d say about five or six weeks.”

“Fuckers. That’s too young.”

“Yeah. I’m guessing whoever it was waited for them to stop nursing and then dropped them off.”

“Is that supposed to make me less pissed?” Whip bit out.

Khloe never acted like others did around him. She didn’t get scared. Didn’t back away at the growl in his tone. Instead, she chuckled. “No. Because that would mean I wouldn’t be allowed to be upset either. Any chance you know anyone who could foster them for a while until I can get them adopted?”

“What am I, Doctor Doolittle?” Whip grumbled.

Khloe didn’t answer his obviously rhetorical question, just stood too fucking close with a slight smile on her face.

Whip’s gaze went behind her to her man. Raiden was tall, redheaded, and looked kind of like a strong gust of wind would blow him over. But he was more badass than he seemed—which was good for them both, considering the shit they’d been through.

“Fine. I’ll come by the clinic tomorrow around lunch and pick them up.”

Khloe’s smile widened. “Awesome! Thanks, Whip. I’ll take pictures of them all, and I’m sure I’ll get them adopted pretty quickly. Thank you.”

“How many?”

“Oh, um…I didn’t say?”

“Khloe,” he growled.

At his tone, Raiden stepped closer to his wife with a clear look of warning on his face.

Whip could kick his ass, but he really didn’t want to get on the man’s bad side. Mostly because he was married to the best vet this town had ever had, and since Whip loved cats, and had several of his own, the last thing he wanted was to be blackballed at Khloe’s office.

“Eleven.”

“Fuck. Seriously?”

“Uh-huh,” Khloe said, with that damn grin on her face.

“They’ve all been defleaed and I’ve started them on their shots, so they’ll be good to go when you come by tomorrow.

Thanks again!” She turned quickly and put her arm through her husband’s and tugged them toward their car in the parking lot shared by the library and pool hall.

Whip shook his head in disgust at himself as he turned back to the door. Once inside his bar, he inhaled deeply. The smell of alcohol and cigarette smoke was almost like coming home. He spent just as much time here as he did in his little house on the outskirts of town.

He’d come to Fallport years ago, not intending to stay.

He’d needed a place that was rural, but not too rural.

He didn’t want to have to drive an hour to get groceries or other necessities.

But he also pretty much didn’t like people.

For the most part, he’d found they were selfish, hypocritical, and two-faced.

So a small town was what he wanted, and he’d settled on Fallport.

But he’d forgotten how…nosy small-town folks were.

Everyone was all up in everyone else’s business.

Whip had done his best to stay out of the spotlight, and thanks to all the shit that had gone down in the area a few years ago, it hadn’t been difficult.

Sure, people thought he was an asshole, and they weren’t wrong. He did what he wanted, when he wanted, and didn’t do anything he didn’t. Such as participating in stupid events like Pickleport, and any of the other ridiculous “holidays” the town decided to celebrate.

He wasn’t here to make friends. Was here to make money and to be left alone.

The truth was, Whip was angry. At life. At everyone who went around with smiles on their faces, as if the world wasn’t a giant shithole.

He’d learned from a young age that good things didn’t happen to people like him.

He had no idea who his biological father was, but his stepdad had demonstrated without doubt that the man was trash.

He never hesitated to rule the house with his fists.

For years, Whip had to watch his mother get beaten by the asshole.

And when he was finally old enough and big enough to fight back? He’d been kicked out of the house—by his mother.

The very person he was trying to protect.

He was fourteen at the time. He’d dropped out of school, but since he looked older than his age, he’d been able to find jobs, so at least he didn’t starve. He’d couch-surfed until he was eighteen and joined the Army after he got his GED.

He’d done and seen shit while enlisted that had further scarred his soul.

But he wasn’t in a position to say no. To refuse to do what he was told.

After he got out of the military, he’d been dating a woman and thought things between them were going well.

Really well. Good enough that he was planning on asking her to marry him.

Until he found out she was cheating on him.

And not just garden-variety cheating with some other man, but threesomes and foursomes behind his back.

When he confronted her, she’d laughed…told him that he was the kind of man that women messed around with, but didn’t marry. He was too rough around the edges, too uneducated, and he’d never make enough money to give a woman what she needed in order to be happy.

That was the last straw for Whip.

Fine. If that was the way women saw him, he figured he might as well go all-in.

He hung out with a particularly violent motorcycle gang for a while, loving the lifestyle they led.

He’d grown out his hair, bought a motorcycle, became an even meaner bastard than he was already.

But eventually, even that dangerous life began to bore him.

He was tired of getting into fights, waking up hungover, and having no idea who he’d slept with the night before.

And deep down, the lawlessness of the group he’d attached himself to bothered him.

Selling drugs made the gang a ton of money, but at what cost?

And the degradation of women hit a little too close to him.

Reminded him of the way his mother had been treated.

She might have kicked him out of her life, but with the passage of time, Whip understood she’d done it for his own good.

To protect him from the asshole she’d married.

He’d killed her, of course. Oh, the police had ruled her death a suicide, but Whip knew better.

She’d been murdered, but since she was poor and had a rap sheet, no one spent too much time investigating.

Had rubber-stamped her death and moved on to the rich people whose problems they felt were more important, and who most likely donated a ton of money to their department.

Whip was cynical, but he’d been given no reason to be anything else.

So he’d left the gang without a word, with nothing but the clothes he could fit in his saddlebags and the money in his pocket.

Money he’d earned from doing illegal deeds.

He’d been lucky not to get arrested during that time.

Being locked up was one of Whip’s greatest fears.

He wouldn’t do well behind bars. He needed the wind in his face. He needed freedom.

After arriving in Fallport, he found the space that now housed The Cellar was for rent.

He’d sold his motorcycle, used most of the money he had to his name to rent it and set up a bare-bones bar.

Those first several months were rough. But the place had gained a reputation for its no-frills atmosphere.

Fights broke out all the time, yet no one called the cops.

The clientele got rougher and rougher, until the only people who dared come in were on the fringes of society.

But Whip didn’t care. Money was money, and before long he was able to buy a couple of used pool tables. The town tried to get him to participate in their bullshit Hallmark parades and festivals, but Whip wanted nothing to do with that. All he wanted was to make money and be left alone.

And he had been. In the years since, he’d made enough to buy a newer-model truck and a house. But lately…

Lately he was feeling unsettled again. Itchy.

Something was coming. Something bad. He didn’t know what, and that put him on edge.

But he was determined not to get involved.

He was actually kind of scared to let out the violent part of him that he’d suppressed since leaving the motorcycle gang.

He’d gotten too close to the edge. Too close to letting his demons win while he did dirty work for the men he briefly called his brothers.

That’s how he got his nickname. Because he was lethal with a whip.

Because he knew how to use it to its maximum potential.

Just how far to go to get whatever intel he needed.

Thanks to his stepdaddy, he’d learned exactly how effective a whip could be. How it could make the strongest-willed person fold like a deck of cards.

He had the scars on his own back as a reminder.

He shook off that itchy feeling that had been following him around for weeks. Today was just another day. He’d open The Cellar, rule it with an iron fist, go home in the wee hours of the night, then do it all over again.

He had an uncomplicated life, and that’s just how Whip liked it.

Tomorrow, he’d go by and pick up the litter of kittens. Get them situated at his place before coming back and doing what he’d done practically every day since he’d opened The Cellar.

But…as he prepped for the evening, that nagging feeling at the back of his mind wouldn’t quit. Another warning of changes to come.

Whip didn’t like change. Was perfectly content to continue on as he had for years.

If something did happen, he’d ignore it. What others did was none of his business. He just wanted to be left alone.