Page 5

"Sul, wait up!"

I see MacGyver jogging toward me, something dark in his hand, and realize he's carrying a leather jacket.

"Thought you might need this."

"Thanks, man." I quickly shrug it on and zip it up.

"Ride safe."

MacGyver glances at Violet, concern on his face. I look behind me, but she avoids meeting either of our gazes. MacGyver and I exchange a stare, and I start the bike with a roar of the powerful engine. "Always."

MacGyver turns to go back into the bar. I lean back and grasp Violet's cold hands in mine, squeezing them gently before I tuck them into the pockets of the jacket I wear. It'll protect them from the cold, but it also forces her a bit closer. "Hold tight."

She doesn't respond.

And I growl at whoever I need to hurt to protect her.

Chapter 3

Violet

* * *

He's free.

The awareness that my ex-husband is no longer in prison and hasn't been for weeks, that he's roaming around and able to do whatever he likes, leaves me feeling cold and sick to my stomach.

Images from our marriage, from that last awful night, race through my mind at the speed of light, hitting me with the same force of all those blows, like I'm experiencing them all over again.

My hands fist against Sully's rock-hard stomach, and the satin lining of the leather jacket transmits the warmth of his body to my icy hands.

He drives slow. Almost too slow. I want to tell him to go faster, to push every limit and speed down the mostly empty road until the memories can't keep up. Until I'm free of them. But I know he's probably doing this for me. Giving me time to adjust to riding the large bike as well as making sure he doesn't scare me.

Sully's like that. Charming and sweet. Considerate.

I squeeze my eyes tight and lower my head to his back, barely able to bite back a scream of absolute rage. I'd have to be crazy not to see or sense Sully's interest in me.

But I can't… I can't go there. I can't be that woman for him.

And right now? I also can't argue my need for company, and while my sister, Jasmine, would pester me to no end with questions, Sully accepts my silence. That's precious and priceless to me.

Life isn't fair. Everyone knows that. But how is it fair or just or even comprehensible that the man who raped me and very nearly killed me is just…free?

I can feel my body and mind shutting down. Going into ostrich mode where all I want to do is bury myself beneath a blanket and never see daylight again.

I'm not suicidal.

Depressed? Maybe. A little.

But more than anything?

I'm tired. I'm tired of being on edge all the time. I'm tired of not sleeping because of the nightmares and memories. I'm tired of wondering when the next man I see is going to get angry over something trivial and use his fists instead of his words.

My therapist warned me that bartending might be triggering for me, simply due to the clientele and how people—men—behave when drunk.

But what I feel is more than that. It runs deeper. Like I'm standing on the edge of a cliff with my ex closing in on me and the only way out is to jump and pray the landing doesn't hurt worse.

We leave the brightest part of the island behind, and Sully continues toward the southernmost end. We pass Ft. Fisher and cruise slowly down the darkened road until we get to the very tip of the island. Normally the place is packed with cars, whether people are fishing, boating or exploring. It's empty now, probably due to the cold and the time of year. We're isolated, and it's dark. I don't see anyone who would hear me scream.