Second Chance SEAL(73)
“Mom of lung cancer, Dad of an overdose about a month after she passed.”
“I’m sorry. That’s a lot of tragedy for one family.”
“Shit, my parents were assholes. They were criminals and addicts, lived their lives real hard. I’m surprised they lasted as long as they did.”
“And your brother?”
I frowned, looking down at his grave. “He didn’t deserve this,” I said slowly, “but he was an asshole too.”
She cocked her head at me. “What about you? Are you an asshole, just like your family?”
“Maybe,” I said, turning to her. “Guess you’ll just have to find out.”
She looked at me for a second, a puzzled expression in her eyes. I grinned at her and started walking back toward the car. “Come on,” I said.
“Wait. Don’t you want to visit more?”
“I did what I came to do,” I said. “Let’s go.”
She sighed and followed me. We climbed back into the car and I started the engine. She looked over at me. “Are you just going to drag me around behind you until this is all done?”
I grinned at her, genuinely enjoying this moment. “I sure as fuck am. And you’re going to enjoy every minute of it.”
“So far, you nearly made me climb out a window and took me to a graveyard. I’m not impressed.”
“I also saved your pretty ass and fed you pancakes. I think I’m doing all right.”
She cracked a small smile. “Yeah. You’re about even on the scorecard right now.”
I put the car in gear and started driving. “We’re going to need to work on this attitude of yours,” I said to her as we hit the main road.
“Attitude?”
“Yeah. You don’t seem very grateful to the man who’s keeping you safe.”
“I’m grateful that you saved me,” she said softly, “but I don’t know you.”
“Guess not. I think you’ll enjoy our time together, though.”
“See, that makes me think I won’t. You’re a cocky one.”
“I’m only cocky because I know I can back it up. Like how I know that you’re dripping wet right now just thinking about me this morning, half naked. You looked at me like you wanted me to get into that bed with you more than anything.”
“I doubt that,” she said. “Otherwise you would have.”
I grinned at her. “Maybe I’ve got more self-control than you do.”
“I doubt that even more, Travis Rock.”
“All right then, Hartley. What’s your last name anyway?”
“Baker,” she said.
“Hartley Baker.” I smirked at her. “Definitely going to adjust that attitude before I’m done with you.”
She made a face and shook her head before staring out the window, pointedly ignoring me.
Fuck did I like her. I wanted to break her so badly, make her put down her defenses and spread those pretty legs for me. I could practically taste that sweet cunt of hers already.
Ten more minutes of driving later and we pulled off the road onto a long gravel drive. It twisted up through the hills and finally spit us out in front of a squat cabin with a bunch of structures jutting off it. Junk was strewn about the yard, old farming equipment, cut-down trees, and other detritus from the years.
Hartley stared at the place. “This looks like it was built by an insane person.”
I laughed. “Well, you’re not too far off. Come on. Let’s go meet Markus.”
“Markus?”
“An old friend.” I climbed out of the car. “Markus! It’s Travis Rock!”
Hartley stepped out of the car. The building was silent and looked like nobody had been inside it in years.
“Looks like he’s not home,” she said softly.
“Markus! Damn it, get out here,” I called out.
“How do you know this guy anyway?” Hartley asked.
“He’s a distant cousin of some kind,” I said. “Somewhere on my mom’s side, I think.”
“I thought you said your family left Knoxville.”
“I don’t really consider Markus family, exactly. More like a mentor in some ways. He’s a little strange.”
“You don’t say.”
I grinned at her. “Just be patient.”
“I’m trying to be, but I’m a little out of my depths here.”
“Don’t worry, girl. I got you.” I looked back toward the house. “Markus! It’s fucking Travis!”
There was some noise from inside and then slowly the front door creaked open. Markus stepped out, holding a shotgun on his shoulder.
He looked about the same as I remembered, except his beard had grown a bit grayer around the edges. Markus was tall and broad and a little fat, and he wore worn-out jeans with a fraying flannel shirt. His beard was unkempt, just like his long hair, which was pulled back loosely in a ponytail.