Rev (22 page)

Suddenly Ace went apeshit, which he did all the time at work. The guy had a nasty temper. He turned red and did impulsive, stupid shit all the time. Lucky for him, he was usually in charge. Which just meant that my security team and I cleaned up the mess and things went back to normal.

I heard Saylor yell something like “I have to be there. I’m staying.”

And then Ace just exploded. “You’re going to New York.” His voice split the still night air. “Why? Because I SAID SO,” he spat violently, enunciating each word.

I kept moving. I had a great night of drinking ahead of me. But somehow, I wasn’t able to shake this image from my mind—a girl like that with that poor excuse for a man, that slimeball Ace. Shit, more often than not, the world just didn’t make sense.

And then I heard a loud thump and the crash and metallic clang of something hitting the dumpster. And I already knew, because it happened all the time. I already knew he threw her against the dumpster. And I knew that I should keep going, that nothing in the world was worth that kind of trouble. But the problem was that once I saw her, I couldn’t get her out of my mind. And then, I had this one rule. I’d look the other way with all kinds of messed up shit, but in my book, you just didn’t hit a woman.

I saw red. The rage took over. I saw flashes of my father standing over my mother slumped on the kitchen floor. I dropped my pack and I marched right up to where Ace stood by the dumpster yelling at the beautiful girl he’d just slammed into the side of a rusty metal container.

He didn’t even notice me until it was too late. I grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back. The look of surprise on his face quickly turned to annoyance and outrage.

“What the hell, Dean?!”

I didn’t say anything. I grabbed his shiny suit by the shoulders and heard it rip. He went right into the side of the dumpster, much harder, and left a big dent. But I wasn’t done.

He kicked up at me and caught the side of my arm with the sharp heel of his shoe. Just some blood. A fucking scrape.

He’s going to get much worse.

I kicked the side of his ribs and his hands rushed to his flank, leaving him open. My right fist crushed into his jaw, and he let out a sharp howl from the pain. I’d dislocated his jaw. I wasn’t going to stop. I lifted him by the shirt with my left arm, raised my right again—

“Stop.”

Her hand was on my shoulder.

Chapter 4

I’d never seen a man like that. He tossed Ace around like he was ragdoll. His arms were bursting with muscle, each of them bigger than my whole body and covered in dark ink. His eyes were dark but they pierced through the night, gleaming with rage as he punched Ace’s jaw so hard I thought it’d come right off. He might’ve killed him, but he stopped. I didn’t think he would, just from me putting my hand over his heavy, tense shoulder—but he stopped.

When he turned around, I could have sworn I was looking at a Greek Statue. His white tank top was sweaty and pulled tight against the deep ridges and thick cuts of his muscular abdomen. His pecs were huge, tugging the straps of his tank top tight against his broad shoulders.

He was big. His arms tensed with muscle as he lowered Ace to the ground. The muscles in his shoulders separated and shifted visibly as he stood up to full height.

“FUCK YOU!” Ace yelled as best he could, his voice muffled by his immobilized jaw. He stood up and ran past the man who’d beaten him to a pulp. He headed to his car, cradling his jaw, and then turned one last time to shout “Wait till Roman hears about this, Dean—You’re both dead!” He jumped in the car, turned the ignition and backed out to the main road, hitting the gas so hard he spun his tires all the way out.

“Thank you,” I said, turning to the statue of a man standing quietly in front of me.

“Dean,” he said, extending his large hand. “Dean Hunter.”

I put my small hand in his and, after what I’d seen, almost expected him to crush it by mistake. His huge hands and arms were still veiny from exertion, the blood pumping through all those muscles. Surprisingly, his grip, while firm, was equally gentle.

“Saylor Larson.”

“Right.”

I could tell he was a man of few words. “Listen, I just wanted to say thank you. I mean, he would have stopped before…well, he always stops—”

“It shouldn’t be like that,” Dean interrupted. “You shouldn’t have to wait for him to stop, because it shouldn’t start.”

I looked down. He was right. “Yeah. I know.”

Dean adjusted his tank top, and I couldn’t help but follow his motions, watching the muscle ripple under the dark tattoos. The one on his chest looked like a military motto, and there was an eagle tattoo running down the side of his neck and an anchor on his left forearm.

“So, what’s next,” he said. His voice was like the crashing of the waves at the ocean, deep and powerful but calm and soothing.

“What do you mean?”

He looked directly at me with an expression I couldn’t read. His angular, closed-off face was intimidating and mysterious. Before speaking, he took his time, thinking things over in the quiet.

“Well, you’re definitely not going home.”

“Yeah, I guess not.”

“Go to your stepfather’s place.”

“I can’t.” I thought for a second, putting things together. “So, you work for him?”

“Yeah, I have the misfortune of working with Ace. I run security. Probably won’t be going in to work tomorrow though, given the circumstances.” He motioned towards the far corner of the warehouse, where he’d left his bag on the ground. I followed him as he walked down to retrieve it. “So, why can’t you go stay with Roman. I’m sure he’d want you there.”

I hesitated. I didn’t want to start sharing every bit of my personal life with this stranger. “Listen, I just can’t.”

Dean shrugged. “Anyone else? Anywhere else I can take you.”

Something in his presence and the way he spoke made me feel I could trust him. And, given he worked security for my stepfather, I was sure he would get me somewhere safe.

“Just a motel room somewhere,” I started, but then remembered that I had basically no money. “I’d have to pay you back though…sorry.”

Dean swung the duffel bag over his huge, shoulders, which were about the size of cantaloupes. “Yeah, I know you’d be good for it.” He started towards his car, the last one left in the dirt lot. It looked like some old classic, with tire rims made from crisscrossing metal in the shape of a snowflake and the word FORMULA written in bold red across the back, but I didn’t know much about cars. “But listen, why don’t you come stay with me. I don’t want that asshole deciding to track you down.” Dean tossed the bag into the back seat and went around to the passenger side, opening the door for me. “And in the morning, we’ll sort out where you’ll go.”

Again, I felt I could trust him. He was so different from the other men in my life, like Ace or my stepfather. He was gruff, silent, brooding, and concise. He wasn’t trying to charm me or bull shit me. He was who he was. And I knew if he wanted me safe, I’d be safe. Nothing could stop a man like that. Dean was in a league of his own.

I followed my instincts. I got in the car.

We drove for just under half-an-hour, towards the coast. He didn’t say anything, and neither did I. The roads were empty since it was past midnight on a Thursday night, so we cruised comfortably with the windows down and the warm night air flowing through the car.

Finally we pulled up to a small house on the beach. I could tell from the route we’d driven that we were on the ocean side of Oak Island. I’d been in this area before since I volunteered with the maritime conservation groups further down the coast.

As we exited the car, I looked down the small driveway and out over the water to where the moon was reflected in the sparkling ocean. The ocean was beautiful during the day, but it was even more gorgeous at night. The breeze tossed my hair and the smell of salt and sand mixed in the air. I was in heaven.

Dean, for his part, didn’t seem to care. Maybe he took it for granted. He opened the door and walked inside without so much as a word. I surveyed the simple grey exterior of the little square house—cottage was more like it—and smiled. It was so much more welcoming than the sprawling modernist monstrosity that Ace had built for himself up near Wilmington. The place I’d lived the past two years stuck out like a sore thumb and looked hostile at best.

This cottage was like a little escape nestled right into the grassy dunes. It hardly matched the owner though, that’s for sure. I found it hard to think of Dean—disciplined, brusque, and harsh—as anything close to a beach bum.

As I went inside, I heard the water running and realized he’d just gone straight to the shower. He’d casually left the door ajar, and part of me wanted to go and sneak a peek. I mean, it wasn’t everyday you came across a guy like that… I was curious.

But my sense of decorum overcame my often times unbridled curiosity, and I took a seat on the couch instead. It was a plain looking couch in a sparse looking apartment. The furniture was minimal and—not at all surprising—Dean wasn’t one to decorate. In a way it was nice though. The walls of the cottage were wooden, from a time when things were built with character. The place had an old-timey nautical feel. I loved it.

Dean got out of the shower, with a towel wrapped loosely around his chiseled waist.

Wow.

I gulped rather audibly, catching my breath. He didn’t have any fat on his torso, whatsoever. The plunging V-cut of his abdomen cast deep shadows over that concave part above his hips that I wanted so badly to touch. His skin, with a light dusting of hair across the pecs and down the middle of the abs, stretched tight over the swells and ripples of his torso. 

But he was huge. Huge like he was hewn out of marble with a presence and bearing you had to admire. His shoulders popped with muscle and he turned sideways to fit through the bathroom door. He ran a hand through his wet, inky dark hair, and walked past me to the fridge.

“You want something to eat, drink?”

“Just water,” I replied, secretly wishing his towel would slip down further.

Dean threw me a bottle of water and grabbed a beer for himself. He popped off the cap over the side of the counter with a tap of his fist, and walked back over past me and into another room.

“I’m going to go change and clean up the room for you. I’ll take the couch.”

“Thanks,” I said, as he closed the door behind him.

I waited five minutes. Curiosity got the better of me. The house was small, so I wandered through the kitchen into a small dining room with a basic wooden table and chairs with backs made of oars. It was cute and made me smile. It was a detail so unlike Dean, it seemed like it had to be someone else’s house.

The dining room led out to a small balcony. I unlocked the sliding door, and stepped out onto rickety wooden boards that made loud noises with each and every step. The view was gorgeous. It looked and felt like I was standing right on top of the ocean. And the old, gritty character of the cottage made it that much more special, like I was taking off to sea in ye olden days, about to sail off into vast, powerful, and uncharted waters.

“There you are.”

I snapped my head back over my shoulder to see Dean standing in the doorway. He’d put on some jeans and traded his white tank top for the exact same thing in black. And he looked just as good, if not better. He seemed a bit more relaxed, like the rage and rush from the fight before had finally receded.