Defending Zara (Mountain Mercenaries #6)(30)

Zara nodded. She didn’t want to be in the limelight. She’d done her best to fade into the background for so long, it was horrifying to think of herself in front of cameras or her image in the newspapers.

Meat reached for her hand and brought it up to his face. He pressed her palm to his cheek. Zara felt the scratchy beard on her skin . . . and wanted to know if the hair on his head felt the same way.

“You aren’t going to be alone in dealing with anything, Zar. I’ll be there. And the rest of the guys. And their women too. You’ll see. You’ll fit right in.”

She wasn’t sure about that, but didn’t bother contradicting him.

There was a knock at the door, and Zara startled badly. Meat kept hold of her hand and did his best to soothe her. “Shhhh. It’s just Gray with my computer, and probably my bag too.”

She nodded, and he took one more long look at her before letting go of her hand. He walked to the door, taking his duffel bag and a backpack from Gray. He thanked him and said he’d see him and the rest of the guys later, when Arrow returned with food.

Meat closed the door, locked the bolt and the chain, then put the duffel on the bed. He pulled out a T-shirt, a pair of gray sweats, and a pair of socks. He then riffled through his bag some more and held up a small zippered bag. “There’s a comb, shampoo, toothpaste, deodorant, and lotion in here. It’s not exactly feminine, but I thought maybe . . .” His voice trailed off.

Zara’s eyes widened at the offer. God, she hadn’t used deodorant in forever. And real toothpaste? Bliss! She didn’t even care that she didn’t have a toothbrush. She could use her finger, just like she’d been doing for the last however many years.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Meat brushed off her thanks. He had no idea how much his actions meant to her. Clean clothes, a comb, deodorant . . . those were like a gold mine to people in the barrio.

“Go on. Take your shower. You’re safe here. No one will come in and bother you.”

Of course they wouldn’t. Not with Meat guarding the door. And Zara had no doubt he would bar the door against anyone who might want to do her harm.

She picked up the clothes and toiletry bag and held them to her chest. There was so much she wanted to say, but she couldn’t get the words out. She’d experienced small acts of kindness over the years, but nothing had touched her as much as what Meat and his friends had done, were doing, for her.

Nodding again, Zara turned and bolted for the bathroom. She shut the door a little harder than she’d intended and winced. She hoped Meat didn’t think she was being rude.

She stared at the little lock on the doorknob for a long time.

She didn’t need to lock it. Meat wouldn’t walk in on her. She trusted him.

But still, she found her hand lifting and turning the small button all the same.

Trying to ignore the shame she felt at not completely trusting Meat, Zara put her bundle down on the sink. For just a second, she stared at the crisp, clean white towels hanging on the rack. She looked at the washcloths and down at the clean clothes on the counter.

She leaned over and put her nose into the fabric and swallowed hard at the smell of soap, detergent, and what she assumed was the scent of Meat himself. His very essence was woven into the fabric of the clothes he’d given her.

This was what heaven must be like.

Clean clothes, toothpaste, and hot water.

It had been a long time since she’d been this content.

And with that, Zara turned on the water in the tub, holding her hand under the stream until it got hot. Then she turned on the shower, pulled the curtain, and stripped out of the dirty, nasty, smelly clothes she’d been wearing for far too long, including the cloth she’d been using to bind her chest. Leaving them in a pile in the middle of the bathroom, she avoided looking at herself in the mirror, grabbed the small bar of soap from the sink, and stepped under the scalding-hot water.





Chapter Eleven

Meat sat on the edge of the chair at the small desk in the motel room, one ear tuned to the bathroom as he scoured the internet for information about the Layne family.

He’d heard Zara lock the door and honestly wasn’t surprised. While he felt as if he knew her pretty well, in actuality, they didn’t know each other at all.

His ankle and ribs throbbed as he scrolled through the search results, reminding him of how and why he’d met Zara.

Thirty minutes later, the shower was still running—and Meat sat back and sighed. What he’d found out about Chad and Emily Layne changed things. In some ways, what he’d learned made Zara’s life easier, and in others, made it a lot harder.

The couple had been loaded.

Fifteen years ago, they’d been worth around ten million dollars. Now . . . that number had climbed to around twenty million. And if his nosing around was correct, Zara was the sole heir. She’d never have to worry about a safe place to sleep at night or having enough money to purchase clean clothes and a freaking toothbrush again.

But along with that money came headaches Zara had no clue about.

It looked like, upon her parents’ deaths, the money had been put into a trust for Zara. She was supposed to have been receiving a monthly stipend upon turning eighteen, and she’d get the rest of the money when she was twenty-eight.

At one point, her uncle, Alan, had attempted to get his hands on the money, claiming Zara was deceased, but because her body had never been found, her parents’ lawyer had fought him, and a judge refused to release the funds. Which was a smart move, considering Alan had been in and out of rehab and jail practically his entire life.