Chapter Three

Riley

I'm still in a daze and shaking like a leaf in the wind when the stranger who came to my aid picks up the things I bought from the store that had fallen to the ground. He slowly walks me over to a car parked on the other side of the road.

Opening the passenger's side, he tries to help me get in, and I wince from the pain shooting down my sides. I hit the ground pretty roughly when my stepfather shoved me to the sidewalk. From the immensity of the pain, I'm afraid I may have broken a bone or maybe two.

Big arms wrap around me and gently guide me into the car before crossing over me to fasten my seatbelt. I catch a whiff of the lemony scent of the man's hair, probably from his shampoo, before he closes the door, walks over to the driver's side, and gets in.

For the first time since he came to my rescue, I finally get a good look at him as his huge frame settles into the driver's seat. By society's standards, he is a handsome man with a square-shaped face and a well-defined and clean-shaven chin featuring a prominent and strong jaw.

My eyes fall to his large arms, which were just wrapped around me a few minutes ago. I'd be blind not to notice the muscles rippling across them with every movement he makes as he tries to start the car.

From where the sleeve of his T-shirt stops on his right arm, I can see a black and red tattoo that looks like the talons of a bird peeping out.

"Are you okay?" he asks, his voice deep as a bass drum rolling over me. I find myself struggling to form a coherent sentence with his gray, steely eyes fixed on mine.

I swallow hard. "I think so."

"Let's get you back to the Riverside Motel before the cops show up. I'm pretty sure someone has called them already."

As he pushes the shifter into drive and enters the nearly empty street, I start to ask him how he knows that I'm staying at the Riverside Motel, but I stop myself because I don't want to look a gift horse in the mouth.

The truth is that if he hadn't stepped in when he did, my stepfather would've driven me home, beaten me ‘til about half an inch of my life, and locked me up ‘til Deadeye Dante came to take me as his prisoner or whatever the hell they were calling it.

I would have been lucky if he even fed me while I was locked up, but this tattooed stranger currently driving me to my hideout for the past two days, saved me from that fate. I should be thanking him, not questioning him, at least for now.

Besides, I can't put my finger on it, but something about him makes me feel warm and safe. It's strange that I feel this way, considering we just met, but I feel like I can trust him with my life.

"We're here," he says as he pulls the car to a stop in front of the motel before turning to face me. "I know you're in pain, but you must try to walk past the receptionist's desk without showing it. If she suspects you're hurt, she might call the police. Who knows what could happen if they show up here? Do you think you can handle that?"

I nod in agreement. "Yes, I can."

"Okay." He stretches out his hands and runs his thumb over my cheek, and a bolt of electricity shoots down my spine at his touch. "You had a little smudge there."

"Thanks."

"All right, let's go inside."

I open the door and he's already there, helping me get out of the car. He's so tall that next to him, I feel tiny.

We gradually walk toward the hotel entrance, and once we get close enough to the doors that anyone inside can see us, his hand, which has been wrapped around me to this point, drops off, and I suddenly feel exposed and alone.

He holds the door open for me, and I walk in unaided, flashing the receptionist a slight smile as we walk past her to my room. Inserting the key into the lock, I open the door, and we go inside.

Once inside, his eyes dart around the room like he's looking for something or someone. He also checks out the closet and the bathroom before heading to the room's single window.

I watch him look around the parking lot and then close the curtains securely before turning to me. "I wanted to make sure we weren't followed."

"Considering my step father was still lying on the sidewalk when we drove off, I doubt he'll be following anyone anytime soon."

"That son of a bitch is your step father?" he asks, walking over to me.

I nod. "Unfortunately."

"You need to remove your blouse so I can see the extent of your injuries. You hit the sidewalk pretty hard."

"What are you, a doctor?"

He pulls out a gun from the holster outside his waistband and places it on top of the table in the room. "Ex-Navy SEAL, and believe me, I have had to patch up a lot of my team members for way worse, so let's see what's going on under there."

Again, I don't know him. But something about his eyes and presence makes me so comfortable and eager to trust him, even though he just pulled a gun from the holster outside his waistband. "Okay."

He closes the short distance between us and slowly raises my blouse, helping me slip out my left hand first, then the right, and always stopping to give me a second whenever I wince in pain.

"So, why would your step father grab you like that and shove you to the ground?" he asks, pulling the blouse over my head.

I'm now wearing only a bra, but he doesn't even take a peek at my breasts, not one peek. He just keeps his eyes planted on mine as he waits for me to answer his question.

I don't know why, but I feel disappointed, angry even that he didn't look at me or at least try to act like it was difficult for him to keep his eyes away. Maybe he's not attracted to a woman who can't defend herself against a spineless dickhead like my stepfather, and I don't blame him.

"Which place hurts the most?"

My heart. "My right rib area."

He gently lifts my right hand and nods. "From what I can see here, you're badly bruised, but thankfully, I don't think you broke anything. So, we just need to get some ice on it, wrap it up with a bandage, and get you some pain relievers."

"I have some Tylenol in my handbag," I say, pointing toward the closet.

"And I have some bandages in my car. Hopefully, I can find some ice in this god-damned motel."

He grabs my handbag from the closet and digs through it ‘til he finds the Tylenol. Grabbing a bottle of water from the refrigerator, he gives me two pills, which I swallow.

"Stay here and keep the door closed ‘til I get back. Don't open it unless you're a hundred percent sure it's me, okay?"

"Okay."

All the instructions he gave me before leaving seem pointless because he's back in the room in less than ten minutes, holding a pack of ice and some bandages.

"Lie down."

I obey him, and he wraps the ice pack in the blouse I just removed and sits next to me, putting the ice on the bruise.

"You didn't answer my question earlier," he says, narrowing his eyes on me. "Why would your stepfather get physical with you that way?"

"You mean this time?"

I watch his jaw tense and a dangerous look cross his eyes. "You mean he puts his hands on you often?"

"Every chance he gets, but this time around, he's angry because I messed up his plan."

"What plan?"

"His plan to repay his gambling debts by giving me as payment to Deadeye Dante, a well-known vicious loan shark coming into town tomorrow."

I see a brief look of disbelief cross his face before it quickly vanishes. "And you didn't go to the cops, why?"

I scoff. "And tell them what? That the former sheriff has gambling problems and wants to hand over his stepdaughter to a psychopath as payment for his debt? You witnessed him beat me, and you still don't believe me. Do you really think they would?"

"Your step father was a cop?"

"Yes, a well-respected one, as he always loves to remind me, which means he can get away with literally anything, which is why I went to grab a few essentials from the grocery store tonight. I need to get out of here before morning. I can't be in this town or anywhere close by when Dante gets here tomorrow. I won't be able to escape if his men and the cops are out searching for me."

"So that's why you stole from me? To escape your stepfather."

Forgetting I've been badly bruised, I spring up from the bed and crawl away from the tattooed man, my eyes wide from terror. "You're the briefcase owner I took the money from?"

He gives me a slight nod. "Ya, I am."

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry. Please don't hurt me. I've only spent a few hundred dollars from it. It's all in the closet; you can have it back. Just please don't report me to the police or hurt me."

"I would never hurt you." There's almost an unbearable pain in his voice when he says that. "I could never hurt you. And if I wanted to involve the police, don't you think you'd be in jail already instead of here with me putting ice on your bruises?"

"W–w–hy?"

"Why what?"

"Why are you helping me? Why are you being so nice to me even after I stole from you?"

He fixes his gray eyes on me, and I see a vulnerability in them for the first time since we met. "I don't know, I just know that from the moment I looked into your eyes and sensed that you were in danger, I've had this overwhelming urge to protect you, to keep you safe."

"So, you're not going to turn me in to the police?"

"No."

My eyes dart over to the gun on the table. "And you're not going to make me pay for stealing from you?"

"God, no. And you were wrong before." He probably sees the confusion in my eyes because he continues. "Before, when you said I didn't believe you, you were wrong. I believe you, and I'm going to make sure your stepfather and Deadeye Dante never see or hurt you again."

In all the twenty-three years of my existence on this earth, I've been lied to, cheated on, and abused by men for as long as I can remember. So much so that I have stopped believing anything from their mouths until now. Until this tattooed stranger, who I stole from, showed up when I needed help and saved me.

"So, where did you plan on going?"

His question is one I've been asking myself since I walked out of that god-forsaken house two days ago, and I still have no clue. I don't have any friends or relatives outside Misty River. "Nowhere, anywhere. I didn't think that far; I just know I need to get out of town before Dante arrives."

He hands me the ice and stands up, towering above me. "What if I told you that you could have somewhere to go, somewhere you could live, somewhere you'd be safe?"

I squint my eyes in disbelief. "Where?"

"My home. It's far from here, and it's a small town like this where everyone looks out for everyone. I can assure you that you'll be safe there."

I blink my eyes rapidly to make sure this isn't one of those dreams or fantasies where I run away from my stepfather and finally regain my freedom. But an at least six-foot-four-inch hunk stands in front of me, his sandalwood scent invading my nostrils and reminding me that I'm wide awake.

"Are you sure you want to help me or get involved in this? I stole from you, so I'm obviously not a good person. Besides, I wouldn't want to be a burden to you."

He saunters over to me, and he squats down. My small hands are swallowed up in his the moment he takes them.

"You could never be a burden to me. Besides, you didn't ask for my help; I offered it."

I open my mouth to speak, but the only words I can form are, "I'm Riley; what's your name?"

"Chase. Chase Langford. So, will you come with me?"