His agitation grew as he paced his room, as if he was caught in a labyrinth of thought he couldn’t escape. Finally the building pressure popped, and Will growled as he punched a hole in the drywall next to his bookshelf. The shelf rattled against the wall and spilled a few titles carelessly to the floor. His already-injured hand lit up in a fireworks show of pain, and while it hurt like a bitch, it also took Will’s focus off his mental anguish for a few precious moments. He felt blood running down his dry skin, knuckle wounds torn open just as endorphins rushed through his system to treat the pain, making his vision sharp and the ache in his muscles just a little number.

Will grabbed a dirty shirt from the floor and wiped the blood off his hands as he stared down at the pile of books. Even though they only joined a growing mess of clutter and chaos, he couldn’t bring himself to leave them there. Not his books. Making sure he didn’t have blood on his hands, Will picked them up with care and put them back on the shelf one at a time. Fingering the spines, he couldn’t help but long for the time when reading made him feel better. He was so anxious lately that he could barely concentrate on a magazine.

Will sighed to himself. Everywhere he turned, more pain seemed to await him. He wished he could just sleep through it all, that he didn’t have to go through the hassle of social exposure and protocol to lose himself in the warmth of a woman. He wished he could be drunk forever. All of his days felt dark, but some days—like today—got darker than dark.

There was only one place to go on days like this. At first he had fought it as a poor idea; now, he didn’t care. The land where his grandmother’s bakery once stood had been bought shortly after the fire, and on its ashes, a bar was built. It felt like fate to Will. He had found himself there more and more in recent months. Some days, it was like he ached for it.

Some nights, he wondered if he would die there, too.

As he shuffled for the shower, Will heard his phone buzzing and ignored it again. He didn’t want to talk to anyone today. Today, he just wanted to sit and drink.

After his shower, he found some moderately clean jeans and a white shirt to pull on, ignoring his cut that dangled from the living room recliner. He didn’t want to think about the MC today, either. He even left his phone lying on the floor of his bedroom as he left, and he didn’t even bother to lock his front door.

He simply climbed on his bike and headed out in the late morning sunlight toward Howlett, anxious at the idea of drinking away the darkness.

~ FIVE ~

After the confrontation with the two strangers, Eva asked Charlie to take over serving so she could catch a nap. She assured her overprotective brother that she wasn’t harmed and maybe she had just overreacted, but she couldn’t admit to him how frightened she had been. She also didn’t want to admit to herself how the adrenaline charging through her veins made her feel more alive than she ever had. Instead, she took a slow walk through the forest and back to the house, made herself some tea, and promptly fell asleep, surrounded by her aunt’s creepy porcelain doll collection. Even the lumpy bed didn’t stop her.

It did a fine job recharging her. When she woke, Eva didn’t feel the fear anymore. She told herself she had misinterpreted the exchange with the men. Maybe it was all some joke she and Charlie weren’t in on. Maybe Laura was right—she was seeing things like she was in a story, dramatic and larger than life. Those men probably wouldn’t even come back. She took a shower and grabbed a book before she headed back to the bar, snacking on an apple as she walked.

Someone had started up the jukebox in the corner, which held a fine selection of old outlaw country, and a few classic rock songs. Two men that Eva suspected were farmers talked lowly at one of the tables, sharing a pitcher of cheap beer. One of the regular bar flies claimed his seat at the end of the long oak bar, just next to the video poker machine that went ignored most of the time.

Charlie stood behind the bar, leaning over a book he had spread open on the glossy surface.

She looked down at the small, uniform text arranged around complex-looking diagrams. “Christ, what are you trying to fix now?”

“There’s an emergency generator out back,” said Charlie, thumbing over his shoulder like she didn’t know where “out back” was. “Owen didn’t say anything about it, but it looks like something’s wrong with it. It hasn’t been used in a while.”

 “Yeah, probably because something’s wrong with it,” said Eva in a mocking tone. She nudged him out of the way to grab herself a pint glass and filled it carefully from the draught. “You don’t have to repair every little thing broken around here, you know. You can just relax… read a real book.” She shook her own at him.

“This is how I relax,” said Charlie without looking up.

Eva gave him a face that he ignored. She felt a little sting of pain that she recognized as loneliness. She wished her brother could find even some pleasure in the company of others, and not just his constant problem-solving.

She took her beer and her book and settled into the small two-person table just next to the bar, closest to the back room, where she would be least likely to be disturbed should they get some sudden rush of customers. The thought made her smirk as she looked over the perpetually empty room.

It didn’t take long for her to settle in and surround herself in her typical comfort zone. The music of the jukebox floated just soft enough to provide background fodder for her busy brain while it devoured page after page, stopping only for occasional sips of beer. She was five chapters deep when the door to the bar swung open.

For a second, Eva’s heart jumped. Was it the strangers returning? She held her breath until the new arrival walked across the floor and straight for the bar. When Eva saw him, her heart jumped a second time, but it wasn’t from fright. The man was deeply handsome, an unblemished face full of boyish charm juxtaposed with a jawline square and cut like marble. Rust-colored scruff grew in a short beard and moustache, and matched the loose curls on top of his head that looked like they hadn’t seen scissors in a while. His white t-shirt fit snugly over his chest and arms, revealing lean muscle lines. Despite that leanness, he nonetheless exuded a strength that reminded Eva of the strangers from before. Something predatory.

A surprising heat rushed through her chest and into more intimate places. It only worsened when he licked his full lips and absently pushed his hair back from his face as he sat down in front of Charlie at the bar. Christ, he’s so hot it hurts.

As if he could hear her thoughts, the man lifted his gaze and trailed it across the bar until it landed on her. It was then that Eva realized she had stopped to stare at him mid-drink, with her mouth half-open and her pint of beer hanging in the air. She cleared her throat and dropped the beer back on the table as she averted her eyes back to her book, trying desperately to at least look like she was again lost in the text.

When she dared glance back up again, he was still looking at her. Staring, even. His brown eyes were so deep, they looked endless from where she sat, and held a sadness that Eva couldn’t help but feel. His face had gone much softer, and when he looked at the book in her hands, she saw the ghost of an endearing half-smile.

Charlie suddenly looked up from his manual on the counter. “Oh, ‘scuse me, I didn’t see you there. What can I get you?”

The man held her gaze just a second longer before he turned to Charlie. “Two shots of whiskey and a stein.”