Chapter One
Trace
I survey the old rust bucket filled with junk. There’s a lot of scrap metal inside of it—small appliances like toasters and TVs, metal pet cages, auto parts, and old electronics litter the vehicle that was towed up my mountain today. Even the car itself could be broken down for scrap.
Normally, this sort of haul is a dream come true for me since I’m a metal welder, creating complex art pieces for businesses and collectors alike. But the three men who brought it up here aren’t my regular sellers. No, there’s something shifty about these guys that has my teeth on edge.
“How much did you say you wanted for all the junk in this heap?” I ask even though I already have a rough idea of the figure they’ll name.
The man in the gray beanie, the one that seems to be in charge of the whole operation, names a figure that’s too low. Obviously, he’s not used to selling scrap and judging by the way he and his friends keep twitching, the profits from this little venture are going straight up their noses.
I step around to the back of the trunk, keeping my face carefully blank. My hip is acting up today, but I refuse to let it show. If I don’t show the pain, it doesn’t exist. A mantra that a scared boy learned too early in life.
“You want it or not?” He asks, rubbing at his face.
Fuck, the three of them are practically vibrating. For a split second, I consider letting this opportunity pass me by. I don’t need trouble, especially the trouble that comes from addicts who are just looking for their next high. But something compels me to reach for the car again. I don’t want to let it go even though I don’t understand why.
I pop the unlocked trunk and peer into it. There’s even more scrap metal in the back, various rusted tools, a tire that’s clearly deflated, and blonde hair. My gaze follows the silky gold and though I have to squint, I finally see it. A hypnotic blue gaze staring back at me.
It’s hard to tell under all the dirt, but there’s a woman back here. Her heart-shaped face and big, blue eyes give her an innocent look. She has the plumpest, most kissable lips I’ve ever seen.
“Please,” she mouths the single word and my heart breaks right here. Just what the hell has she been through? What led her to hide in the back of this car? Was she hoping that wherever she was headed was better than where she’d been?
I slam the trunk before Gray Beanie can get too close. I turn to the three men. “New term. I want the whole car and everything in it.”
The guys look at each other in confusion before the one in an orange tracksuit says, “It’ll be more money.”
I cross my arms over my chest, trying to ignore the tightness in my stomach. Is she OK? Does she have enough oxygen? How long has she been in there?
Gray Beanie scratches his arm. If he keeps going that hard, he’ll hit bone soon. “Yeah, double the price.”
I snort. I’d gladly pay triple what they’re asking, and I have it to spare. My creations caught the eye of eccentric millionaires early on and I’ve been well compensated for my work. But I’m a simple man. I don’t need millions upon millions so most of my earnings are quietly funneled toward a charity for abused kids.
Still, I don’t have extra cash on me, and there’s no way in hell I’m leaving her alone while I retrieve more money. Instead, I take a gamble that they’re pretty damn desperate for that next high. I toss the pouch with the money I do have. “Take it or leave it.”
Gray Beanie starts counting it while his friends anxiously nudge him, encouraging him to just accept it. Yeah, they’re already thinking about the good times they’re about to have. He stops counting the cash to glance at me. “I can get more cars, you know.”
“This was a one-time deal,” I growl at him. There’s no way in hell I want his kind of trouble up here again. “Now get the fuck off my mountain.”
I don’t have to tell them twice. Orange suit quickly unhitches the car, and the three of them are shoving their way into the tiny pickup truck they used to tow the junker up here in the first place.
I watch the truck until it’s just a speck on the horizon. “Good riddance, motherfuckers.”
That’s when it hits me what I just did. I did more than buy a rust bucket that was probably stolen to begin with. I just bought myself a woman.
Hurrying to the trunk, I pop the hood again. I peer into the dark and part of me expects her to be gone. Maybe I’ve been on this damn mountain for a very long time. Maybe I’m pretty damn lonely, especially as I’ve spent the past few months watching my friends get married.
But she’s not a figment of my imagination.
The woman is still there.
She stares at me with wide eyes, still not moving a muscle. Just how terrified is she? What was so horrible in her life that she had to leave it all behind and take a chance with strangers?
“I’m not going to hurt you,” I promise, thinking of a sixteen-year-old boy who ran from his own living nightmare. I mean for my voice to come out soft and reassuring, but living by myself for over twenty years means I’m not good with people. I don’t know how to comfort and soothe anyone.
She probably can’t get out because of all this junk so I grab the deflated tire and toss it on the ground at my feet. A rusted toolbox is next followed by a microwave. Damn, how did she get in here?
I work in silence that’s interrupted only by my own grunts. The midday humidity causes sweat to roll down my skin, and I can’t even blame it on the sun with this cloudy weather promising thunderstorms soon.
Most of this stuff in the trunk is unusable. But it doesn’t matter if I don’t use any of this car or what was inside of it. Because she’s here, and something crazy in me is saying she’s meant to be here.
The woman isn’t saying anything. She watches me. Her gaze unnerves me, makes something hot rush through my body that has nothing to do with the humid day. There’s something in her that I recognize even though I can’t explain it.
When I’m done, I reach for her arm to help her out.
But she shrinks away, somehow managing to fold even more of her body into the back. The trunk is deep enough that I’d damn near have to climb in if I wanted to scoop her out.
I think of the time I spent on the streets, of how I quickly learned that people can’t be trusted. “It’s OK if you’re in trouble. I won’t let anybody hurt you now.”
She still makes no move to leave.
Not that I expected her to. Any idiot can make her a promise and she’s smart enough to know that. A new thought occurs to me. Maybe she knew the morons from earlier. “Did you know those guys that were here? Did they hurt you?”
White hot rage unfurls in me at the thought. No one will ever put their hands on her again. I won’t let them. I’ll die to protect her even though I don’t understand why.
She shakes her head, the first time she’s communicated since she mouthed a single word earlier. It’s not much but it feels like progress.
Her stomach growls.
“I got food in my cabin,” I bark, pointing to my cabin with my thumb. It’s through the clearing, about a hundred feet behind me.
No answer.
Part of me debates just reaching in and hauling her out anyway. She’s got beautiful curves but she’s no match for my size. I’m already big and years of bending metal to my will—forcing it into shape—has strengthened me. But for some reason, I don’t drag her out.
I want her to come to me.
To not be scared of me.
Princess would know what to do. I’m an old grump, but Princess will comfort her. With a decisive nod, I turn back to my cabin and retrieve my kitty.
I have to pause before we go outside to slather her in sunscreen and put her little floppy sunhat on. She makes a mournful sound, humiliated at having to wear it. But even with the overcast weather, the UV rays are still a threat.
“Just convince her to trust us,” I explain to Princess as I carry her outside.
I set her in the trunk and watch. Despite disliking people as much as I do, Princess goes right up to the runaway.
The woman holds out her hand to Princess who sniffs her before allowing herself to be petted. I watch her hand stroke my cat’s soft fur, studying it. Her nails are neat and trimmed, painted a pretty red color that tells me she hasn’t been in this rough situation for too long. Something about the realization makes the tightness in my chest ease.
“What’s her name?” The question is so quiet that I almost miss it.
“Princess,” I answer. Not terribly original for a cat but she looked like a little princess to me. “Do you want to tell me yours now?”
She hesitates before finally whispering, “Molly.”