CRAVING THE WRONG MAN

EVEN MORE HATE

MIA

I haven't seen him in three years.

For a moment, I almost don't recognize him.

Then he looks directly at me, and I swallow hard.

Jesus.

He has gotten bigger.

Not just taller, but broader and heavier, with shoulders that seem to stretch across half the night. A black singlet clings to his chest, leaving his thick arms bare, and tattoos cover nearly every visible inch of skin. Black ink climbs over his collarbones and spreads across his shoulders in intricate patterns, while smaller symbols, blades, crosses, and old lettering fill the spaces between them.

The tattoos continue up his neck, curling beneath his jaw and disappearing behind one ear.

His beard is fuller than I remember, his dark hair longer, and there is something harder about his face now that makes the Rhett I remember seem almost like another person.

I have always known Rhett was ridiculously handsome.

But standing here, looking at him after three years, handsome feels like an insult.

There is nothing soft about the man walking toward me now.

He looks like the kind of man people cross the street to avoid.

The kind of man whose reputation doesn't need an introduction.

The kind of man who could walk into a room without saying a word and make everyone inside it remember exactly why they were afraid of him.

His boots hit the pavement as he comes toward me quickly, his expression stern as his eyes move over me from head to toe. They stop at my torn clothes, my bruised wrists, and the blood smeared across my hands.

His jaw tightens."What happened?"

I try to answer, but nothing comes out.

He stops directly in front of me. "Mia."

I look up at him.

His eyes are exactly the same as I remember, dark and sharp, but there is something in them now that makes me uneasy.

He crouches slightly, bringing himself closer to my eye level. "Who did this to you?"

I shake my head. "I don't know."

"Where is Saint?"

My heart breaks all over again. I look away, and Rhett notices immediately.

He always noticed too much."Did he leave you?"

My lips part, but I can't answer.

I don't want to tell him. I don't want to tell anyone.

Because saying it aloud would make it real.

Rhett studies my face, and whatever he sees there makes something harden in his expression.

"He left you, didn't he?"

My eyes fill before I can stop them.

He goes quiet for a moment, then asks, "What happened?"

I finally look at him. "He…he likes someone else."

The words barely make it past my throat.

Rhett doesn't need to ask who I mean. His eyes sharpen immediately.

"Maren?"

I nod.

He looks away for a moment, his jaw working as though he is swallowing something he doesn't want to say. I expect anger, maybe even satisfaction. I expect him to tell me that Saint finally showed me who he really was, because Rhett has never hidden how much he hates his younger brother.

Instead, he looks back at me.

"I’m sorry, I didn't know where else to go," I whisper.

"You called me."

"Yes."

"After three years"

"I know."

He studies me quietly before asking, "You know Saint is going to come looking for you."

"I don't want him to."

Something unreadable passes through his eyes.

"Then he won't find you."

I stare at him.

The certainty in his voice scares me because Rhett has always been dangerous. I simply never understood how dangerous until now.

He reaches toward my face, then pauses as though giving me the chance to pull away. I don't.

His fingers gently move a strand of hair away from my cheek, and the tenderness of the gesture catches me completely off guard.

"You should have called me sooner."

A broken laugh slips out of me. "I thought you hated us."

"I hated your father."

I blink.

His eyes remain on mine. "And I hate your husband even more."

There is no hesitation in the words.

My heart twists. "You still hate Saint?"

"I never stopped."

I look away. "Why?"

His expression changes, but he doesn't answer. Instead, he looks at the bruises around my wrists again.

"Did he hurt you?"

"No, he didn't."

That answer is easier because Saint didn't put the bruises on my wrists. He didn't point a gun at me. But he did something that hurts in a place I don't know how to protect.

He chose another woman.and left me to die.

Rhett seems to understand that there is more behind my answer, but he doesn't push me to explain.

"Come with me."

I look toward the truck and hesitate. This is Rhett, the man Saint hates, the man I once knew as my friend, and the man everyone now describes as ruthless. I am about to put myself completely in his hands, and every sensible part of me knows how dangerous that is.

"Where are you taking me?"

"Somewhere no one will come to find you."

"Can I trust you?"

His eyes hold mine. "You called me."

There is something about those words that makes my chest ache because he's right. Out of everyone in the world, I called him.

Maybe because some part of me still remembers the man who used to sit across from me at my father's clubhouse and make me laugh. Maybe because some part of me knows that, despite everything that happened between our families, he would have answered that call three years ago too.

I try to stand. My knees buckle immediately.

Rhett catches me before I hit the ground, one arm wrapping around my waist while the other steadies my shoulder.

"Easy."

"I'm fine," I whisper.

"You can stop pretending with me Mia."

The words break something inside me.

I don't answer because I can't. I let my head fall against his hard chest because I am too exhausted to hold it up anymore, and the steady beat of his heart beneath my cheek feels strangely grounding after everything I've been through tonight.

His arms tighten around me as he takes my weight.

"Mia."

I try to open my eyes.

I can't.

The exhaustion from everything pulls me under too quickly, and the last thing I feel is his hand moving carefully behind my head as he carries me in his arms toward the truck.

The last thing I hear is his voice, low and furious, speaking to someone beside the vehicle.

"Get the doors open."

Then everything goes dark