Beneath the Scars (Masters of the Shadowlands #13)(3)

Her son stomped into the house, muttering, “I’ll talk with him if I want to.”

She stared after him, and her shoulders slumped.

Good job of parenting, Josie. FAIL.


Jesus, the woman had looked at him as if his face was rotting off. Thoroughly annoyed, Alexander Sullivan Holt stalked into his half of the one-story duplex.

As he closed the door, a deluge of memories froze him in place. “Bastard! She’s mine.” A knife drove into Holt’s upper back. Holt spun and cold burning pain slashed his face. He punched. Connected. Even as the man bellowed in anger, warm liquid poured down Holt’s face—and more flowed down his back. Blood. A fiery pain blossomed over his shoulder blade.

After a second, he managed to pull in a breath and shake off the flashback. Hell. The slices on his gut and back were burning as if brand new—no, the pain was simply because every muscle in his body had tensed.

He moved on into his place. It was a shame his new neighbor hated the sight of him…because he’d enjoyed looking at her. Although he liked long hair on a woman, her short jagged cut was damned cute, reminding him of a sprite or pixie or something. And the color—like burnished copper with lighter gold streaks—was amazing. Green eyes. Freckles sprinkled over her face and arms. Very Irish, he’d guess. She had an average sized, sturdy body, and rather than artificially glamorous, she seemed refreshingly real.

And direct. She sure hadn’t hidden the fact that she wanted her kid to stay well away from him. He’d never thought a soft Texas accent could contain so much ice. Of course, he had to appreciate a woman who looked out for her cub—he’d seen too many who didn’t.

Still… It sucked to be looked at as if he was Freddy Krueger.

After punching up a Disturbed album, hearing the first strains of “The Sound of Silence”, he wandered into his small kitchen and pulled out a beer. It was only early afternoon, but he didn’t give a damn. He downed half of it in a long series of gulps.

Pausing for a breath, he studied the bottle for a moment before emptying it into the sink. Maybe he was screwed up—and so ugly he made pretty redheads turn pale—but alcohol wasn’t the answer.

He should eat something instead. Not that he was hungry.

His cell phone rang from somewhere in the living room.

After a short search, he located the damn thing beside his recliner. With luck, the caller wouldn’t be a reporter. It’d been a couple weeks or so since he’d been sliced up like mincemeat, and the news services surely must consider him old news.

The display read Uzuri. He swiped ANSWER. “Hey.”

“Oh, good. I called earlier, and you didn’t answer. Where are you?” Uzuri continued without pausing for air. “Are you still at Jake and Rainie’s house? Or—”

Holt grinned. She really was his favorite female friend. “I’m in your place, although I should probably call it my duplex now. Thank you, and thank your Doms for moving my stuff from my apartment. I know you couldn’t have had much spare time before your vacation.” Alastair and Max had taken her to their family’s ranch up in Colorado.

“Pffft, there wasn’t much to do. Your moving company handled almost everything.”

“And you unpacked it all. I noticed.” Before all this shit happened, he’d been living in Uzuri’s duplex while his apartment complex was being remodeled. After the attack, Uzuri had moved in permanently with her men, and Holt assumed her lease.

She’d called him crazy, since this was where her stalker had almost knifed him to death. He rubbed the scar on his cheek carefully. Maybe he was insane, but damned if he’d let his choices be limited by memories of that asshole.

He added, “I also appreciate that you took care of the cleanup.” There’d been broken glass and his blood all over the place.

Her voice went thin. “Max’s fellow cops knew of companies that handle…stuff.”

“Stuff? You’re such a girl. The company did a good job.”

“I’m glad. When did you get back? I can’t believe Rainie let you leave already.”

His best friend’s woman had thrown a fit, actually, predicting he’d die before he got through two stoplights. “This morning. Rainie fed me before I left.” Then he’d taken a fucking long nap once he got here.

“Do you have food? We get back tomorrow, so I can bring some over Sunday, but if you’re out, I can call some of the—”

“Zuri, I’m fine. Relax and enjoy your last day of Thanksgiving vacation. How’s Colorado?” Holt sat down carefully, gritting his teeth over the sharp burn. Next time he got knifed, he’d request either the back or the gut. Not both. No matter how he moved, something felt as if it was ripping.

“Oh, Holt, the Drago ranch is huge. They have horses and are teaching me to ride. Both their dads are amazing, and everybody’s so nice and not even freaked out about them both being with me. Their cousins told me Max and Alastair shared everything all their lives, so why would they ever stop?”

“I’m glad.” And he was. Little Zuri deserved everything good, and the Drago cousins would make sure she had it. Good Doms; good men. Gave a man hope for his gender.

Before he’d been sliced and diced, he thought he’d found himself a sweetie like Uzuri.

Life was full of disappointments.