“Whatever you say.” He drops his hand, turns on his heel, and walks back inside.
I hug myself and turn away from the house. The sun is just breaking the horizon, and the sky is slowly changing to a soft yellow glow.
Shane approaches me, “Mo, I have coffee.” I look at him over my shoulder with a raised eyebrow. “Actual coffee.”
“Thank you.” I take the mug from him, and I feel the warmth. How did I not notice that when Rhys passed me the mug earlier? I’m blaming the shock of Rhys doing something nice for me. But still if I paid attention, it could have saved me all that.
“I know you’re not happy about this, but I need you safe. And here is safe.”
“I don’t know. I might kill him.” I deadpan; the thought is cathartic.
He throws his arm around my shoulders. “Good thing I’m a cop; I can help you cover that up.”
“You’d cover up your best friend’s murder?” I question, leaning into the embrace.
“If you committed it? Absolutely. I’ll protect you always.”
Tears prick my eyes; I don’t trust my voice, so I just nod. A throat clears from behind us.
“You’d cover up my murder? Some mate.”
They laugh and I take the opportunity to duck away.
Beau and Davis, or as I now call them, Tweedle dee and Tweedle dumb, are at the table putting their boots on. They look me up and down. Their mischievous eyes are now etched with pity.
I didn’t know how much I hated that look until it kept getting shot in my direction. I might have trouble trusting men, flinch from fast movements, have visible bruises and am sporting a busted lip, but that does not mean I want anyone's pity. Placing my now empty mug in the sink, with the anger I am feeling feeding my confidence to say the next words, I turn to look at them.
“You don’t know me well, but if you look at me with pity again, I’ll tell every woman on these tour buses that you have gonorrhoea.”
Davis looks away but I catch the smirk on his lips. But Beau places his hand over his heart and looks shocked, “You wound us so.”
“Dare me.” I narrow my eyes.
Holding their hands up, “Yep, you got it. No pity.”
“What are you two doing here anyway?”
“Rhys has the better coffee.” Davis shrugs, picking up his mug and the pack of smokes I didn’t notice sitting on the table. “Go get your boots, Barbie, we have a station to check on.”
Barbie? I don’t ask why. I’m sure it’s the blonde hair. Again, a control tactic by Ethan. And with that thought, I decide I’m going to go back to my original hair colour. Another way to reclaim myself and a fuck you to Ethan.
I don’t have boots, though. That is until I walk into my room and find a new pair on the foot of my bed, with a flanno lying next to them.
The tag of the boots reads Ringers Western. The name doesn’t sound familiar, everyone back at Barrenridge just used R.M Williams and Wrangler.
I go about getting dressed in a simple pair of denim shorts and a t-shirt. Sitting on the edge of the bed I slip on the boots. The morning might have a chill, but I don’t mind it. So I tie the flanno around my waist.
The shoes fit perfectly. I catch my reflection in the mirror of the bathroom. Who even am I? This time a little over a week ago, I was wearing high heels, blazers and lived in the city. Now I’m wearing leather boots and a flanno living in the middle of nowhere. Unfortunately, the bruises aren’t much different, just not hidden by layers of makeup.
Chapter Three
RHYS
We watch as Morgan enters back into the house. I hate myself for the way my eyes drop to her ass. I blame the silk sleep shorts and the fact that I need to get laid. Not to mention copping an eye full of boob this morning.
I’ll give it to her, she’s beautiful. Even covered in those bruises. They only show her strength, although I’m certain she doesn’t see it that way. I hate that guy for putting them there. I clench my fist at the thought of her being away from home and having to endure it. Shane takes my clenched hands for another meaning.
“This might have been a mistake. I forgot how much you two hated each other.” Shane breaks the silence.
