5 Everleigh Drowning—The Red Clay Strays #2
Immediately, his green stare locks on the only piece of physical evidence that I haven’t yet erased. My arm is still swollen, the skin vibrant purple and puffy, riddled with blood-streaked emerald clouds.
Plain as day, five distinct fingerprints hit like rapid bullet fire, each individual crescent marking an unmistakable grip. The threat levied in his scalding touch before I wrenched free and fled, secrets in tow.
Five bullets. Five blows.
The mark of a monster.
Sterling’s reaction comes in stages. First, a widening of the eyes. Carotid pulsing. Jaw flexing and tensing into a rigid line. When he takes the bag, his fingers scald me, the faint touch akin to a defibrillating convulsion.
I recoil, cutting off the contact as terror gathers. “Please don’t touch me.”
“What is that?” His question is a gravelly demand.
“It’s nothing.”
“Doesn’t look like nothing. Did someone do that to you?”
“Ah . . . rough night out before I left the city. Some idiot grabbed me in a bar.”
“Which bar?” he demands. “Where?”
“Um, some place in London. Why does it matter?”
“Because you’ve got a black bruise on your damn arm. Tell me who hurt you.”
His face has flushed dark, bubbling with unshed storm-clouds that fill his gaze with intensity. No one has ever looked at me like that. Not with biblical anger nor a desire to hunt down my demons. It sends me reeling.
“I need to go—”
“A name,” he pushes, now clutching the door handle. “Whoever did that deserves to be rotting in a jail cell for assault.”
Heartbeat galloping to an unfamiliar beat, I yank my sleeve down. “I don’t know, it was some random guy. Guess I did the right thing getting out of the city for a while.”
Because no one would ever believe me if I told the truth.
“Did you report him?” The vein in Sterling’s forehead pulses.
“It’s okay, really. Just a misunderstanding.”
“That’s a bad bone bruise. You need to go to the doctor.”
“No!” I rush out a little too fast.
Eyebrows scissoring, Sterling appraises me with a look of disbelief.
“That won’t be necessary. Seriously, I’m fine.”
“This is so far from fine.” His green orbs darken, overflowing with a strange kind of fierceness. “Someone laid their hands on you. They hurt you.”
A step back. Space. I need space. I can’t let him get too close.
“I have our local doctor on speed dial. I can . . .”
“That’s okay,” I cut him off. “I have to get back to work.”
“Wait—”
“Goodbye, Sterling.”
“Eden!”
Skating across frosty slabs to escape inside the safety of the pub kitchen, I slam the exit door behind me, then slump against it. Blood rushes in my ears, creating an unbearable roar. My skull crashes against the metal with a low thunk.
“Problem?” Maverick quirks a brow from across the kitchen.
“Sterling. He’s . . . intense.”
He chokes on a suppressed laugh. “You drew the short straw, newbie. Any day I don’t have to deal with his surly backside is good news for me.”
“Is he always like that? He seemed so kind and . . . well, gentle, the first time we met.”
“I’d say it depends on which mood you catch him in. Sterling’s been through a lot. He returned to Hawkthorpe a few years back and hasn’t turned that frown upside down since.”
“You grew up together?” I rub a hand over my sternum, willing my heart to slow.
“Sterling’s older, his roommate too . . . but I grew up with his younger brother. You met Leo the other morning.”
Crap. Mr. Perceptive Eyes with his playful grins. Of course he’s this grump’s brother.
“Why do I get the feeling that everyone knows everyone in this town?”
Maverick chuffs, spreading bacon on a baking sheet. “Because that’s the lifeblood of anywhere like Hawkthorpe. Small-town life has its pros and cons. Least of all, knowing everyone’s business.”
“Sounds a bit like where I come from,” I admit.
“Thought you’re some fancy London gal?”
Lips thinning, I shrug him off. “City girls gossip too. Perhaps worse than you countryfolk.”
“Countryfolk,” he repeats on a laugh. “Never thought that label would apply to me, fuck.”
“Anyway, want to give this city girl something to do?”
Maverick gestures towards the pub proper with a chef’s knife. “Boss’s in. She’s throwing a party for her kid this weekend. There’s a lot of decor to hang.”
Leaving him to it, I meander back out onto the pub floor to find Cassidy wrestling a huge box through the main entrance. She spits a curse when the bottom bursts, causing balloons and streamers to scatter everywhere.
“Bollocks!”
“Need a hand?” I crouch to gather the detritus.
“About ten hands would be great. Thanks, Eden. There are five more boxes in the car.”
“Five?”
“My little girl’s turning fourteen, and I may have gone a tad overboard.”
“She’s a lucky kid.”
“Spoiled more like.” Cassidy ditches the broken box on the floor. “Hey, you look refreshed. Get some sleep?”
“Some.” I slide on a smile to appease her. “Let me help you with those boxes, then point me in the direction of where you want this stuff hanging.”
“You’ve changed your tune.” She flicks a look over me. “Having second thoughts about skipping town?”
“I figure a couple days can’t hurt. You need the help, and I could use the money to plan my next move. That is . . . if your offer still stands.”
“Take a breath, Eden. I want you to stay. I can’t decorate this place alone, can I?”
For what feels like the first time, my smile doesn’t ache to hold in place.
“I guess not,” I answer lightly. “Besides, I have a pretty good eye for detail. I’ve planned a few parties before.”
“Then don’t hold me in suspense. Let’s get the rest of the supplies in so you can work your magic.”
“After you, boss.”
Following her outside to the small car parked up beyond the courtyard, I’m quietly relieved to see the innocuous red truck has disappeared. No sign of Sterling or his vividly concerned stare trying to tear its way into my centre to discover every last secret I’ve kept hidden.
Yet the burn of his attention remains.
Scalding. Spreading. Burrowing.
And for all our sakes, I cannot let that happen.