Page 38 of Junkyard Dog

She shook her head, forcibly ignoring the rising urge to jump out of the car and run to the tavern on foot, the sudden need to be wrapped tight in Alex’s arms entering a dangerous territory she didn’t want to deal with that night. “No. Nothing. One drink and we’re out.”

*

Alex kept hishead down, meticulously drying the same glass for five minutes as he followed through on his promise to Max.

Give her space.

His hair fell forward, shielding his eyes as he watched Charlotte sit tight beside Max, her legs drawn up onto the chair, her face completely devoid of expression. Her fellow rangers had greeted her with hugs and reassurances when she and Max walked into the lounge an hour earlier, Max breaking off from the group to halt his beeline toward Charlotte.

She needs us tonight, man. Not you. Not anything complicated.

He ran his hand through his hair and shelved the glass, grabbing another from the dishwasher.

Complicated.

There was nothing complicated between them. Unless he counted every half-truth and omission on his end. Or Charlotte’s sudden freeze-out earlier that day.

She’d given him little more than a tight-lipped smile when she came in with Max, her arms tight around herself when he jumped the bar counter in his need to ensure she was still unhurt.

And it stung.

He risked a glance over at her, his stomach turning when she laid her head on Max’s shoulder and he muttered something into her hair.

Cute couple.

“Can’t believe they allowed that girl to patrol the area by herself with everything going on,” Thomas grumbled, setting down a case of beer. “Poor thing, on her own seeing that.”

He knelt to stock the fridge, unable to formulate a response outside a grunt of agreement.

Had he picked up the scent earlier, been less distracted by her proximity and her words, Charlotte would never have made it to the peak. Never would have seen the dismembered body tucked unceremoniously into the crevices of the stones, the hiker’s shoes and backpack still affixed to his severed limbs. He would have fought her back to her truck on flat ground, feigning feral if he had to.

If only he’d been more alert.

More awake.

If only he’d sent out the SOS to his brothers the night he’d found their prey.

But he’d screwed up.

He’d been so desperate to steal a few more precious hours of normalcy with her, he’d selfishly shoved aside his mission, his brothers, and her safety.

The looping thoughts in his head turned his stomach as he shoved the last of the bottles into the fridge and stood, shaking his hair out of his eyes and crossing his arms as Max approached him.

“I’ll settle the tab.”

“Thomas took care of it,” he said, leaning against the counter. “She okay?”

Max glanced back at the table. “What went on with you two? Anything I need to beat your ass for?”

He looked down at Max, lifting a brow. “I think she’s bothered by our different life paths.”

“That’s stupid,” Max replied, shoving a wad of bills into the tip jar beside the till. “They all lead to death, am I right?”

*

Max snatched apillow off Charlotte’s bed and sat. “Set your alarm so we don’t both get written up for being late.”

She nodded and rolled onto her side to check her clock. “So was he mad?”

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