Wild As You (Mercenary Ranch #2)

Chapter 1

Chapter one

All The Time

Maverick

Twenty years ago

Ahalf-full beer bottle sailed across my field of vision and shattered against the wall with a thundering crash, the broken shards of glass glistening like raindrops as they pattered all over the shag carpet in a spray of warm beer.

I ran to the kitchen, ripping open the cabinet under the sink.

My hands shook as I grabbed a spray bottle filled with carpet cleaner.

If this gets out blood, it’ll get out beer. My hands shook about as much as the small voice in my head did.

I snatched a dish towel off the counter and raced back to the living room, finding Ellie Mae staring down at the mess, a look of fear and confusion glistening in her teary eyes. Worry ate at me. Dad hated seeing us cry. Hated it more when he heard us crying. He did bad things when that happened.

“Ellie, go back to the room. You’re gonna get in trouble,” I warned, my voice trembling only a bit. “Be careful not to step on the glass.”

“O-okay, Maverick,” Ellie Mae choked out, even as silent tears slipped down her cheeks.

She was only four. She hadn’t had to watch many beer bottles go flying through the house yet. Wasn’t used to it like me.

I strode to her side and squeezed her in a quick hug before gently propelling her towards our room. “Get your shoes on and get ready to go. Just in case.”

There was no telling what Dad would do when he was this angry.

Sometimes he left, storming out of the house and slamming the door so hard it would fall off the hinges.

Sometimes he’d break things. Throw things.

Hit things. I rubbed at my cheek absentmindedly with the back of my arm.

The bruise had finally yellowed, a step up from the black and blue it was a few days ago.

As Ellie fled the living room, I knelt to the task of cleaning up the spilled beer and broken glass, careful to set aside the larger pieces of the bottle, and cautious about picking up smaller splinters stuck in the carpet.

Mama was still in bed. She’d said she didn’t feel good this morning. Probably from the fight with her and Dad last night. Something about money and food and other things that were ‘none of my damn business,’ according to Dad.

“What in the fuck do you think you’re doin’, sissy boy?” Dad’s harsh voice cracked like a whip as it cut through the air. He stumbled over from the beat-up recliner, a mean firestorm dancing in his jade eyes. My eyes. “Women’s work? Figures. Get up off your fuckin’ knees.”

“Don’t you talk to him like that, Eli!” Mama slipped from the darkness of the hallway like a wraith. Her brown hair was frizzy, her blue eyes dull and haunted. She looked nothing like the cracked picture that hung off-center in the hallway.

But that was four years ago. Dad wasn’t as mean then. Didn’t drink as much. Hadn’t lost his job yet.

Dad struck a hand out toward Mama before I could even open my mouth and beg him to stop—fast as a cottonmouth. She crumpled to the floor, one of her hands going to her face. When she pulled it away, her cheek was a bright angry red and tears shone in her eyes.

My heart thumped like a war drum in my chest, anger and fear pumping through my veins.

I made to rise from my crouched position, pushing past the fear and resolving myself to stand up against Dad, knowing fully well what the consequence would be.

Mama’s wild gaze landed on me; she shook her head once.

And as much as I hated it…as much as I wanted to do something, I listened. It wouldn’t do any good anyway. He’d just hit me too.

Dad whirled to me, noticing Mama’s attention, and pegged me with an angry glare. “God damn it, I said get up off your knees!”

He grabbed me by the shirt and hauled me to my feet, his fingernails digging into the soft flesh of my shoulder. Pain shot through me, my arm still sore from when he’d thrown me into the wall a couple days ago, but I bit back the tears pricking in my eyes.

Tears only ever made him angrier.

“Your ma will clean that shit up later,” he slurred.

“We gotta get to this fuckin’ jackpot so I can make us the money for the fuckin’ rent, cuz your fuckin’ mom can’t do a goddamn thing, and neither can anyone else.

” It took a moment to make sense of the words—they’d started slurring together.

“Get your fuckin’ sister. Get your asses outside.

And get the trailer hooked up. I swear to God, boy, if you forget to hook the damn lights up again, I’m gonna beat you so bad you won’t be able to sit down for a fuckin’ week!

” Spittle flew out of his mouth and sprinkled against my cheeks.

That drunken, stupid anger smoldered on his red face as he glared down at me.

I nodded, hoping, praying, he didn’t see the fear in my eyes. I must have been getting good at hiding it. Or maybe he was just that drunk that he couldn’t tell anymore.

“Eli, he’s eleven. You gonna have him drive you there next? You can’t leave. You’re drunk,” Mama protested.

I turned for the door though, not waiting to hear his answer. If Dad said we were going, we were going. There was no stopping him. Not when he was like this.

I caught Ellie Mae’s blonde hair in my peripheral and turned her way as she slipped out of the hallway with her pink boots on the wrong feet, quietly sobbing.

My heart squeezed. Rushing to her, I grabbed her hand and led her outside, away from Dad’s yelling and the smell of beer soaking into the carpet.

“Maverick, Mama and Daddy are fightin’.” Ellie sniffled, hugging her stuffed unicorn to her chest.

“No shit,” I snapped. They were always fighting. The only time they weren’t was when Dad was passed out. Ellie flinched, her blue eyes wide as she gazed at me. I sighed, hanging my head. “I’m sorry…It’s gonna be okay. Come on. I need you to help me hook up the trailer.”

“But Mama and Daddy are fightin’,” she repeated.

I placed my hands on her shoulders. “Ellie, please… if we don’t get the trailer hooked up Dad’s gonna be really mad.”

She stared at me for a long moment, like she didn’t know what to do.

I knew she didn’t understand what was going on.

Why everything was the way it was. I still didn’t know why Dad was angry all the time.

Didn’t know why he stayed when he threatened to leave at every turn.

Most times, late at night, when I couldn’t sleep because my body hurt so bad, I hoped, wished, prayed he’d just leave.

But then I’d wake up and he’d be sleeping in the recliner or passed out on the couch.

And we’d just repeat the same cycle over and over. Day after day.

Ellie Mae finally wiped at her tears. “Okay, Maverick,” she squeaked before looking down at her faded pink unicorn. I needed to wash it again for her and sew up the hole she’d made from pulling on one of the strings. “Come on Wild Star, let’s go hook up the trailer!”

Present Day

Late June

My eyes shot open, my heart and mind a war of emotions. Twenty years and my brain still knew when to let those ugly memories surface and haunt me. But of all the days… I could have used a break today.

I glanced over to the clock on the nightstand. 3:46 AM. My alarm would go off in fourteen minutes. I blew out a slow breath. How much could I get done before it went off?

As I dressed, I tried shaking off the images from the dream. They lingered like cobwebs in the back of my mind. I wished I could forget. But some things you just couldn’t. They stuck with you forever. Like a tattoo.

Or an armful of burns.

I glanced down at my arms, my gaze scanning over the canyons and rivers of mottled, scarred flesh. They didn’t hurt anymore really, but every now and then phantom pain slithered up and down, reminiscent of the flames in the accident.

I shivered, shaking off the memory as I pulled a clean pair of jeans out of the bottom drawer and drew them on, tensing my toes against the starch that fought so valiantly to keep the legs pressed shut.

I snatched a pair of black socks from the top drawer and a crisp, white tank from the middle.

From the closet in my room, I selected a black, long-sleeved button-up shirt and shrugged it on, trying not to wrinkle it before sliding on my leather belt with the buckle I’d won in Nashville.

My gaze settled on the plastic hat box tucked away on the corner shelf of the closet.

I pulled it down and grabbed out my black felt cowboy hat.

A little hum fell from my lips as I inspected it, brushing away some dust before setting it on my head.

I glanced at myself in the mirror leaning in the corner of my room by the armchair.

Another hum of approval as I tugged on my sleeves before going to the chair and pulling on my work boots.

Good, old-fashioned Ariat cowboy boots made for riding and working.

Like me—they weren’t fancy, but they did the job.

I slapped the OFF button as the alarm finally caught up to me and strode out into the kitchen of my new home. The lights were still out at the barn. So, Cash hadn’t fed yet. Unsurprising.

He wouldn’t be up until I all but broke down the door and forced him out of bed. I’d deal with him later, right now I needed a minute for myself. A minute of peace without his loud, obnoxious ass chiming in on some bullshit.

Pressing the ON button on the coffee maker, I moved to the front door and stepped out into the warm Texas darkness.