Beneath the Scars (Masters of the Shadowlands #13)(21)

Scary Doms, really. Both of them. And Josie decided questions about her biker neighbor would wait until she had Uzuri alone.

Unfortunately, Uzuri hadn’t forgotten. “You were asking me about Holt?” She waggled her eyebrows.

“Uh, right. I just wondered if he’d gotten hurt in some big biker brawl or something. He’s pretty beat up.”

Max’s mouth pressed into a line, and Uzuri’s smile died completely to be replaced by pain.

Josie froze. “Uzuri, what-whatever I said wrong, I’m sorry.”

After a second, Uzuri shook her head. “I forgot your great-aunt went into the hospital around then. You wouldn’t have heard what happened.”

“Honey, whatever it is that makes you look like that, we don’t need to talk about it.” Josie’s head was filling with all sorts of ugly conjectures.

“No, you should know. Holt lives next door to you.” Uzuri curled her fingers around Max’s hand as if for strength. “See, I had a stalker who was crazy. When I went to live with my dragon Doms, Holt stayed in my duplex while his apartment complex got renovated, and the stalker thought I was with him, and he ambushed Holt at home and cut him up with a knife.”

The words flowed by so fast Josie needed a bit to process the meaning. A stalker? Her hands closed into fists. Was that why Uzuri had always seemed nervous? The bastard had attacked Holt? There’d been no biker brawl. Oh my God. A knife. Those scars.

“Last night, Max told Holt not to lift the chair.” Josie’s words emerged as a whisper. “How badly was he hurt?”

“Stab wounds in the stomach and back,” Max said in his rough, deep voice. “Nicked an intestine. He had surgery and was in the hospital on antibiotics for a while.”

Uzuri’s face was haunted. “He—”

“He’ll be back at work soon.” Max squeezed Uzuri’s hand.

No wonder Holt had been home when other people were at work. No wonder he didn’t offer to help with her groceries. That was why he walked slowly. She’d been appallingly wrong about him. Remorse ran over her, through her, making her sag in the chair.

“My fault.” Uzuri stared at her hands. “It was—”

Josie blinked then scowled. She’d heard this taking-on-the-guilt crap before from all too many women, especially after they’d had a drink or two. “Excuse me, but did you ask that guy to stalk you?”

Uzuri blinked. “N-no.”

“Right. I bet you told him to go away, and the asshole didn’t, right?”

A nod.

“If you can’t control what other people do, you’re hardly to blame for their actions.” Josie threw up her hands. “Next, you’ll be taking on the guilt for all the squirrels that get run over, right?”

When Uzuri looked pole-axed, Max laughed.

Josie shoved to her feet. “I need to speak with Holt before I return to work. Is he still here?”

Max pointed toward the rear of the room. “He was watching a waxing scene in the left corner.”

Crossing the room, Josie collected friendly nods. One Dom said to his male submissive, “Sexy outfit. We should do a bartender-biker roleplay sometime.”

People here were sure different. Spotting Holt, Josie stopped.

Drink in one hand, he sprawled on a long leather couch, idly watching the cleanup of the nearby scene.

Guilt constricted her lungs.

His gaze landed on her, and his expression went flat.

Her chest felt as if someone had thumped her with a mallet. Holt had been friendly when they met, when he’d helped her at the bar. No longer.

Biting her lip for courage, she walked over and motioned to the couch beside him. “May I?”

He moved his legs. “Of course.”


What did the pretty bartender want?

Holt was fucking exhausted. He’d aided a new Dom who’d hit a submissive’s trigger and needed help with getting her settled. After that, everyone he knew had wanted to talk and see how he was doing. His intended brief visit to the Shadowlands had turned into a marathon.

Now he had to deal with a woman who disliked him for some damn reason. He kept his voice level with an effort. “Is there a problem I can help you with, Josie?”

She sat down beside him on the couch. In the short time he’d known her, she’d always been remarkably self-possessed—even when dealing with a pissed-off Edward—but right now, she looked shaken.

He softened his tone. “What’s the matter, sweetheart?”

“I was dreadfully wrong. I’m sorry, Holt; I’ve been so rude to you.”

Had he missed something? He breathed out slowly and gathered energy…because dammit, he was too tired to deal with this. She wasn’t his submissive. In fact, might not be submissive at all. Only, yeah, she was. And she needed help, which put her squarely into part of his Dom’s duties.

All right then. “You have been rude,” he said evenly. “Perhaps you’ll share why?”

Her gaze dropped. “I thought the damage to your arms and face was because you got in a knife fight.”

“I did.”

Looking up, she put her hand over his. “No, you were ambushed. By a crazy stalker. I thought you… You have a Harley and a black leather jacket and a friend with a bike. And you’re always home. I thought you were unemployed and in a gang and were fighting and brawling and…”