Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Lachlan
“Could you be any slower?” I grumble at the car currently crawling at a snail’s pace in front of me on the narrow dirt road my deluded navigation app insists is the best way to get to Cloudkiss Resort.
At this very moment, the ex-special forces commando and I are meant to be enjoying a beer or two together in a pub in Sydney.
It’s been months since we caught up in person, both of us going in different directions when our service ended.
Instead, I’m attempting to break the laws of physics to get to a meeting that wasn’t scheduled to take place tonight.
“Sorry,” I shoot back. “I’m stuck behind a slow driver on a narrow, uphill fucking road, and I’m still at least ninety minutes away.”
He laughs. “How ‘bout I let you concentrate, mate, and you can fill me in tomorrow on how it goes?”
I grunt out a sigh. “Probably for the better. Otherwise, all you’ll get from me is a string of profanity.”
“You?” He snorts. “Swear? Never.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I chuckle. “Wish me luck.”
“You don’t need it,” he says. “Unless you’ve lost that patented McKenzie charm since you rejoined civilian life?”
It’s my turn to laugh. “I’ll call you later, mate. And again, I’m sorry.”
“Drive safe,” he says and ends the call.
I grimace and return my attention to the road and the slow car in front of me.
I knew I should have checked the route before turning off the highway.
Hell, I could have stopped and grabbed a coffee at that café in the sleepy little town a few miles back, got my bearings, and then kept going, most likely on a paved road at the very least. After ten years in military cyber security, you’d think I’d know better than to blindly trust tech.
If I’m late for this meeting…
Flattening my Ford F-150’s accelerator, I shoot past the faded-blue Mini Cooper slugging along. Dust billows behind me, muffling the blaring horn the Mini’s driver is no doubt leaning on.
I glance in the rearview mirror. I can’t make out the driver through the dust, but I think I get a glimpse of a lot of blond hair. “Next time, don’t bring a little city car up into the mountains,” I grumble.
A finger of guilt traces up my spine—it must be tricky to see with all that dust—but I shut the feeling down.
I’ve spent most of my life being the one who takes the hit.
..like that’s all I’m good for. In my childhood, it was from my bastard father, who taught lessons with his fists until I was too big to knock down.
In school, it was from the jocks, who mistook my quiet reticence for stupidity until I broke the arm of the one who tried to shove a pencil in my ear.
Things didn’t start to change until I joined the defense force.
First as a commando on the ground, and then from a desk in the cyber command unit.
The first truly positive experience of my life.
Of all the roles, it’s the commando I’m the proudest of, but now I’m done. After a lifetime of taking the hits, I’m putting myself first. I’m a civilian with a plan.
A plan currently hanging by a thread thanks to a steep, winding dirt road and a glitching GPS navigation app. At this rate—
Nope. I’m not letting the negative in.
The white wolf represents positivity, the black wolf represents negativity, I hear my old commanding officer say. Which one wins?
“The one I feed,” I murmur, tightening my grip on my steering wheel.
If I stay at the speed limit or even a few clicks under, I’ll make it in time to sign the contract.
And then I begin my new life as the owner and proprietor of a small mountain retreat, where my guests can unplug from the pressures and turmoil that society thrusts upon them.
A place where I help them find a focus and calm they can—hopefully—take back to their normal lives.
A weird dream for a guy who looks like me, I know. I’ve been told I look like I could bend a Harley in half with my bare hands, and that the full sleeve of tribal ink on my right arm is enough to put anyone off, but it’s my dream all the same.
Letting my grin out to play, I lean forward and twist up the volume, flooding my 4x4’s cabin with the dulcet tones of AC/DC telling me how it’s a long way to the top.
I belt out the lyrics and take the corner faster than I should, sliding over the dirt road like a smooth dancer.
The familiar rush of living life on a knife-edge licks through me, hot and tight, at the exact moment my gaze locks on a small truck parked at a skewed angle across the road.
I hit the brakes and skid to a halt.
The driver’s door flings open, and a red-faced man tumbles out onto the road, clutching at his throat.
Fuck.
Heart smashing against my ribs, I throw myself out from behind the wheel and run toward him. “You okay, mate?”
He spins to me, still clawing at his throat, eyes bulging.
Fuck, he’s choking.
I grab him around his abdomen and plant my locked fists just above his navel. “I’m going to help you, mate,” I say, keeping my voice calm. “Ready?”
For a fleeting second, I swear I hear a duck quacking somewhere, followed by a lamb bleating, and just as I deliver a series of sharp pumps under the man’s ribcage, my stare falls on the truck’s signage:
Pete’s Mobile Farmyard Petting Zoo.
”C’mon, Pete,” I grunt, delivering another pump into the man’s abdomen. “Do it for the—”
A hunk of something pale and glistening launches from the man’s mouth like a dart from a Nerf gun.
Relief rushes through me, and I loosen my grip around his girth...at the very second the faded blue Mini Cooper comes hurtling around the corner.
For a frozen beat, I lock eyes with the Mini’s driver—a woman with masses of blond hair and eyes the most incredible shade of icy blue—and then the crunch of heavy tires on dirt and gravel snaps my attention away.
“Fuck,” I growl, as the petting zoo truck creeps toward the drop-off.
The kill-all-the-animals-inside-the-truck-it’s-that-sheer drop-off.
Are you fucking kidding me?