Heart So Hollow (Dire Wolves #1)

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

Brett

One Year Ago

“ WAYLON! ” I’ve been hollering his name off the back deck for a good 10 minutes and there’s still no sign of him.

It’s finally dark, and normally, I’d be basking in the warm night air and the chorus of crickets and tree frogs coming from the woods, but right now all I can think about is what Bowen told me about Waylon’s routine.

He hates it, but he has to stay in at night now. He’s too old and if some stray dogs or coyotes surround him, he’s done. If he doesn’t come when you call, I’ll go get him. But if I’m not here, you have to go.

Bowen’s still not home, and it’s already been 10 minutes. Waylon isn’t coming back on his own.

Fuck.

I love it out here at night—the air, the sounds, and the stars…but I don’t love the idea of trudging aimlessly through the dark. The tree line is a formidable black wall that starts where the reach of the motion sensor light next to the back door ends.

I let out an exasperated sigh when, suddenly, I hear it. It’s faint at first, but the sound slowly grows to a cacophony of yips that drowns out all other night noises. It goes on for about 20 seconds, sending shivers down my spine. I listen for gunfire from the boys, which never comes. And then I listen in horror for the sound of Waylon’s yelps and howls, but it also never comes. It’s my worst fucking nightmare—at least right this minute. Because Waylon’s still gone. He’s still out there with a pack of coyotes.

Shit, shit, shit…

I don’t even go inside to grab shoes before bounding down the stairs into the yard. The grass feels cool under my feet as I run, but the air is still warm from the heat of the day. I sprint across the yard to the narrow access path worn down to two dirt tire tracks. I have no idea where to even start looking, but this path is the only way I can walk into the woods without shredding my feet. I step into the tree line and start calling Waylon’s name again.

It occurs to me that he’s not the only animal that can hear me. I try to focus and remind myself that coyotes don’t like people and would rather flee than engage with a human. But the further I walk into the trees, all I can think about are random stories I’ve heard about coyotes attacking humans. A few years ago, a coyote walked right out onto I-70 and attacked a police officer during road construction. They even tazed it, but it just kept coming. And wasn’t there a girl in Canada that was killed by a pack of coyotes in a park?

I realize I don’t live in Canada, where there are real predators. But some of the coyotes here in Ohio are big. I’ve seen them. They aren’t supposed to be big, but they look like large dogs with bushy tails. And, I swear to God, if I look over and see a pair of yellow eyes—or multiple pairs of yellow eyes—watching me from the trees, I’ll absolutely die. Then they can drag my body off and consume it wherever the hell coyotes hang out. Bowen won’t have to worry about Colson murdering me because I’ll have become part of the local food chain in his backyard.

God, shut up about the coyotes and find Waylon.

I’ve walked this path before, but in the dark, everything looks different and I don’t recognize anything. Snaps and cracks echo in the distance and leaves shuffle just off the path, drawing my attention so many directions I don’t know where to focus. I remind myself there are squirrels, chipmunks, foxes, raccoons, possums, and deer, all skittering through the brush because this is when the forest comes alive.

There are also coyotes…

I try to listen for the jingle of Waylon’s collar, if for no other reason than to anticipate when he gets closer so I don’t think a giant, mutant wolf-coyote is running at me to take me down. At least my eyes are starting to adjust in the darkness. I remember Bowen telling me it’s better not to use a flashlight because you can see further when your eyes finally adjust.

The moon is bright, shining through gaps in the canopy, but all the trees still look like pitch black statues watching me from all sides. I keep my head on a swivel, trying to ignore the human-like shadows the trees cast and focus on finding Waylon. Until one of the trees has a head. And arms.

My breath catches and a painfully terrifying jolt shoots through my chest as I let out something between a curse and a yelp and whip around on my heels. My heart feels like it’s about to burst and I don’t even feel the rocks and twigs jabbing the soles of my feet as I tear back down the path.

Something grabs my arm and jerks me back around. I let out a scream as two arms wrap around my chest and squeeze my shoulders with a vise grip. I feel someone against my head and the rush of a breath against my cheek .

“The fuck are you doing out here without any clothes on?” a deep voice reverberates in my ear.

I stop struggling and try to look over my shoulder, “ Bowen? ” I hiss.

He loosens his grip on me and straightens up. I spin around to see him laughing and brushing his hair out of his face. He’s changed out of the khaki pants and black t-shirt he was wearing when he left for paintball and, now, he’s wearing a pair of jeans and a grey undershirt with a dark smear across the chest. I scrunch up my nose. I hope it’s not coyote blood, but it’s probably coyote blood.

“I was looking for Waylon,” my chest heaves as I catch my breath, “he ran into the woods and wouldn’t come back when I called.”

Bowen looks over his shoulder and nods down the path, “He came and found me, he’s in the cab.”

“ God… ” I exhale, relief washing over me, then tilt my head back, hands on my hips, and let out an exasperated sigh into the treetops.

“You alright?” Bowen chuckles.

“I was calling for him for the longest time. Then I heard the coyotes go off and I freaked out and ran out here to look for him.”

Bowen’s voice softens, “You ran out here just to find him?”

“Of course!” I exclaim, “You said he could be eaten by stray dogs or coyotes.”

“Eh,” he swats the air, “he’d have been fine.” Then he pauses and eyes me standing, barefoot, in the middle of the dirt path in my Navy-blue satin pajama shorts and grey camisole.

“You’re pretty brave for coming out this far without a light,” he looks me up and down, “and next to no clothes.”

The breeze rushes through the trees and sweeps over my skin, making me shiver. I glance down at myself, noticing my nipples hardening and showing through my cami.

“Well,” I cross my arms over my chest, “I didn’t want to be the reason Waylon died in the woods.”

“You didn’t mind walking out here by yourself?”

I shake my head, glancing around dismissively. I did mind—I minded a lot—but I was more afraid of what could happen if I didn’t.

Bowen accepts my response and motions to the right side of the path, “Help me take down this broken tree stand, then we’ll go home.”

I nod and follow him to the edge of the path. I’m about to say I can’t walk far into the trees because I’m not wearing shoes, but he steps into a clear section relatively devoid of vines and brambles. The canopy isn’t so thick here, and I can see the silhouette of a stand in one of the poplars right ahead of us. I linger nearby while Bowen works, my arms wrapped around my torso, scanning the trees around us, still keeping an eye out for glowing eyes and any other creatures I don’t want to meet in the woods at night .

He finally returns with the stand in pieces and tosses a section of the ladder at my feet with a startling clang. My hand flies to my chest again and I take a deep breath to steady myself.

“Ease up, lady,” Bowen says at my nervousness, “I’m the scariest thing out here.”

“You’re not scary,” I scoff, glancing back around the spooky woods.

“No?” he bends down to grab the seat and hands it to me before picking up the three sections of ladder.

The stand’s been out here a while, the black metal rough with a few rungs missing from the ladder. Bowen steps past me and I follow him back out to the path in silence. His truck isn’t much further. If I’d kept walking and not seen him standing at the poplar already, I would’ve come to it in another minute or so. As soon as we arrive at the tailgate, Waylon’s head pops out the passenger window to greet us. Bowen drops the tailgate, then takes the seat from me and tosses it into the bed.

“Hey,” I swallow, breaking the heavy silence, “I realize I’m not very good at accepting help, even from you. I was just caught off-guard when you pulled out that mugshot. I don’t like thinking about what happened back then, and after so long I was finally getting to where things feel normal again. And, now, there’s more that I don’t know and I just don’t feel like dealing with it.”

“You might not like it,” Bowen reaches behind his head and pulls his shirt up over his back. He balls it up and swipes it across his forehead before tossing it into the bed of the truck, “but you still have to deal with it.”

“I know,” I shift back and forth on the smooth patches of dirt under my feet, “but I appreciate you caring and wanting to keep me safe.”

Bowen narrows his eyes and tilts his head, “Are you offering an apology?” he asks, popping his spearmint gum in his teeth.

“Yeah,” I nod, “I guess I am.”

“You guess? ”

“Yes,” I say firmly.

He stares at me for a few moments, then the corner of his mouth lifts. He takes a step toward me. Then another. And another.

He glances down at the pieces of the ladder still lying on the ground, “Help me finish loading this and I’ll consider it.”

Bowen jumps up into the bed of the truck and kicks a pile of tie-downs, sending them clattering against the back of the cab. Then he reaches down and I start handing him the pieces of the ladder.

“Come here,” he extends his hand and I take it, letting him hoist me up onto the tailgate.

He motions for me to follow him up to the back window of the cab and then crouches down to begin untangling the mess of nylon straps and buckles. Some are loose and some are still affixed to the back rack covering the window where I’m sure a dead animal or two were secured not long ago .

When I kneel down next to him, he hands me an orange strap and then a black one, “Hold these so they don’t knot back up.”

I let my eyes wander while I wait, inhaling the sultry night air, thankful it’s warmer than usual. I still scan the tree line, my eyes now adjusted to the darkness. I don’t know how Bowen can see to untangle knotted tie-downs, but it doesn’t matter. I’m just relieved that Waylon is safely tucked into the cab of Bowen’s truck and not being eaten by coyotes.

I’m also relieved to have found Bowen and he seems to be in a better mood than when I last saw him. All I want to do is push the last conversation we had out of my mind. It was eerie and I don’t want to think about it. I don’t even want to think about how much I don’t want to think about it.

“OK,” Bowen’s voice snaps me back to the present.

Before I can even look down, I feel a sharp tug at my hands and my knuckles slam into the floor of the truck bed. The black nylon strap tightens around my wrists, digging into my flesh and making me wince.

What the—

I follow both ends of the strap to a rubber-coated hook jutting out from the middle of the rhino liner. The strap snakes up between the rear window and the back rack, loops once around a support bar, and then attaches to a large blue carabiner hooked in the middle of the rack. Even in the sporadic moonlight, I can see light brown and white hair peppering the black liner beneath my feet and stuck between the fibers of the tie-downs where they secured a dead coyote earlier. I try to raise my hands and reach for the carabineer at chest height, but my hands barely move an inch in either direction.

I jerk my head up to Bowen, still crouched next to me. He’s motionless, his fingers hooked in the black metal rack bars. My eyes dart up and down in confusion, panic mounting.

“Baby girl,” he shakes his head with a smile, “your self-awareness is for shit.”

“Well,” I scowl back at him, swallowing hard, “I didn’t think I needed so much when you’re around.”

Bowen reaches behind me and squeezes the back of my neck, “That’s exactly when you need it.” Then he leans forward and kisses me on my cheek, breathing into my ear, “You should probably save your apologies. You’re going to need them.”

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. My eyes round and I let out a huff as he stands up and saunters back to the tailgate, leaving me tied to the floor. He jumps down onto the dirt path and slams the tailgate, a sinister smile seeping across his face. Locking eyes with me, he moves along the side of the truck, dragging his hand along the edge as he goes.

He throws open the driver’s side door and calls over his shoulder, “You ride in back, ‘til you can behave.” Then he ducks into the cab, giving Waylon an ear scratch as he slams the door .

The truck roars to life, the noisiest thing in the entire forest. Bowen immediately cranks up his music, heavy bass splitting the air and Maria Brink’s false chord screams echoing through the trees. I feel a shudder and the truck begins rolling down the path, but we’re going the wrong direction. He’s not driving back toward the house, he’s driving deeper into the woods.

“Bowen!” I tug at the ties and slam my shoulder against the cage.

My shouts are easily drowned out, only drawing a glance from Bowen in the rearview mirror. His grin widens until he bares his teeth and waggles his tongue at me. I can only glare back at him in disbelief as his head starts bobbing to the beat.

The truck picks up speed, jostling me with every rock, root, and tree branch the tires hit. After a few minutes, I begin to wonder where I am. During the daytime, I never really think about how vast these woods are or how far the paths stretch through the thick brush. I’ve never been this far into the woods. After a few minutes, the truck lurches to a stop and Bowen kills the engine, but leaves the headlights on. The door slams and he emerges from the cab, still shirtless and his swath of black hair hanging over his brow.

Bowen comes to a stop in front of me and rests his elbows on the edge of the bed, leering at me over his arms, “This is a beautiful picture, right here,” he drawls with a salacious grin.

“I bet,” I reply, hopelessly twisting and tugging at the nylon straps.

After a few moments, he turns and slowly continues to the tailgate, letting it drop with a thud. Gnashing his spearmint gum in his jaw, he jumps up into the bed. His boots land with a bang and he straightens up, eyeing me from the end of the truck, contemplating. Even in the dark, I can see something working behind his eyes. He looks so tall he might as well be a tree sprouting out the end of his truck, his black tattoos like vines and moss growing on his skin.

I sit motionless on the rough lining, my eyes locked with his as he ambles toward me, the suspension creaking with each step he takes. His dusty boots come to a halt a couple feet from my knees and I watch in silence as he reaches behind his back and lifts his Glock from the holster in his waistband. My chest feels like it’s about to cave in on itself as his arm swings back into view and the familiar cold sensation I’ve grown to hate washes over my body.

Bowen cocks the gun and aims into the trees, peering down the length of his arm through the crosshairs. When he shifts his stance, the moonlight catches him through a break in the trees and casts a blue tone across his arm muscles. I crane my neck over my shoulder, following his gaze as he takes aim at a fallen log about 30 feet away with nubs of broken limbs jutting out from its bark.

“It’s illegal to hunt bigger game like deer right now,” he concentrates on his target, “but not you . ”

He pulls the trigger and detonates the broken limb, the concussion echoing through the forest. I flinch at the ear-splitting shot and let out a yelp as the wood splinters into the air.

Bowen lowers his gun and turns to me, giving me a once-over. No matter what I do, no matter how many times I’ve seen him shoot, the muscles in my back and shoulders still tremble uncontrollably. Even though my face is fixed in a disinterested glare, he knows what it’s doing to me.

His mouth shifts into a grin, “Are you still scared of it?”

I take a deep breath to steady my voice, “I’m not scared of you ,” I retort with irritation, knowing full well that’s not entirely true.

He cocks his head and bites his bottom lip, “I’ll give you a head start.”

I take a deep breath and gather my wits before lifting my head and looking right back at him, “What happens if you don’t find me?”

He tucks his Glock back into the waist of his jeans and kneels down, “Impossible,” he pinches my chin between his thumb and forefinger, glaring at me, “I’ll always find you.”

“Good,” I shoot him a sardonic smile, refusing to succumb to the fear responses riddling my body, “because I’ll never run from you.”

Bowen pops his gum in his teeth, eyeing me for another moment before releasing my chin. When he stands up, he’s so close that his boots nearly touch my knees.

He glances at his waist and then back at me, “I’d tell you to take my belt off, but I can see your hands are otherwise occupied,” he winks as he unbuckles his belt and slides it out of the loops in one slow, fluid motion. Then he kneels down again and starts feeding the end of his belt through the buckle, “Tell me,” Bowen brings the looped belt to my chest and slides it up my throat to my chin, “who do you belong to, baby girl?” he asks as he lifts the belt over my head.

I feel a warm rush deep in my belly and a dangerous apoplexy of adrenaline and dopamine start to build the longer I stare into Bowen’s black eyes.

“You,” I exhale, goosebumps skittering down my back as he cinches the leather strap around my neck.

He rolls his head to the opposite shoulder, his muscles popping, “You wouldn’t be lying to me, would you?” he asks as he tightens the belt, pressing his fist into the base of my skull.

My pulse pounds in my ears as I press my lips together with a quick shake of my head.

Bowen’s eyes have the same darkness they did in the kitchen earlier today, “Because I don’t like it when someone thinks they can come take what belongs to me.” My heart hammers the longer he stares at me with the same scrutinizing look. “And you seem like you need me to remind you who runs your shit. ”

He lets the belt go slack and trails his index finger down my sternum, hooking it over my tank top into my cleavage. He just sits there for a few moments, chewing the inside of his cheek like he’s sizing me up. Suddenly, I feel a tug at my shirt as he reaches up and rips the front clean open in one motion. I flinch with a gasp, feeling the night air rush over my bare skin. He flashes a condescending smile as he pops the straps from their seams and pulls my shirt, reduced to a mere rag, through my arms and tosses it aside. I’m sure he’ll just use it to clean his guns later.

Bowen rises and starts unbuttoning his jeans, “Who’s always going to take care of you?” he asks, sliding his jeans down low on his hips, low enough to reveal his tattoo of Cerberus guarding Hades.

“You,” I murmur as he reaches into his pants.

When he takes out his cock, it’s already stiff, formidable, and dripping with anticipation. But by the way he’s looking at me, I’m not sure whether to be excited or afraid. Maybe he is Hades and he’s about to unleash hell upon me, after all. Bowen fists it in one hand and then places his palm upright, next to my chin.

“Spit,” he commands.

Glancing up at him, I start sucking my cheeks in and out, moving my tongue to gather the saliva in my mouth. After a few moments, I lean over and spit the mouthful into his palm. He takes it and starts lubing his cock with it right next to my head. And when he’s done, he reaches over and drags his palm across my face, from one cheek to the other, like he’s wiping mud off his hand.

When I recoil, Bowen grabs my chin in the crook of his thumb and gives my head a shake, “What’s the matter, baby girl—you don’t like getting dirty?” he jeers, “But isn’t that what you are—a dirty fucking whore?”

He tosses my face to the side with abject disdain, and I don’t even care because I deserve whatever he has planned for me, regardless of what exactly he knows or how he knows it.

Bowen reaches around my head and grabs the belt with one hand, fisting his cock with the other. He strokes it slowly, from top to bottom, so close to my face that his knuckles graze my temple as he moves.

His tone has a warning edge, “Are you sorry?”

I nod, his belt pinching the back of my neck the harder he squeezes. Because I am.

Suddenly, I feel a smack and let out a gasp when I realize Bowen just smacked me across the cheek with his cock.

He bends down, “Are. You. Sorry?” he repeats, his voice more sinister now.

“Yes,” I croak.

“What are you sorry for?”

I hesitate too long and feel another sharp smack against my cheek, “ What —” before I can cough out the words, there’s another .

And another.

And then another, in quick succession.

I purse my lips, inhaling deep breaths through my nostrils as I glare up at Bowen. He runs his tongue along his teeth, gazing down at me with amusement.

After a few seconds, he gives my neck a tug, “You done being a little bitch?”

I long blink and clench my jaw, his voice sending a searing rush down my back and into my thighs. It shouldn’t, but it does. Part of me loves the degradation he’s giving, basking in his cruel attention while it washes away some of the guilt gnawing at me. But another part of me wants to smack him upside the head for it.

I let my head fall back and gaze up at him with indignance, my chest fighting for shallow breaths.

“Don’t make me ask you twice, Brett. I’ll hang your ass upside down from my tailgate like the coyotes I left at Jay’s. Tell me what you’re sorry for.”

He loosens the belt enough for me to speak, “For—” I take a breath and try to swallow, “for not listening to you.”

That covers everything, doesn’t it? I didn’t listen to him when he said don’t let Colson get too close. And I didn’t listen to him when he tried to tell me how Colson isn’t done with me yet—that he’s going to wreck my life and finish what he started.

Bowen releases the belt, dropping the slack at my back, and grabs the handle of the green storage tote near the wheel well. He slides it behind his feet and sits down in front of me, his knees flanking my arms so that I’m kneeling between his legs. Then he rests his elbows on his knees and reaches around my head for the belt.

He tips my head back, hovering over my face, “Why should I take you back home with me?” he snarls, “Why should I let you back into my house?”

At this rate, I half expect him to leave me out here. He wouldn’t, would he? Then again, maybe he would since he’s implying his house isn’t mine anymore.

But I’m not some whiny dish rag. I can play his games.

Locking eyes with Bowen, I gather my nerves and scowl back, “Because you like what I give you,” my mouth curls to match his venomous smile, “and because I haven’t given you everything you want, yet.”

It might be dirty, but he’s playing dirty right now, too.

Bowen’s eyes flash and I can’t tell whether he’s intrigued or infuriated. Oddly enough, it looks the exact same, but my response hits its mark. He leans down, his mouth twitching with malice.

“Then show me how sorry you are, wife ,” he growls, pressing his nose into my cheek, “open that filthy little mouth so I can gag you with my cock.”

I do what he says and lean forward, letting my jaw drop. Gripping the belt, he slowly pulls me in, sliding his cock over my tongue. A low groan reverberates through his chest the deeper he goes, until I feel him tickle my gag reflex.

“I never asked you,” Bowen leans back on one arm and pulls out a couple inches, “how many babies are you going to give me?”

I look up at him, my chest heaving as I move my tongue around him, spit starting to drip down the corners of my mouth.

“You must have some idea,” he pushes my head down, sliding deeper, “One?” then he pulls out, “Two?” he pushes me back down, tapping the back of my throat before pulling back, “10?” he squeezes the belt and, this time, doesn’t stop pushing.

My reflex catches and I shudder, pulling frantically at the straps around my wrists. I squeeze my eyes shut, my neck muscles seizing as wet sounds sputter from the corners of my mouth.

“Come on, Brett!” Bowen rolls his head back, “How many?” he calls into the treetops, his deep voice echoing through the woods.

My legs tense and my bottom half wriggles as he pulses my head. Finally, he pulls out halfway and lets me suck in a lungful of air, coughing it back out around his cock that seems to get harder the longer he suffocates me. Once I catch my breath, I take him in again, sucking harder and flicking my tongue along the underside of his tip.

“When are you going to let me breed you, baby girl?” Bowen starts to roll his hips, “When are you going to use my cum instead of wasting it?”

Each word sends a jolt of electricity deep into my stomach until I can feel the heat pooling between my legs. Fortunately, I can’t extract the synthetic hormones coursing through my body, otherwise I might let him do it right this second, high on dopamine and mad with desire.

Bowen suddenly jerks the belt and snaps my head back, pumping his cock and groaning as he shoots his thick cum all over my chest. Gulping air, I stare up at the slivers of inky sky through the trees until Bowen’s movements slow. He runs his hand over my breasts, smearing his cum over my skin like lotion. When it’s nothing but a thin film, he gives my breast a sharp slap and drags the rest across my cheek.

He runs his hand over my face, smearing his palm across my mouth and cheekbones, “See?” he shoves my face back and forth as he goes, “A dirty fucking whore, just like I said.”

“Can you…” I flex my fingers, the straps digging into my wrists, “let me go, please?” I croak through my constricted windpipe.

He gazes down at me with a smile, trailing a fingertip down my breast, “Dirty and polite,” he brushes over my nipple, turning it hard enough to cut glass, “but, no,” there’s a sharp snap as he flicks it, making me gasp in pain, “because you still never answered my question.”

I twist back and forth, trying to rub my bound arm against my breast to quell the sting, “Which one? ”

Bowen bows his head and lowers his voice to a diabolical rumble, “When can I breed my whore?”

I stare back at him, my mouth ajar.

A streak of moonlight glints off his black eyes as he relishes my silence, “Bet you’ll tell me if I play with that needy little clit of yours.”

He stands up and steps around me, tugging his jeans back up to his waist. The bed of the truck shifts with his weight and his jeans brush against the soles of my feet as he kneels behind me.

“Maybe I should just decide for you,” he murmurs into my neck as he snakes his hand around my waist and reaches into the front of my shorts. “God damn , baby girl,” he moans when he feels how soaked I am, “I’ll punish you every day if it makes you this wet for me.”

Bowen pushes two fingers inside me and pumps them in and out of the slick pool between my thighs. Then he drags his slick fingers up to my clit, making my eyes roll.

“You’re not supposed to be in heat for another—” Bowen pauses and lifts his hand in front of me, rotating his wrist to look at his watch, “week and a half.”

A shiver runs up my back. How the hell does he know when I’m going to start ovulating? I barely know that on any given day. I guess if he has a major breeding kink, he would. But I can’t even respond because he’s slowly driving me mad, touching me in the best way while talking about me in the most animalistic terms.

Bowen starts working my clit faster, “If you like being tied to my truck, maybe I’ll keep you out in Jay’s barn for a few days.” I reach a fever pitch, oscillating between fear and exhilaration as I start to rock against his hand. “I bet he wouldn’t mind,” Bowen continues, pressing his mouth to my ear, “especially if I let him watch.” He reaches up and squeezes my throat, pulling me against his chest. The fear is screaming to be heard, but his agonizing touch keeps it at bay, “He thinks you’re real pretty,” Bowen drawls as he drags his lips across my shoulder. A moan escapes between my labored breaths as I feel the orgasm nearing, “Would you like it if Jay watched me fuck you—if he told me how to get you pregnant? By the end of it, those pills won’t do you any good.”

My breath catches as the rush approaches, but Bowen pulls his hand away and the pleasure dissipates, “ Bowen… ” I let out a groan and my head drops against his shoulder.

“You should know by now,” he growls, “I decide when you’re allowed to come. And I’m nowhere near done with you tonight.”

There’s a snap in the woods nearby, followed by a pop, and my eyes dart over my other shoulder. As if it matters—Sasquatch could be out there watching me, but I’ll never see it in the black on black of these woods.

Bowen’s tone softens at my reaction, “Are you afraid of the dark out here? ”

“Kind of,” I mumble, “I’ve never been out this far.”

“Don’t worry, I wouldn’t leave you in Jay’s barn,” I feel his jaw tense against my temple as he smiles, “I’m not a total monster.”

“Is that the only reason,” I ask, pressing my forehead into his neck, “because it’s dark?”

“No,” he starts circling my clit again, making my breath catch, “he’s my guy, but I don’t trust that motherfucker that much.”

“But—” I stammer as I start grinding against his hand, “but you’d let him watch?”

He dips his fingers inside me, coating his fingers again, “I’d let him watch you come all over my cock and then laugh when he can’t do anything about it.”

“You’re sadistic,” I roll my ass back against his groin, “ fucking sadistic . ”

“So, I’ve heard,” Bowen murmurs in my ear, “but if you really want to be scared, you know there are stories about werewolves in these woods?”

My eyes flutter open as he strokes my throat up and down. When he sees the curiosity in my eyes, he grins and starts working my clit faster, sending electrical currents down to my toes.

“A long time ago,” Bowen breathes down my neck, “there was a string of murders, which is a big deal out here. All young women, found in the woods, and torn apart by an animal too big for anything around here. Then, some people over in Hellbranch started seeing something on their property. They woke up one night and saw it, said it was a huge dog man with pointed ears that walked on two legs. One of them shot it, swore they hit it, but it ran off…””

The tension compounds and I can feel the orgasm building again as he slides his fingers into my pussy, dripping and aching for him to finish me. The sound of his deep voice recounting nightmarish creatures in the woods drives me right up to the edge, but he senses it and abruptly stops, destroying the pleasure again.

“ Bowennn… ” I exhale, arching my back against him in desperation.

But he ignores my discomfort, waiting however long he deems acceptable before sliding his hand back to where it left off, “After that, the kids were attacked by something in the woods. They stumbled out the other side, screaming and covered in blood, but they survived. And then, all of a sudden, the murders stopped. People said they got ambushed by a werewolf and killed it. Then the cops waited ‘til dark, went into the woods, took out whatever it was, and covered the whole thing up. So, you might be afraid of coyotes now, but you won’t be if you ever hear them go silent. When the deer disappear and the woods go completely still, you’ll be praying to hear those coyotes then.”

The snaps and cracks echoing all around us put me on high alert, but only make his touch that more torturous.

“ Bo… ” it comes out as half whisper, half whimper .

Suddenly, Bowen pulls his face away from my neck, “The fuck you say, baby girl?”

“I said your name,” I exhale, dragging out the words.

“Say it again , ” he commands, circling my clit faster, “just like that.”

“ Bo…” my core pulses and I start grinding against his hand, “ faster, Bo …”

Suddenly, he rips his hand out of my shorts and stands up, leaving me a wound-up mess on the floor. I whip my head around in time to see Bowen flip open his Buck knife with a click, making me freeze in terror. He moves fast, in jerky, rapid movements as he crouches next to me and pulls the straps taught, eliciting a gasp from me as they cut into my wrists. With a violent tug, he slices through the nylon and they snap, letting the blood rush back into my hands.

Bowen tosses the loose straps to the side and steps in front of me, “Run,” he booms as he fumbles with his jeans button.

“What?” I breathe, flexing my fingers and wrists.

“I said get your ass up and fucking run!” Bowen shouts, ripping his gun from its holster and emptying the clip into the woods.

My brain short-circuits and I let out a shrill scream, flinching at each bullet that leaves the barrel. Blind with terror, I scramble across the bed of the truck to the tailgate where I don’t even bother putting my feet first before tumbling off onto the dirt. Adrenaline propels me forward, my knees and feet scraping over leaves and twigs as I tear down the path back toward the house in a panic.

Ironically, fear blinds me to the darkness, so much that I can’t even feel the rocks and debris gouging the soles of my feet. I don’t know how long I run, but suddenly the path narrows and it doesn’t look like a vehicle could fit between the trees. I thought I was running in a straight line, but now I don’t know where the hell I am. Everything looks the same in every direction—dark and dense.

I stop and listen, every inch of my body quaking. I don’t know what I’m expecting to happen or what I should do. Bowen just shouted at me like a psycho and emptied his gun into the woods. And when I look down, I realize I’m naked from the waist up, only wearing my pajama shorts.

Why would he do that? Why would he do that when he knows…

Fucking asshole.

I start moving again, slower, but still with a sense of urgency. I need to get back to the house, or at the very least out of these woods. I don’t want to be out here anymore—with coyotes or werewolves . Sputtering curses as I try to catch my breath, I spy a break in the trees ahead where the moonlight is showing through. I can’t veer off-track if I don’t even know where I am, so I continue toward it.

When I make it to the clearing, I scuttle toward the middle where there’s more light. Gazing around, it doesn’t look like it breaks off into any clear paths. The only distinguishing element is a brush-laden treefall on the other end directly in front of me. I let out a frustrated huff, my eyes darting around while I decide what to do next.

Suddenly, something sharp hits my shoulder with a sickening pop, throwing me forward. Before I can even take a breath, there’s another sharp pop on my hip, and yet another at the top of my ass. Each one knocks the breath out of me and I pitch forward, stumbling to the ground with a thud.

Then comes the pain—a burning sensation radiating from each impact site. Half screaming, half hyperventilating, I reach back to grab my hip. And when I feel my skin, it’s wet.

He shot me.

Bowen fucking shot me.

My body starts convulsing and shaking uncontrollably as the screams erupt from my throat. My hand shakes, my fingers slick with the thick liquid as I grope over my shoulder and hip. The wounds hurt like hell, but I can still move.

Before I can even try to stand up, a tall figure steps through the trees into the clearing. It’s Bowen, still shirtless, and his shoulders are shaking as he swaggers toward me. When I finally stop screaming to take a breath, I hear his faint chortle beneath my gasps.

He’s laughing.

I’m bleeding out and Bowen’s laughing!

He comes to a halt, inches from my bare feet, soles black and ankles speckled with dirt and streaks of blood. The shadows split his face in half, shrouding his eyes and lighting up his mouth stretched into a wide grin.

“If you want to hide, stay out of the light.”

“ What? ” I cough, staring up at him in horror.

Bowen lifts his arm, and with it, the silhouette of a gun I don’t recognize, “It’s only paint, darling.”

I’m frozen with shock, my heart still racing and the splotches on my skin stinging in spite of the adrenaline overload.

He tosses the black paintball gun onto the ground and crouches down, sliding his hand over my foot, “Like I said, your self-awareness is for shit.”

Bowen grabs my ankle and jerks me down, knocking my elbows out from under me. Dead leaves crunch and scrape against my bare back as he drags me toward him. He glances at my shoulder and then sweeps his finger across the welt that’s forming. When he holds it up in front of me, the neon orange is unmistakable.

My chest heaves at the realization that I’m not dying—that I’m not actively bleeding out in the middle of the woods. And now, I hardly care that Bowen drove me, screaming and flailing, from the back of his truck, because now I’m not alone anymore. He swipes the paint across my cheek with a smile.

I shoot him an indignant look, “You shot me. ”

“Well,” his smile turns menacing, “if you still want to be a little bitch, then you’re going to get treated like one,” he grabs my hips and flips me onto my stomach, tossing leaves into the air, “ fucked in the dirt like the rest of the animals… ”

I land with a shriek and catch myself before my face hits the ground. A rush of cool air sweeps over me as Bowen grabs the waist of my shorts and underwear and jerks them down in one motion. He hoists my hips off the ground, slamming my ass against his thighs, making my muscles tense with excitement when I feel him tearing at the button of his jeans.

I press my fingertips into the soft earth and brace myself, waiting for the one thing he’s been depriving me of since I set foot in these woods. And, a moment later, he drives his cock into me with such force, it knocks the breath from my lungs. Everything around me melts away and my cries turn to rhythmic moans with each thrust. Bowen wraps my hair around his fist and wrenches my head back so far that my arms come off the ground.

“ Oh, God! ” I cry out in pain and my hands fly behind my head, grabbing his wrist.

He grabs my waist and pulls me to his chest, still moving inside me, “God’s not out here, baby girl,” his voice is thick like syrup, “it’s just you and me. These are my trees and my dirt, and I decide who’s forgiven, and who leaves, and who doesn’t.”

As menacing as he sounds, I start rocking back and forth against him, wanting him deeper inside me. Maybe I’m just as unhinged as he is.

He loosens his grip and lets me fall forward until I catch myself on the ground, “Ask for my forgiveness now.”

“I’m sorry…” I murmur between breaths, moving my hips in sync with his, “I’m sorry…”

“Louder, baby girl,” he commands as his thighs smack against my ass, “I don’t believe you!”

“ I’m…sorry! ” my cries echo through the trees as I apologize for my transgressions, spoken and unspoken, in an effort that it might make a difference.

Bowen slams into me one more time and then gives me a firm smack and pulls out, making me wince. I push up to my knees, watching him as he rises and starts circling me. He stops square in front of me, his unbuttoned jeans hanging loose on his hips, and looks down at me with a chaotic mixture of satisfaction and disdain. Slowly, he saunters across the clearing to the tree fall where he turns around and slides down the rough bark into the leaves.

Bowen’s face softens and he actually smiles, “Let me hear it again,” he says, curling his fingers and beckoning to me.

I move to stand up, grit embedded in my knees, and survey the landmines of dead branches and thorny vines scattered across the clearing. Slowly lifting one foot after another, I move gingerly over the patches of grass and dirt littered with grit, dead leaves, broken twigs, and whatever carpet of debris stands in my way. Bowen watches me intently, his dark eyes unyielding to any emotion. And when I arrive at his feet, he reaches for my hand and pulls me into his lap.

He reaches into his jeans and presses his face against mine, “Let me hear it,” he snarls, “ fucking whore. ”

A grin creeps across my face when I feel how hard he is against my bare stomach.

I reach down and hold him steady while I slip his tip inside me, “Bo…” I breathe, sucking in a lungful of night air as I sink down, “I’m…”

His eyes fly open like he’s just woken up. I never call him what everyone else does, but he loves it the more I say it, “You’re what?” he kneads my ass, rolling my hips so he fills me completely.

“ I’m sorry ,” I murmur against his lips.

Bowen twists my curls around his fingers, “You know I’ll always take care of you, baby girl,” he breathes, “I’ve been waiting for you,” he bows his head and runs his tongue up my chest in a slow kiss, “you’re my goddess, my fucking queen, no one exists but you, and I’ll give you anything you want.”

With one more roll of my hips, he hits that perfect spot deep inside me. I press my forehead against his, raking my fingers through his hair, glistening with sweat as the orgasm starts building in my core. Then I start to chase it, riding him hard.

“Come on, baby girl,” Bowen teases, sliding one hand down between my legs, “show me why I decided to keep you.”

Finally, the wave crests and I let out a chaotic jumble of cries as I collapse on his entire length over and over, sending mind-bending tremors up through my chest. Suddenly, Bowen grabs my ass with both hands and rolls me onto the ground, coming down on top of me. The forest debris scrapes my back, needling my shoulders and my ass as he grabs my throat, squeezing hard enough to hit me with a surge of adrenaline that turns my aftershocks to pure bliss. He hitches my leg and starts driving into me, coming so hard that my ass lifts off the ground with every thrust.

When it’s over, Bowen’s hand falls away from my throat and trails down to my torso. He lets his head fall back onto his shoulders, his chest rising and falling as he inhales the night air through his open mouth. After he comes down from the high, he slowly falls forward, hovering over me in the dirt and leaves.

Bowen’s deep voice turns soft and serene, “You ready to go home now?”

“Are you still angry?” I murmur, curling my fingers around the backs of his forearms.

His mouth widens into a crooked smile, “Fuck, no,” he lifts his hand, tracing my features with his thumb, “I love you, Brett. You’re everything I want, and everything that no one else could be.”

I rest my hand on top of his as it moves gently over my cheek, over the grime and sticky remnants of the last time he rubbed his hand over my face .

“I love you too, Bowen,” I sigh, “I want to go home now.”

As soon as he pulls me to my feet, he wraps one arm around my back and the hooks his other behind my knees. He lifts me up and starts trudging back through the brush. Now that I’m still and my sweat’s dried, the night air feels cold against my naked body, making me curl in against his chest.

“It’s not far, I promise,” Bowen kisses my head as I shiver against him.

Waylon’s still in the cab of his truck, half asleep and wakes with a start when Bowen tugs open the passenger side door. With a nod of Bowen’s head, Waylon begrudgingly stumbles over the console and into the back seat, making room for me to sit. I’m still naked, and even though it’s a warm summer night, the forest feels like a meat locker.

Bowen opens the back door and leans across the seat, emerging a moment later with one of his black hoodies tucked somewhere among all the backpacks and gun cases. I pull it on, tucking my legs up into the body so only my toes stick out. And when Bowen climbs into the driver’s seat, still shirtless and his jeans hanging low on his hips with no belt, he extends his hand over the console like always. And, like always, I weave my fingers through his, holding our clasped hands in my lap as he drives us home.

●●●

“This shit’s really hard to get off,” Bowen’s short nails feel incredible on my skin, scratching my back as scalding hot water simultaneously runs over my body.

I stretch my neck from side to side under the shower stream, “I’ve never been shot with paintballs before. It fucking hurts.”

“That’s what the pads and helmets are for,” he states as he gently brushes flecks of neon orange from my skin as they come loose.

I shoot him a look over my shoulder, “ Too bad I didn’t have any. ”

I doubt all of the paint will wash off tonight. It’ll stay on my skin to wear off with time, much like the welts beneath it and the assortment of nicks and scratches stretching from my knees to my ankles. At least the soles of my feet aren’t black anymore, the dirt washed down the shower drain along with a confetti of leaf crumbs and dried grass. Bowen sits on the tile behind me, his knees on either side of my hips as he extracts shreds of foliage from my hair, one by one. I lean forward, letting the water hit my chest as he rakes his fingers over my scalp, combing conditioner through my hair, all the way down my back.

“You mad at me?” Bowen grasps a fistful of my wet hair and gently pulls me back against his chest, kissing my temple.

I let my head fall back onto his shoulder, “No, I’m not mad at you.”

I can deal with a few paintballs to the back. Bruises will fade. But my nerves and my muscles haven’t recovered yet. I can’t calm them down and convince them I’m not about to die. I would’ve been angry about that part, but right now it’s the least I deserve; mental anguish of equal or greater value for what I’ve done, but still haven’t come right out and admitted to it.

Bowen runs his hands up and down my arms, washing away the remaining soap bubbles, “Something else is bothering you.”

And he’s right.

“Your mom and Hildy are pulling out all the stops with wedding planning,” I take a deep breath, “but I’m not good at this—all the stuff that goes into a big wedding—it’s just not me.”

“I know it’s not you,” Bowen doesn’t miss a beat, catching me off-guard, “it’s all Hildy. She had her entire wedding planned by the end of high school, whether it included Jay or not. She’s all about the big dresses and flowers and cakes and all that bullshit. And even though she’s had her wedding, she can’t wait to plan mine next. Meanwhile, you can’t even decide which movie to watch without an in-depth analysis,” he smiles, “so, what do you want?”

“I don’t want anything big. Your family knows everyone and everyone knows them, but I’m not like that. It gives me anxiety.”

“That’s one of the things I really like about you.”

“My anxiety?”

“No,” Bowen wraps his arms around my shoulders, crossing them over my chest, “that you’re not about appearances and the fake shit that only lasts for one day. You’re more than that. You’re contented with a quiet life, doing what you want to do. You have a few close friends like Barrett, and it doesn’t bother you that your family doesn’t even live in the same country because you don’t need to be constantly surrounded by other people.” He lets out a scoff, “Can you imagine if Hildy or my mom couldn’t reach each other within a three-minute window to decide which paper towels to buy? The fucking end of the world.”

“You and Hildy text every single day…” I quip.

He casts me a side-eye, “Valid point. But Brett when I said it’s all you , I didn’t mean you should do everything. I meant I’d marry you anywhere because none of the wedding stuff matters. So, tell me what you want, and I’ll make it happen.”

There is something I want. And maybe it’s something that will make one major distraction in my life disappear, but I’m not sure I’ll get it even if I ask. I stare at the water hitting the tops of my legs for a moment and then decide to quit being a coward. If I’m going to marry this man, I should be able to tell him what’s bothering me.

At least, some things…

“Sometimes I feel like there are pieces missing from you.”

“Which pieces?”

“When I met you, I felt like I’d been searching for something for a really long time and I finally found it. Except, at the same time, I didn’t really know I was searching for anything. At first, you had this really dark, mysterious vibe going on and it was really exciting…” I hesitate, unsure of how to ask wh at I want to know, “but there are things that have happened, things you’ve said, and things Hildy and Hannah have said that make it seem like there’s something that no one wants to talk about.”

Bowen listens to me with calm consideration, “Like what?”

“Like why does Hannah act like she’s obsessed with you, but she showed up to Jay’s birthday with bruises all over her and acted like she was afraid of you?”

Bowen shoots me a knowing look, “Because I told her to leave you alone.”

“You don’t know where she got the bruises?”

His eyes wander across the tile, until they finally settle back on me, “I don’t know what’s going on with Hannah, but I don’t need to give her bruises to convince her to listen to me. If she said something bitchy to you, it’s because she knows she’ll never measure up. That’s just what she does. But I’m used to it, so I should’ve said something to her a long time ago before she started bothering you this much, so that’s my fault.” He rests his chin on my shoulder, “What else do you want to know?”

Ask him. Just ask him.

“Why does Hildy say she doesn’t know how your friend, Evie, died?”

Bowen blinks, pausing for a moment before tipping his head back to look at me, “What do you mean?”

“She was telling me the story about Evie and, at the end, she said she didn’t even know how Evie died. But that’s impossible because you told me. And when I told her that, she got really upset and said that you didn’t know shit about it.”

Bowen pauses, and then bows his head and presses his lips to my shoulder, “It’s the same reason I need to remember what Colson did to you.”

When he says Colson’s name out loud, it sends a jolt through my chest. I’m not expecting it, and for some reason it makes me really uncomfortable.

“What do you mean?” I ask with apprehension.

“You want things to be normal again—whatever that means. So, you try to look past people’s flaws and ignore things that should make you uncomfortable. That’s what Hildy does. Except, with Evie, she’s totally blocked it out and doesn’t remember that part.”

“She’s just repressed all of it?”

“Yeah, because it was horrendous. And everyone including me lets her because what difference does it make? Who needs to think about it anymore?”

I stare down at the water circling down the drain at my feet. I’m sure Barrett would agree. She sees stuff like this all the time, and she’s said as much about me. So maybe I was right, reminding Hildy of something she doesn’t think even happened probably wasn’t the best idea.

I glance over my shoulder at Bowen and nod in acknowledgement.

“Anything else?” he murmurs in my ear .

My cheeks tense as I crack a smile, “You ever had anyone chained up in Jay’s barn?” I can’t even say it without breaking into a laugh.

Bowen lets out a chuckle into my back, “No,” he shakes his head, “but…”

I whip my head around, “But, what? ”

Bowen gives a shrug, “Jay does like to watch.”

“ What? ” I shriek, “Watch who? You? ”

“Not recently,” Bowen laughs, “it was a long time ago. Shit was a lot different back then. I didn’t give a fuck about a lot of things I do now.”

“Apparently,” I roll my eyes and decide to leave it at that.

I lean forward, further this time, and let the water wash over my face and over my hair to rinse the rest of the conditioner out. Bowen stands up behind me and, once I’m ready, grasps me under the arms and gently lifts me to stand. I don’t even bother tossing and scrunching my hair like normal, I just want to dry off and get into bed. And when I let my marred and exhausted body fall onto the mattress, it feels just as good as I expected.

Bowen stretches one arm beneath my neck and wraps his other arm around my torso, pressing my back to his chest, “You give good apologies,” he murmurs into the back of my neck.

A silent laugh escapes on my breath, “That’s a relief.” It makes me feel better, even if he doesn’t know how much.

“I know you didn’t ask to relive Hildy’s repressed memories or deal with her defective best friend. But you’re my life now, baby girl. And if you give me all of you, I promise you’ll get all of me.”

I run my hand up and down his arm, from his elbow down to his calloused hand resting halfway down the front of my shorts. I believe him, but I know it’ll take time to forget Hildy nearly bursting into tears at her husband’s birthday and not feel anything but irritation whenever Hannah comes around.

But it’s worth it, right?

“Four,” I murmur into Bowen’s bicep.

“Four what?” he replies.

“Four babies…” I smile to myself in the darkness, “whether Jay watches or not.” I let out a snort, still unable to keep a straight face about that nonsense.

He’s still for a few moments and then envelopes me in his arms, “He can help me build more rooms onto this house,” he kisses my shoulder, “but you’re for my eyes only.”

Bowen is a beautiful trainwreck that appeared out of thin air, who embodies both stability and chaos. Maybe it doesn’t matter that I don’t know what he’s thinking at any given time—as if he knows what bizarre peculiarities live in my head.

As I’m about to drift off, his voice stirs me once more, “I promise I’ll get you more pajamas, too,” he whispers into the back of my neck.

Breathing into his arm, I hear Barrett’s voice in my head—again. But now she’s saying something different, repeating one phrase over and over again.

He’s a better version of Colson…