Beneath the Scars (Masters of the Shadowlands #13)(6)

With a sympathetic grin, Oz started his bike, and the distinctive low rumble of a Harley filled the air. Waggling his eyebrows at Holt, he revved it up loudly.

Asshole, Holt mouthed. His fingers curled with the need to take his own bike out.

Grinning, Oz peeled out, followed by the other two firefighters’ vehicles.

Before Holt could move, a car pulled into his driveway.

Jesus, did I put the welcome mat out or something?

The car door opened, and Max Drago stepped out. He was one of Uzuri’s Doms—and another member of the Shadowlands. After Holt’s knifing, his fellow Shadowlands Masters had kept as close an eye on him as had his fire crew. Maybe closer.

Lifting a hand, Holt walked down to greet the cop.

*

A couple minutes ago, the sudden roar of a motorcycle had yanked Josie right out of the writing zone. In her office—a bedroom that faced the street—she’d looked up from her story to see bunch of big, over-muscled brutes in her neighbor’s driveway.

As one drove his motorcycle away, he slowed to wave at someone.

Josie leaned forward and saw Carson standing in the front yard, watching the biker and his friends. She hurried to the front door and leaned out. “Carson, come here.”

Expression sulky, he returned to the house.

She closed the door. “Didn’t I ask you to stay away from that man?”

“Geez, Mom. What’s the deal? He’s not some effing—”

“Carson,” she warned.

With a sullen look, he stomped inside and to his room. The door slammed.

Oh…damn. Returning to her office, she couldn’t even remember what she’d been writing, because the full weight of mommy-guilt had landed on her shoulders. How could she explain to Carson why she didn’t want him over there? Especially since she tried to teach him not to judge someone on appearance. I’m sorry, honey, but I don’t like the way Holt looks…even though he’s sexy enough to make a nun drool. But you have to stay away.

Oh, that reasoning would go over well.

What kind of a name was Holt, anyway?

There must be some way to keep Carson away from the man and his friends. Bikers and leather jackets and Harleys. Talk about irresistible appeal. If Carson started going over there, he’d soon be involved with drugs and fighting and women.

She blew her long bangs out of her eyes. Josie, you’re over-reacting.

She was. But still… Carson was her baby. A fatherless boy might want a man in his life but a biker was not a good choice. Somehow, she needed to shield Carson from such a bad influence.

Shaking her head, she sat down at the desk. Back to work. She needed to answer her reader emails and finish writing the latest scene.

She pulled up an email. The girl loved the series. Couldn’t wait for the next book. And added a final paragraph: “I think Laurent and Tigre should fall in love. Pleeeze?” Josie huffed a laugh. Young girls were so cute.

However, they lacked insight because what would really happen would go like this: Tigre would get all kissy with Laurent. Then the rich baron’s daughter would latch onto him, and he’d drop Laurent like a dead mouse.

Or after luring Laurent into falling for him, he’d notice the overly endowed tavern girl, and Laurent would trip over the two rolling around in the stable. Since Laurent was a fire-starter, she’d set the hay on fire, Josie would be out a hero, and her teenaged fans would have fits.

No. Romance. Her answering email started with “I’m sorry, but…”

With the reader emails answered, Josie dove back into her world of young heroes and fantastic powers. This was her joy—touching others through the stories she shared, connecting with them in this amazing way. The only thing that came close was listening to the stories other people told, sharing and lightening their pain.

An hour passed quietly, and a glance at the clock showed it was time for her to eat something. A long night of bartending required adequate fuel, although Sunday night after Thanksgiving should be quiet.

Someday, maybe her writing would bring in enough money to live on, and she could quit the bartending job. With each new book she put out, she earned more, but wasn’t it funny how the bills rose at the same time and sucked away every drop of spare money? Carson kept growing, needing new shoes, new jeans, new everything, and he ate like a sumo wrestler.

Speaking of eating…

In the living room, bag of chips half gone, her boy was watching TV. Shaggy hair, big brown eyes, growing so fast. Such a precious gift.

He was watching an old Star Trek episode, and wasn’t that awesome? Maybe his generation would take humans to the stars. “You know, I always wanted to be Deanna Troi.” Was that because she got to have a superpower—was an empath?

“I dunno, Mom. You’d have to let your hair grow long to be Troi.”

“Well, never mind then. I’d go nuts.” Josie ruffled at her ear-length strands.

When Carson snickered, she grinned. It seemed she’d been forgiven for being an unreasonable mom. Then again, her boy rarely held a grudge.

After watching Kirk, McCoy, and Spock argue onscreen, she asked, “Which one of those would you want to be?”

Crunching on a chip, he considered. “Kirk gets all the fun stuff, but Mr. Spock is a lot smarter. More like me, so I’d be him, I guess.”

Poor Dr. McCoy wasn’t even in the running. “Good choice. I prefer the smart ones, too.”