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A shriek demolishes the peace in my yard and my crow flies away. I’m moving through the trees before I can think. I’m like a bear catching a scent that he can’t say no to. The shrieks keep coming, with a new sense of profoundness. Coming to the edge of the forest, I pause.
“Shoo!” Sienna is whipping her handbag around at a bobcat that’s sizing her up. Her hair is a mess, with small pieces falling out of the elastic that holds the majority of it up. She’s changed the color from blonde to a light chocolate brown.
I pull the small hunting knife from around my ankle and wonder if I could wrestle with the big cat and make it out alive. The thought sends a thrill down my spine before I realize what I’m attempting. No more killing. Not even wild animals that deserve it.
I watch as her hands shake, and each time she screams, her eyes widen. My eyes trail down her body, loving the fact I could easily dominate her. An image of her tied up at my mercy flashes through my mind.
I take slow steps backward, out of view. I want Sienna and me to meet on my terms once I think an introduction is necessary.
Sienna manages to open her car door and blares the horn before the wild cat decides to leave. He turns, looking like she’s too much trouble to deal with at the moment.
“That’s right, and don’t come back!” she yells at the departing animal like it was her bravery that sent it away. She’s an adorable, feisty, curvy, little thing. Her right arm is covered in what looks like intricate tattoos. I guarantee she has a full sleeve.
She can’t be much taller than five feet. She attempts to pull her thick light brown hair back into a bun on her head by shoving the pieces under a fluffy elastic thing. Once the bobcat is out of view, she turns her back to the trees, her shoulders visibly relaxing.
I watch, mesmerized, as she brings one suitcase out of the back of her car. Huffing and puffing, she drags it through the dirt. Its heavy size leaves a grooved trail in the dirt and each step protests with a creak against its weight. The deck bangs as she drops her luggage on each decrepit step. She gets to the last step and her foot falls through the rotting wood. A scream, followed by another trail of long-winded curses, leave her mouth.
I have to place my hand on the tree to stop me from running to her aid. My thumb and forefinger rub at my bottom lip. My body shifts, trying to get a better look while concealing my position.
A twig breaks and her attention snaps in my direction. I fall to the ground, not wanting to be found. It’s not time for introductions yet.
Chapter 5: Sienna
Whoknewsmalltownswere so boring? There’s nothing to do but go to church. That’s how I find myself at a Sunday barbeque outside a church with its congregation.
Heat creeps over me and I have that familiar sensation that I’m being watched. Ever since the so-called engagement party, I can’t shake this feeling. It doesn’t just occur in the darkness of the night, but during the day, too. It’s like I have a second shadow that follows me everywhere.
“How are you liking Oakport Beach?” I jump at the question that pulls me out of my thoughts. The preacher’s daughter, Haven, is looking at me expectantly for a response. She’s about my age, maybe a little older. Mid twenties.
I purposely shoved a cookie in my mouth, hoping to squirm away from their questions, but she and her best friend, Frankie, are staring at me, waiting for an answer. Both women are too nice for their own good, but I appreciate it. I nod, raising a finger, and visibly swallow.
“Everyone is so friendly; it’s hard not to love.” My voice rises slightly at my lie. These women are too nice to lie to, but I think they would take it personally if I said I hated the town.
Everyone wants to get to know you. I can’t blend in by trying to stay hidden. People stop by my abandoned little home trying to give me food or offer their skill to help out. What this town does have? Isolation from the rest of the world. No major newspaper’s line counters; everyone reads the small local press. Every business has the name Crash in it somewhere. People believe in getting to know you rather than social media stalk you. They also believe anything you tell them.
“You should join our choir,” Haven suggests, her eyes lighting up with the idea.
“Or our book club,” Frankie adds, nodding her head up and down repeatedly. “Really, we just drink wine, and bring the book we were supposed to read, but never get around to talking about it.”
I’m trying to think what I would have in common with these ladies. They look like they grew up in loving, supportive homes.
I, on the other hand, wouldn’t even know what that looked like if it hit me over the head. My mom was an old lady to another member of my father’s MC, then she became his. I was four when she decided she wanted to leave my father. I watched him shoot her in our driveway as she packed me and our stuff in a car. The whole reason why she was still outside when he roared up on his bike was because I forgot my favorite stuffy and she went back to get it. No one runs away and lives to talk about it. It’s why I married when my father told me, and now it’s the reason I’m hiding in this small town of Oakport Beach.
“I just might do both.” I smile. The heat of unknown eyes is still felt and I cast my gaze around the perfect setting used for movies and not real life.
Haven touches my arm and I involuntarily flinch. Both girls catch it but are too sweet to say anything. I look down at my tattoo-free skin. It’s all a lie. Special makeup covers my markings. I hate to cover them, but it’s a requirement to stay low in this type of town.
“You know my cousin, Crash, is looking for someone to help answer phones for him,” Frankie says out of nowhere. “If you need a job, I could put in a good word.”
Crash. That’s why everything is named that around here. “I would love that.” Again, another lie. But I need a job or people will start asking questions.
My arms itch with all the lies I’m spinning. “I should get going. I have a lot of work to get done on the house.”
“If you ever want company, we can come and help,” Haven offers.
“I appreciate that. I might take you up on that sooner than you think.”
My eyes land on a tall man. His shoulders slouch like he’s trying to look shorter. Going by his bulky size, he looks like he does a lot of physical work. I connect eyes with him briefly and my stomach flip-flops. His eyes are hard. I recognize them because similar eyes stare back at me in the mirror. He doesn’t smile or grin, instead, his eyes drop to the mini goat he’s leading with a leash. His glasses fall down his nose, and for a second, I swear I see a patch of color under his shirt trying to poke out. That’s my old life. This man looks to be nothing but a kind nerd helping out.
