Page 1 of Hard & Haunted

CHAPTER ONE

ONYX

The industrial grinder screams against steel, throwing a spray of white-hot sparks into the gloom of the Rebel Kings garage. It’s past two in the morning, the rain hammering a relentless, staccato rhythm against the metal roll-up doors. I keep the fender I’ve been working on pressed to the metal, letting the vibration rattle up through my forearms.

There’s always something to work on, from engine repair to buffing fenders until I can see my ugly mug reflected back at me. When I can’t sleep, which is most of the time, I come here and find something to do with my hands. It’s grueling work, but at least it keeps my mind from devouring itself with regrets.

My hand slips, sending the fender flying across the garage until it smacks against the wall and falls to the concrete floor. I curse under my breath as I turn the machine off and remove my gloves. The gruesome scars covering my left hand and disappearing up my sleeve stare back at me, a horrifying reminder of my biggest failure.

A frantic knocking against the side delivery gate breaks through the noise of the storm, catching me off-guard. I strain to make sense of the sound, the knocks turning into a desperate, panicked pounding that makes my gut drop.

Thoroughly distracted from my downward spiral, I stride across the oil-stained concrete to figure out who the hell is out in the rain at this hour. This time of night is reserved for monsters like me.

Yanking the side door open, I’m ready for a rival scout, a drunk looking for trouble, or a street rat pushing their luck.

Instead, I find her.

She’s shivering, drenched, and clutching a battered old suitcase like it’s the only thing keeping her anchored to the earth. Her wide, doll-like hazel eyes flash a striking mix of blue and green under the security lights as they lock straight onto my massive, inked frame. Her immediate, defensive flinch hits my chest and twists the remnants of my tattered heart into a knot. I don’t know what this woman has been through, but she’s now mine to protect.

Without asking questions, without a single hesitation, I hook an arm around her and pull her inside out of the storm. That one touch will be branded on my skin for all of time. Unlike my other scars, I’ll gladly wear her mark for the rest of my life.

Inside, the woman cowers, curling into herself defensively. She’s shivering so hard her teeth click as she breathes in ragged, shallow gasps. I freeze, terrified of moving too fast, not wanting to scare her half to death while knowing damn well she needs to get out of those freezing clothes.

I slowly hold up my palms to show she’s safe, that I’m not a threat. For the first time in my forty years on earth, I wish I was less intimidating, smaller, less of a towering, lumbering figure with deep, ugly scars crawling up my left arm and neck. All I want to do is scoop the terrified woman up and hold her against my chest, letting my heart beat against hers until she’s safe and happy. Where these sudden, overwhelming thoughts are coming from, I have no idea.

I grab a few clean shop towels from a bin nearby, stepping forward slowly and holding one out to her. She looks up at me through long lashes and dark bangs plastered to her forehead by the rain, her wide hazel eyes locking onto mine and rearranging my chest, making a space for herself right next to my heart. She reaches out, her hand trembling violently, and drops the towel onto the dirty ground. Her gaze follows it down, then her eyes snap back up to mine. My chest caves in when I see a fresh wave of blind panic settle over her features, like she’s bracing for me to yell or strike her.

Fuck. It hurts more than I can describe.

I drop down, kneeling right on the concrete in front of the shivering woman, and unfold the second towel. I keep my voice low and steady. “May I?”

She swallows hard and gives a slow, agonizing nod. It’s not much, but to me, it’s everything. She’s giving me her trust. Just a little. Just enough.

I gently pat down her shoulders, arms, and hands, pausing to take her icy right hand in mine and giving it a soft, reassuring squeeze. “I’m Onyx.”

She blinks down at me, not saying a word. That’s okay. I proceed to gather her long, straight dark brown hair, gently wringing out the strands with the towel. I keep my eyes focused on the towel, but I’d have to be blind and stupid to not appreciate her lush curves, wide hips, and thick thighs. But now isn’t the fucking time to drool over the goddess who found shelter from the storm in my garage.

When I’m done drying her off, I grab another clean towel and drape it securely over her shoulders. “Can you tell me your name?” I ask, my voice softer than I knew I was capable of.

Her lips tremble, her mouth opening and shutting silently. She inhales sharply, holding her breath, then letting it out without a sound. Who the hell did this to her? She’s too terrified to even speak? I try to offer a reassuring smile, taking her small, frozen hands back into mine. “Can I call you Raindrop for now?”

A tiny flicker of a smile plays at the corner of her lips, but it vanishes in an instant, as if she likes the nickname but feels guilty for taking comfort in it. Nevertheless, she gives me a short, hesitant nod of approval.

I guide her deeper inside the garage, leading her back to my private office and urging her to sit on the worn leather couch. I sit next to her, keeping a careful distance so as not to crowd her space. She still can’t find her voice, so I shift to yes-or-no questions.

“Are you running from someone?”

She stills, then gives a jerky nod of her head.

“Are you in danger?”

A pause, a little hiccup as she tightly closes her eyes. She nods again.

I clench my jaw so hard my back teeth ache, knowing instantly I’d snap the neck of any motherfucker who even looked at her the wrong way.

“Are you hurt anywhere, Raindrop?”

Tears instantly stream down her face, and she starts hyperventilating, the silent panic telling me everything I need to know.