Chapter Two

CHAPTER TWO

Gunner

I crept around the bushes, bow in hand as my eyes tracked the deer just ahead of me. She was a good-sized doe—would sustain me for a few weeks, at least. Which meant I wouldn’t have to buy overpriced meat from the grocery store. Silently, my gaze locked on her shoulder, I raised my bow?—

And a water droplet fell into my eye. Jesus fucking Christ .

Muttering a curse, I lowered my bow and swiped at my eyes, listening as the doe scampered off, spooked by my annoyance. It’d rained hard as fuck last night, which made this morning prime hunting time. But damn, I’d been hunting for a couple of hours now, and it was cold, and my shoulders were wet from the constant dripping of water from the trees.

Sighing, I moved out of the trees and set my bow down, reaching for my pack so I could drink some water. I glanced around, listening to the river rushing below at the edge of the cliff. This place was beautiful and was one of the biggest reasons I bought this land and built my cabin on it. It was peaceful—just the sound of nature all around. No random loud noises. Nothing to trigger my PTSD.

Usually.

A low groan reached my ears, and I spun around, blinking in surprise at the boy laying on his back, his clothes drenched, his lips blue. Blood stained the rock his head was laying on, and his purple hair was damp, water droplets running across his face in rivulets.

“Fuck,” I growled, rushing forward. I’d seen him the night before dragging two bodies up the mountain, but I’d minded my own business. People dropped bodies over the cliff all the time. As a previous soldier who’d done my own fair share of violence and had dropped more bodies than I cared to count or remember, I had no right to judge. Especially since I didn’t know the why behind it all.

Besides, interfering would only bring trouble I wasn’t interested in being involved in. Better to keep my head down, my mouth shut, and mind my own business. I’d learned that from a young age. My mom had never been in the picture, and my dad had been involved in some shady shit until he got arrested when I was sixteen.

Head down. Mouth shut. That was the motto I lived by.

I dropped to my knees beside the boy and pressed my fingers against his pulse. A sigh of relief spilled past my lips when I felt his slow and steady pulse drumming beneath my fingertips, but he was damn near at hypothermic levels, if he wasn’t already. His fingers were too cold, and it looked like blood had stopped flowing to them a while ago.

Shit . I needed to get him to the cabin so I could get him warm and dry. From there, I would determine if he needed a hospital, or if I could manage helping him on my own.

Slinging my bow over my back, I grabbed the boy’s axe, which was laying beside him, hooking it through the strap on my backpack. No doubt, he’d used it last night to dissect whoever he’d been disposing of. I didn’t want to leave it there in fear someone else would come across it—especially someone who might turn it into law enforcement. Something about this boy already had me ready to do anything to protect him—and maybe it was because he was just so small and looked so fragile. But I wouldn’t risk his freedom.

Slowly and very carefully, I lifted the boy into my arms. He was super light and easy to carry, even while he was unconscious and hanging in my arms like dead weight. His purple hair dripped over my arm as I quickly made my way through the woods toward my cabin, heading down the mountain a bit. It didn’t take long before the water from his soaked hair began to bleed through my coat, turning my arm cold.

Pushing open the front door of my cabin, I stepped inside, toeing off my boots before carrying him up the stairs to my loft. Not caring about him potentially ruining my sheets, I gently deposited him on the bed before stripping him out of his wet clothes. I kept my gaze on his face, avoiding his body. I wanted to look—Jesus fuck, did I want to look at this beautiful boy and drink him in—but I wouldn’t. If I got the chance to see him naked—and fuck, I really hoped I did—I wanted him to be conscious. Wanted to see his skin flush as I raked my eyes over him.

Wanted him to consent.

I quickly dressed him in a pair of my sweatpants, which were big on him, but I was able to tighten the string enough to make them rest on his hips. Then, I pulled one of my long sleeve shirts over his head before lifting him up again?—

Blood .

“Shit,” I breathed, quickly bringing him forward to rest against my chest so I could inspect the back of his head. Sure enough, he was still bleeding—not a lot but enough to concern me. Parting his hair, I gently felt around his scalp. He moaned in pain, but when I leaned back to look at him, his eyes were still shut, and he was still unconscious.

But his subconscious was still aware of what was happening to him and of his pain levels. That was all I needed to know he would be okay. I could get him through this.

Gently laying him back down, I went into my bathroom and got what I needed to patch up his head. Once that was done, I draped a towel over one of my pillows and then laid him down, covering him up with the comforter. Grabbing my electric blanket from the closet, I plugged it in and draped that over him, too. And just for good measure, I plugged in an old heater and turned it on low, aiming it toward the bed.

I brushed my hand over his forehead, frowning down at him. He was so… little. My heart clenched in my chest. “You’re gonna be okay, boy,” I murmured. “I’m gonna take good care of you. I promise.”

I didn’t get an answer—not that I expected one. His long, dark lashes didn’t even flutter. But that was okay. If he wasn’t making progress within the next few hours, I’d venture off the mountain and take him to the hospital.

I just hoped it didn’t come to that.

A loud, pained groan reached my ears just as I was turning off the stove eye. Quickly, I turned and rushed up the stairs. It’d been about four hours since I’d brought the boy home with me, and every fifteen minutes, I’d been checking on him, waiting with bated breath for him to open those eyes and look at me so I could see what color they were. So I knew he was okay. So I could determine if he needed more care than what I could give him.

In mere hours, I’d become extremely protective of him, despite not even knowing his name. I’d memorized every feature on his pretty face, and now, I was desperate to hear his voice. See his eyes. Know if he was sweet or bratty.

When I emerged into the loft, blue eyes stared back at me, filled with pain and confusion, and he was cradling his head in his palm, looking a little green.

Those eyes were my fucking undoing.

“Hey,” I rasped, easing down to sit on the edge of the bed. “Good to see you awake.”

“Where am I?” he croaked, his voice rough with sleep and a lack of water. Reaching over, I grabbed the glass of water I’d made a couple of hours ago and held it to his lips. He grimaced and pulled the glass from me, holding it up to his mouth with a shaky hand. Some of the water spilled onto the blankets piled around his hips, but I didn’t say a word. I did have to bite back a smirk though.

He was a little brat. Just my fucking type.

“You’re in my home. I was out hunting and found you on the ground. You were unconscious, hypothermic, and bleeding from a head wound.”

He frowned like he was trying to remember what happened, but it was clear he was drawing a blank. He glanced around the loft before looking back at me. “ Where is your home?” His voice was a bit standoff-ish and rude, but it didn’t bother me. He was in pain and confused. Who would be nice in unfamiliar settings? Especially when part of their memory was gone?

“It’s in the mountains.” I wanted to touch him—comfort him—but kept my hands to myself. “Do you remember anything about last night?”

He shook his head, then grimaced, his already pale face paling even more. He moaned low in his throat, his eyes shutting. I gripped his arm when he swayed, and he snapped his eyes open, staring at my hand until I dropped it, worried about his reaction. But then, surprising me, he snapped his hand forward and latched onto mine, holding it, something akin to wonder residing in his eyes as he stared at our joined palms.

I frowned, running my eyes over his face as I slowly took the glass from him. His other hand immediately clamped around my wrist, and he stroked it and my palm with reverence, like touching someone was an entirely new and foreign concept to him. And something in my chest broke. What had this boy gone through?

“I can touch you,” he breathed, looking up at me with a mix of wonder and trepidation. Like he was both excited and terrified at the prospect of touching someone.

“Yes, you can touch me,” I said gently, trying to sort out whatever was going through his head.

He licked his lips, and my gaze dropped to them before flicking them back up to his eyes. He shook his head, then winced. “I just… normally, I can barely stand to touch anyone,” he explained. “Or have anyone touching me. But you…” He shrugged one shoulder, letting his words trail off.

I softly smiled at him, warmth sliding through me at his confession. “You can touch me whenever you want, sweet boy. What’s your name?”

He stared at me for a moment. I waited patiently. He was obviously cautious, especially since he didn’t know me. I was a stranger, and he was in a strange home. “You tell me your name first,” he finally said.

I chuckled. He was a little force to be reckoned with. “Gunner Matthews. Former Marine.”

He screwed his nose up. “Of course,” he muttered. “And let me guess, you escaped to the mountains to live like a wild animal away from society because you can’t stand people anymore?”

I barked out a surprised laugh. He was being bratty and snarky, but fuck, I loved it. He had the wrong man if he thought he was ever going to truly rile me up. I was a Daddy through and through, and I loved bratty boys. I would never try to tame a brat. Being bratty was part of their personality.

“I like going into town,” I told him. He rolled his eyes. “And I don’t mind people. But I also like solitude. I’m far enough up the mountain that no one bothers me, and I’m close enough to town if I need anything or if I just feel like being out and about.” His nails bit into my skin for a moment, but I didn’t even flinch. He soothed the sting immediately after, stroking his fingertips over the abused skin. “Now, your name?”

He sighed. “Ace,” he said, not giving his last name. He swayed a moment, and I gripped his shoulder, holding him up. “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

I snatched the trashcan from beside my bed and held it up just as he emptied his stomach. Hot tears streaked down his pale face once he was done, and he covered his face, like he was trying to hide from me. God, it made my heart hurt. He should never feel ashamed for being sick.

“Hey,” I said gently, setting the trash can back on the floor. “Easy, sweet boy. It’s okay. You’ve been through a lot, and your head injury seemed pretty bad. Just breathe.”

“Stop looking at me,” he croaked, his voice thick with tears.

I shook my head, even though he couldn’t see me. “I’m not doing that, Ace baby. Look at me.”

“No,” he snapped before he sniffled.

I placed my hand on his thigh. He jerked in surprise, but he didn’t pull away. “Ace, look at me,” I commanded again, my voice a bit firmer this time.

“Fuck off.” His voice was muffled by his hands, but I heard him loud and clear. He clearly didn’t feel good. I knew he was in pain. And he was lashing out. Whatever this boy had been through, he was still struggling to cope with it all. And he’d obviously been neglected, too. The thought of someone neglecting him made me… murderous.

“What we’re not going to do is be a dick because we’re hurting and we don’t feel good,” I told him sternly. That made his head snap up, and his pupils dilated the slightest bit. I cupped his damp cheek and swiped away some tears, my eyes steady on his. “Let’s get some soup and crackers in your belly, and then, you can come right back up here and snuggle beneath all these warm blankets and get some more rest, okay?”

Slowly, he nodded. Leaning forward, I pressed a tender kiss to his forehead, then got off the bed. I held my hand out to him, waiting for him to let me help him up. He stared at my hand for a good minute before he wrapped his smaller fingers around mine, allowing me to gently pull him up from the mattress.

Once we were downstairs, I led him to the dining room table, then snatched the throw blanket off the back of the couch to wrap around his shoulders. He was tense as he watched me move around the kitchen, and when I set the bowl of soup in front of him and a pack of saltine crackers beside it, he scrunched his nose up.

“That better not be a poor, innocent deer,” he muttered.

Planting my hands on the table, I leaned into him, arching a brow. “Are you going to fight me on this? Because I’ll force feed you, Ace baby. Don’t test me. You need food, and the soup will heat you up a bit more. And it’s been known to soothe my own stomach, so it’ll probably help you, too.”

He huffed. “Stop Daddying me,” he muttered. But he picked up his spoon like a good boy.

I ran my hand over his hair, being careful to avoid his injury. And God , the way he leaned into me… Like he didn’t even realize he was doing so. I was so done for already.

“You clearly need a Daddy, sweet boy. Eat your food.”

He looked up at me, his pretty blue eyes a little wide, his lips just slightly parted. But I didn’t miss the flush on his cheeks.

Yeah, he wanted a Daddy as much as he needed one. And I was the man for the job.

I didn’t give a fuck what society deemed normal or okay. I’d stopped giving a fuck a long time ago. This boy was mine . And I wasn’t letting him go.