32. Augustus
THIRTY-TWO
AUGUSTUS
May 20th, 2024
Sitting on the porch, my old beat-up laptop resting on the makeshift table next to me, I begin doing more research. This is something I’ve become very familiar with—finding things about my girl and the people in her life—to keep her safe. And to keep her in line…but I’ll never admit to that part.
What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.
I have to bury myself in distractions. Otherwise, I will hunt her down and fuck her senseless—voiced consent or not. And regardless of being the monster and reviling in the depraved things I do to her, I refuse to be the guy who forces the girl before she’s ready. That’s just not my style. It’s been two days since we kissed, two days since I tasted the insatiable need on her tongue that could only be rivaled by my own, two days since she completely and totally shut me out. It’s also been two days since Stetson has uttered a single word to me.
And I’m effectively starting to chafe.
It hasn’t been for lack of effort on my part; I’ve tried cornering her at every turn, but she has outsmarted me each time. She’s finally scared enough that her flight instincts are outmaneuvering my hunting ones—I know it won’t last forever, but it is fucking annoying. I don’t even know why she’s retreated so completely this time. I know she’s scared of intimacy and with good reason.
Her father was violent and cruel, abusing and destroying any possibly good child memory, her mother abandoned her, she’s never had a boyfriend, her friends consist of horses and one crazy woman who is also working on her own, very dark, demons. The only good influences she ever had were Bob and Linda, and they went and died in a boating accident when she was finally finding some semblance of normalcy in life. Oh, and she has a stalker prodding at her darkest desires—and insecurities—one she hides for fear of being seen as “messed up”. Her burdens are heavy at best, crushing at worst, and I know she won’t be able to carry on much longer alone.
Fuck, I need to tell her.
Instead of facing the reality of that, I do what I do best when I’m feeling desperate; I hunt down someone who is hurting my little filly.
The internet out here is unreliable, but I have to get something done while she’s gone. Stetson left before the sun rose this morning, taking Winston to trace the fence lines again. She’s getting more and more paranoid and withdrawn every day, and it’s starting to rub off on me. What is she so afraid of?
I’ve been so blindly focused on Stetson and burning down her walls that I’ve lost sight of the other wolves among us. The first problem I need to figure out how to deal with is her Uncle Craig. Between the threatening phone calls every day, and the stir of discontent with a few especially rotten people from town, he’s pushing her quickly to explode.
I still don’t know what leverage that prick thinks he has, but I plan to figure it out. I need to eliminate that threat for Stetson first, then the rest will come.
The other threat that I’ve kept my ear close to the ground for is her father. Gibson has not been seen or heard from in months. Several weeks before Stetson claimed the ranch, he vanished overnight, albeit the same night he murdered his wife. Safe to say, lunatics like that often take themselves out after they murder their spouse, but then where is his body? Could that be what Craig knows?
The town initiated a half-hearted investigation into his disappearance, but according to the few reports I’ve found, they chalked it up to him running away. Still, that doesn’t sit right with me—doesn’t ring very true. And if I had to guess, it eats at Stetson, too. How often does she look over her shoulder, expecting him to be there, trying to kill her once more?
“Fuck, Gus,” I berate myself, feeling a rising panic bubbling in my stomach. How has my “stalking” affected her? Is that what stands between us? I don’t regret the ten years I watched her, helped her from afar—a monster does not feel bad for getting what they want, methods be damned. But I do wonder if actively stalking her now has brought too many ghosts out to play. Does she see Gibson when my texts come through?
The thought makes bile crawl up my throat. No, she’s turned on by the stalker, turned on by being stalked—even if she does hate it. But maybe that piece of our adventure has run its course, and the shadows finally need to come into the light. Consequences be damned. I’ll take whatever punishment she sees fit; I’ll gladly bathe in her retribution. Once she’s had her revenge when she’s regained her power, I will show her why I was forced to start our love story this way—why I refuse to live without her.
She has to know Gibson and her stalker are two different people—one who gets off on hurting her and one who gets off on hurting for her. I need to find Gibson. I need to be the one to punish him for tormenting my girl for years, trying to break her body and spirit, for hurting her the way only a parent could. I still dream about the marks I saw on her neck that first night, and I want to repay the favor to dear old Dad, only I won’t stop until his neck snaps in two beneath my hands.
Stetson is strong and able to embrace her demons; it’s one of the many things I love about her. But she shouldn’t have to face her demons on her own, and when you have a monster on your side, why should she?
I will do it for her, and revel in their pain.
The computer whirs louder, the humid morning air causing the stupid thing to overheat rapidly, and I slam the top shut. I’m not finding anything useful as it is. Very few details are known about either man, other than they are horrible drunks with gambling problems, and came from an equally abusive household. Their old man sounded like a real piece of work—trouble with some Mexican cartels or something. If I had to guess, Craig, at least, owes someone a lot of money. The way he’s rabidly come after Stetson, all bark for now but frothing at the mouth for more, I can tell he’s feeling pressure.
I know a cornered dog when I see one.
I know how destructive they can be to the people standing in the way of their potential escape. Stetson is that person for Craig, and I know he will only get more reckless as the days wear on to the invisible deadline. I won’t let anything happen to her, though. I will protect her even if I have to get blood on my hands.
I’m shoving away from the small table, the bench beneath me groaning when I hear crunching coming down the driveway. I pause, lifting my hand to shield my eyes from the sun to see who it could be—it’s early for someone to be coming by. I reach for my phone to call Stetson and see if she’s expecting anyone—the perfect excuse to break her vow of silence—and then stop.
If I ever had a nightmare, this would be it.
The sleek black motorcycle hums as it drives toward the deck, only stopping when he’s close enough to pelt the wood with a spray of sand. And by ‘he’, I mean McCrae—the man I hoped to never see again. Truly, I told him as much when I wrote the note telling him I was taking the truck and leaving for good—it was the least of what he owed me.
I watch him, breath strangled in my throat as he pulls the key from the ignition and turns those haunting blue eyes toward me. He’s aged since I saw him last, but some things are still the same. He’s still a solid foot taller than me, having taken after our dad’s genetics, but with dirty blonde hair he kept shaggy like our mother; only now, he’s graying at the temples. His face is covered in the same dirty blonde beard and mustache, a black tattoo crawling under his pale blue eyes like he’s had for years, only there’s a second, newer one to match on the other side now.
Maybe I should run? You’re thirty-five fucking years old. Don’t be a coward.
I look away from his penetrating gaze, taking in the white scars peppering his tan neck and arms, remembering the long one slashing through his upper lip that can only be seen when his face is shaved—which it hasn’t been in over ten years. McCrae always had a devastating smile, one that I had loved when I was younger, full of bright teeth, that I would do just about anything to pull from him. But I haven’t seen it since my parents died, and based on his menacing stare, today will not be the day I break the twenty-year streak. I scour his tattoos, dozens of new ones covering the exposed skin I can see—dates, faces, and symbols, but I can’t make out many of them from this distance.
McCrae has always been a lady killer. Growing up, women flocked past my boyish looks to cling to the rugged man that is my older brother. He is dangerous and formidable, and every woman’s wet dream. I look nothing like him, and as a boy, that bothered me. Now I’m grateful—I might look scary, but my looks don’t hold a candle to McCrae. In his plain white t-shirt, jeans that sag on his hips, and a black leather jacket—the same black leather jacket that he has always worn, muted with years of wear—he should look simple, plain even.
Except, I’ve learned my lesson the hard way to not underestimate him.
He is a cold, empty shell of a human. He sucks the life and joy out of everything and everyone, and here he is in the one place I want to be, with the only human alive I want to protect.
What the fuck does he want? How did he find me?
“Brother.” The word cuts through the morning air like a blade. I nod, dropping my hand from my face. I cuss myself when it wobbles.
“What are you doing here?” I muster as much indifference as my racing heart will allow.
McCrae prowls toward the stairs, and I plant my feet. He notices the movement and pauses, a small smirk tilting his lips, and I cringe. It isn’t a friendly look.
“Not going to invite me in?”
“No chance.” The words hang between us, and McCrae looks annoyed, but another emotion flickers there, too. Is it impressed? Can’t be. He sighs, taking a single step back to look up at me.
“You’ve gotten old,” McCrae states dryly.
“Look who’s talking. At least I’m not, what, forty this year?”
“I bet I could still steal your girl.”
I blink, and then spring into action, taking a step toward him—this man who is the demon in every one of my worst memories. I will get blood on my hands to protect Stetson, even if it is my brother’s.
Growling, I challenge, “Don’t even think about getting near her.”
McCrae sighs, an act of boredom he always puts on, like I’m just an annoying child, and pulls a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket. He fondles a single smoke between his fingers, seeming to contemplate what to say next. He roughly shoves the stick between his lips, lighting the end with a black lighter, and takes a long drag, shutting his eyes in the process. He holds the smoke for several beats before finally exhaling, his eyes snapping open to look at me.
The look is not playful, or kind. Instead, it is the look that haunts me most—the one that I have only seen glimpses of between the annoyed, disappointed, angry, or exhausted ones I normally get. The dead look.
“You have to back off of her. And that little Hispanic girl she hangs out with.” I stare at him and bark a laugh. The sound is loud and hollow in the morning air.
“So, I have someone, for the first time in my life, and you’re what? Threatened? Angry? Disappointed?” I straighten my back, refusing to back down even as my heart pounds wildly in my chest. “What’s fucking new? You haven’t been able to control my life for the last few years. But now you found me,” I spread my arms, indicating the space around us, “and you want to ruin any chance of happiness I might make for myself.”
“You mean steal,” my brother states, his gaze never wavering from my face.
“What?”
“Steal. Stalk. Swindle. Don’t lie to yourself and think you are making a happy life.” McCrae’s eyes flash angrily—icy blue flames. “You’ve stalked that girl for ten years. Ten, Augustus. Do you think she would want you if you hadn’t made yourself her only option? You are forcing her. How does that make you any better than me?”
I’ll give it to my brother. He always did know how to deliver a well-timed blow— the killing blow.
I take a step back, needing to clear my head from the insecurities he just threw in the air between us. McCrae doesn’t understand Stetson and I’s connection, and that is perfectly fine by me. How can he?
He is dead inside. How can he understand what love even feels like?
“I’m nothing like you,” I argue, my words shakier than I’d like. “I know what love is.”
McCrae huffs a menacing laugh. “Not all of us have that luxury, little brother.”
I roll my eyes. It’s always been the same with McCrae, the same story to justify his torture. The difference between me and him is that McCrae wouldn’t want love even if it was offered to him on a golden platter. He hates the idea of it, detests what it stands for, and how it makes people act—how it makes people weak. Because McCrae has no weaknesses. He likes to act like the world fucked him, and in some ways, it had. But I know McCrae also likes the world of depravity and darkness—he likes being fucked .
No, it is his choice, and I will not feel sorry for him.
“Some things never change,” I hiss, angry that I’m too much of a coward to say more. He looks at me, something akin to thoughtfulness crossing his features before it’s quickly burned away.
“And some things do. But one thing that hasn’t is the fact that I’m right and you will listen to what I’m telling you.”
“Message delivered. Now leave,” I state dryly, turning around.
“Hey!” McCrae barks, and I hesitantly face him, his dark eyebrows raised at me. “This isn’t a fucking joke. And it isn’t because I have some twisted need to make your life miserable—you do just fine with that on your own. This is a job, my job . And my job is to tell you to back. The fuck. Off.”
His job? What kind of fucking job is that?
As far as I’ve ever known, my brother didn’t have a steady job. We lived off my winnings for years, and sometimes, he’d enter back alley fights if we were hard-pressed. But McCrae isn’t stable enough for a job; we moved too much.
“What job?”
McCrae pounces up the stairs, gripping my shirt between tattooed fists. His lips pull back in a snarl, eyes blazing. It isn’t anger I see burning there, though, but fear.
McCrae isn’t afraid of anything.
“If you don’t leave them alone, leave this job, this town, I will come back and tell her everything. You think you were so sneaky hunting her. But every time you did, I hunted you. And I will show her everything.” With that, McCrae shoves me back and stalks toward his bike, leaving me even more desperate than I was before.