Dirty Men 03 - Rough Neck Read online

  My heart jumps into my throat as my eyes light on the little table where she should be sitting, waiting for me. It’s empty. I jerk my head to and fro, but her cup is gone. Mine, on the other hand, is still sitting there, which tells me she’s probably not just in the ladies’ room.

  “Hey.” Out of breath, I grab the shoulder of a soccer mom on her phone who was sitting across from us. She gives me an open-mouthed breath of irritation and I let go of her quickly. “I’m sorry. I just...it’s my daughter.” I can’t believe I just said that, but right now I’d say anything to find out where she’s gone. “Did you see where she went?”

  She regards me for a second, her eyes trailing down to my boots, then back to her phone, dismissing me before answering without looking at me. “Limo pulled up out there.” She nods her head toward the busy street where I first saw her get out of the limo. “She got in, it left.”

  A heaviness sets in. My shoulders pull back, but my chest is tight. Sweat trickles down the sides of my face. The indent of my back.

  Gone.

  I run out the front door, looking up and down the street, hoping beyond hope I can chase down the limo, jump on the truck, pound my fist through the back windshield and pull her back to me.

  F O U R

  Dahlia

  THE IRONY IS NOT LOST on me. As I try to figure out how to get my newly sized engagement ring off my finger, all I can think about is the rugged guy who came to my rescue in the coffee shop yesterday. Him putting Cindy and Tiffany in their place was one of the best things that’s happened to me in a long time.

  My heart sank when my Dad had texted me and told me the limo was outside the coffee shop way earlier than I’d expected. Seems his afternoon delight cancelled on him and he was in no mood for me to explain that I wanted to stay for a new more minutes and god knows I couldn’t have told him it why.

  I struggle with the top of the olive oil can, managing to get the top off. But trying to pour it over my left hand is proving harder than I’d thought.

  “Why do you have to buy the economy size?” I whine over my shoulder to Sylvia while fighting off the images of that man’s wild green eyes, the ones that have danced in my mind and dreams since I laid eyes on him.

  “What are you doing?” She barks over the sound of the mixer then swears in Ukrainian. She’s baking a double chocolate torte cake for dinner with the Petrovs, and I’d half considered lacing it with ex-lax but I happen to love her cakes, so my need for chocolate overrode my need to poison my fiancé and future father-in-law.

  “I’m trying to put oil on my finger.”

  “Stop.” Sylvia says on a deep sigh. Her dark hair twisted on top of her head in her signature bun. “You’re going to yank your finger off. Arranged marriages can work out, you know. Maybe you’ll fall in love with his big wedding night surprise.” Her deep chuckle resonates through the enormous high ceilings of the kitchen as I dump a few glugs of oil onto my hand.

  “Me thinks not.” I grit out as I drop the gallon sized can into the sink and try in vain to get the ring off. My father had it sized one size too small on purpose, and it’s digging into my finger. “Dammit!”

  Both my hands are slick with the thick oil and the ring still won’t budge.

  “My word, you are all about the drama, aren’t you? Is he that bad?” She wipes her hands down the uniform black dress she’s worn everyday as far back as I can remember. She’s tall but thin with hands as strong as any man’s. I know, she’s snatched me up and smacked my behind more times than I can count over the years. But she loves me with a fierceness I don’t deserve. I know my father doesn’t treat her well and why she’s stuck around so long I can’t explain. But I’m more grateful than I can express.

  “Worse. The worst.” I stomp my feet and concede defeat with the ring, hanging my hands over the edge of the sink, letting the oil drip from them, then resting my forehead between them on the cool stainless-steel edge. “The worst, worst ever.”

  I hear Sylvia sigh as she scrapes the batter into the line up of ten pans down the counter.

  “Well, then just tell your father no. Or run away. That’s what I did.”

  “What?” I lift my forehead, looking back at the woman who basically raised me. The only person in this world I care about and I know cares about me in return. “You ran away? You never told me that.”

  “Sure did. When I was sixteen, left home. Different reasons than you. My dad, I told you about him.”

  She did, he was a drinker, used to disappear for weeks, never could find a job. Then would hand out whippings to all the kids—sent Sylvia off to work instead of to school when she was twelve.

  “Yes. Mr. Wonderful.”

  “Yep. Well, the day I turned sixteen I came home, he was drunk. Told me to make him dinner. I did. I made him dinner, stuck five sleeping pills into his mashed potatoes. When he went out, I packed up, took all the money from the coffee can he kept hidden under the sink and the rest is history. A long boat ride later I was in America. Eventually, I ended up here, with you folks.”

  “Wasn’t it scary? Running away and not knowing where you were going?”

  “No scarier than the life I saw for myself. It all worked out, didn’t it?”

  I’M THINKING HAVING your Mercedes slide off an icy road out in Middle-of-Nowhere north Texas in a freak ice storm isn’t quite as compelling a drama as Sylvia’s story about running away, but right about now, it feels pretty flippin’ dramatic.

  I wince and draw a sharp breath as I touch the knot on my head where the steering wheel and I met a few minutes ago.

  “Boy, this was a good idea.” I mock myself in the review mirror.

  I shift the car into reverse again, make a futile effort as the wheels spin then put it in forward and only manage to drive a few inches farther into the ditch. Rain and sleet ping on the hood as the headlights make long streams into a pitch-black field off the dirt road.

  Leave it to me to run away from home and the first thought I have is to head to an old cabin on some land my family owns up near the Oklahoma border. I figured I’d make a stop here, stay a few days, then figure out my next steps. Only, mother nature had a different plan and the weather turned about an hour ago.

  I’ve got my phone, but the only person to really call is my dad.

  Or Sylvia.

  Dad. No thanks. He’s the one I’m running from.

  And Sylvia? Well, she doesn’t drive. I’m beyond out in the center of nowhere, and I’m not even sure where to tell anyone I am.

  I’m on an old dirt road that leads onto the family retreat. Two thousand acres. We used to come here when I was little. There’s a cabin back at the end of this road and I know where I am, I just couldn’t tell anyone else. The road doesn’t even register on the maps app on my phone. This land has these dirt tracks running all through it. I know there are some oil wells too, but since I don’t know anything about the family business, I’m not even sure where they are or if they are still operating.

  I remember seeing on a show one time, that if you can get a bunch of sticks or branches or whatever under your wheels, they keep them from slipping. It’s the best I’ve got, and I sure as hell have to get out of here. So, with a deep breath, I tug the John Deere cap I bought at the last truck stop (just because I knew my father would hate it) down over my head and open the car door, ready to MacGyver the shit out of this situation.

  The last thought that flashes through my mind before my feet slide out from under me is how old the guy from the coffee shop was and if it made me a pervert that I want to call him Daddy.

  Breaking my fall with the heels of both hands proves futile. They slip on the slick cover of ice on the edge of the ditch and my forearm catches on something sharp. My phone arcs out of my hand, the screen reflecting the moon as I hear it make a splashing sound somewhere in front of me.

  “Shit. Shit!” I yell into the freezing rain making sounds on the brim of my new hat.

  A bolt of pain shoots up my arm, then
it’s my head again smacking down on a rock, and the realization that MacGyver was not a reality show hits me along with a flash of light from across the open field.

  F I V E

  Davis

  “THIS IS SO WEIRD.” Her hair is soaked on the sides where it wasn’t covered by that crazy John Deere ball cap. “Don’t you think so? I mean, weird.”

  “Just put this on.” I yank off my thick flannel and wrap it around her shivering body. I’ve got her sitting in the passenger seat of the truck with the door open while I check her over to be sure there’s no other injuries. “What the fuck were you thinking anyway? Driving out here alone in an ice storm? What if I didn’t see your lights? What if no one came around?”

  My voice is sharper than I intend, but there’s an anger rumbling inside me that she could have been seriously hurt. Or worse.

  She shrinks back a bit at my words and I bring my eyes to hers, my hands to her shoulders, feeling the softness of her hair beneath my fingers.

  “Sorry. I’m not pissed at you.” I can’t help but bring a thumb to trace her jaw, and I watch as her eyes brighten. My cock is raging behind my zipper. “Just...yes, this is fucking weird. Finding you here. You could have been really hurt and—call me crazy—but that thought just doesn’t sit well with me at all.”

  A twist of a smile hints those pouty lips and that dimple comes out to taunt me.

  “That’s sweet. I don’t even think my own father would care that much.”

  She bites into her bottom lip and brings her left hand up between the cage of my forearms to scratch her nose.

  My anger boils again. Rage fills me as I see her finger graced with an enormous diamond. But that’s not all, her finger is a reddish blue and the ring is digging into her flesh.

  “That fucking ring is cutting off your circulation.”

  She flips her hand over to look at it.

  “I know. My father had it sized too small. I tried to get it off.”

  The words ‘get it off’ make me happy in several ways.

  “You want it off?” I hold my breath, waiting for the answer. Even though, in my heart, there’s no way she’s engaged to anyone else. She may be wearing that ring, but that doesn’t mean shit. She’s mine.

  My next thought throws my burning anger into a wildfire. What if her fiancé, or whatever the fuck he is, has touched her? The thought of anyone else even sniffing around her sends me into a near homicidal state.

  “Yes.” I hear the sad undertone in her word and decide it’s time to get her back to my place. It may only be a trailer, but over the years, I’ve managed to learn how to live well in a forty foot pull behind.

  The rain is soaking me, standing in the open door, but even with that it’s hard as hell to take my hands from her.

  “First things first. I’m going to get you safe and dry, and tend to this bump and that cut. Then we will discuss this ring. Understood?” I wait until she gives me a small nod before I take a breath, break our contact and put my hands on the door. Before I close it, I can’t help but lean in, set my lips on the parting of her hair and say, “That’s my girl.”

  Inside the truck, I blast the heat.

  “My family’s cabin is that way.” She points as I direct the truck back across the worn tracks in the open field that head back toward the derrick.

  “Not risking that road. I know we’ll make it back this way to the drill site and my place. You’re coming with me there.”

  I look over to see her eyes go wide. She’s not scared, but there’s a new trepidation in the way she’s tugging her fingers with her other hand, in the way she brings her knees together.

  “What’s with that hat?” I decide to try to change the subject. I point to the dash where I set the crazy John Deere trucker’s hat she was wearing. Curiosity has the better of me because I want to know what a fancy girl like her that is driven around in a limo is going with that sort of hat on her beautiful head.

  A soft giggle escapes her lips, and I’m wrapped around her finger again. For such a hard-assed old guy, my heart melts like Easter chocolate under a heat lamp.

  “I like it. Don’t you like it?” She picks it up from where I set it on the dash and pops it back on top of her head, modeling it for me. She twists her neck to and fro giving me a playful look.

  “Uh huh. You’d make a gunny sack look good.”

  “Gunny sack?” She puzzles and I realize I’m dating myself. Turning forty didn’t seem all that old to me when I woke up this morning, but being around Dahlia has me wishing I could turn back the hands of time a bit. She may be mine, but I’m still plagued that a girl like her would ever find me attractive.

  “Never mind.” I grouse, hitting a bump in the road and sending a little yelp from her.

  “Wow. I may need to hold onto something.” She shifts her hips closer to me and I swear... the way she just bit her lip again... I’m fucked if she isn’t flirting with me. “Well, as far as the hat? I do like it, but I also know my father would have an absolute cow if he saw me wearing it, so that’s a bonus. Seeing I can wear it, he won’t see it, therefore I won’t get punished. But I have the passive aggressive upper hand just knowing it’s on my head. If my phone was working, I’d show you, I took like ten selfies in it.”

  Another hip shift and she’s pressed up against the console that separates us. Her arm is resting there, left hand dangling down, and I catch the sparkle off that fucking ring again.

  “I’ll get your phone in some silicone beads I have, hopefully revive it. And, I’m going to cut that ring off as soon as we get to my trailer.” The force of my words match the force of my desire. “You could lose your damn finger. Sorry, but whoever made you wear that thing is an asshole.”

  “You’ve got that right.” She whispers and the lightness in her voice is gone.

  I reach over, lift her hand and put it in mine. She’s so soft, I can barely feel her skin. I trace up and down her ring finger with mine, hurt by how cold the skin feels.

  Imagining her hands on me sends drops of cum out of my swollen erection. The image of both those sweet hands wrapped around my shaft while I feed it into her mouth sends white lights dancing in my vision and my balls jerk.

  By the time we pull up in front of my trailer, the blood is thumping in my ears. The lights from inside cast squares of yellow out the windows onto the ground, glinting from the half-frozen rain.

  “Stay there.” I growl as I jump out the driver’s door, letting her hand go just for the few seconds it takes me to whip around the front of the truck. I nearly fall on my ass three times before I get to her door and open it. “Careful. Do not let go of me.” I order as get a feel for the icy ground, preparing to walk her to the door on the side of my trailer.

  She eases her way down, a hand on my offered arm, and I move to shut the door.

  “Oh! Wait...” She leans back in the truck, snatching that ugly ass green hat from the dash. “Don’t want to forget this.” Popping it back on her head like a crown, she turns back, both hands on my arm this time, and I think I’d do anything for her. I’d kill for this girl and I don’t even fucking know her last name.

  “Geez, this is crazy, this ice.”

  The frozen pellets sting as they hit my face but all I really feel is the way her grasp is tightening around my arm as we walk. I swallow hard, clearing my throat as I guide her up the stairs into the dry warmth of my version of home.

  “Oh my God.”

  Inside her eyes turn wide and her mouth drops open in a stunned smile. “This is beautiful. And immaculate. I figured, you know, bachelor living on the road and all. I imaged opened cans of Spaghetti O’s and beer bottles everywhere. You have a maid? Or did you just buy this today and haven’t used it yet?”

  With a gruff half chuckle, I walk her over to the leather sofa and sit her down.

  Fuck if she’s looking just perfect sitting there. Like that spot has belonged to her forever. I’ll never be able to look at that sofa again and not remember this moment
.

  I grab a towel from the cabinet over the sink and find a box of Band-Aids in the first aid kit, then take a seat beside her. Her clothes are soaked and my oversized flannel hangs nearly down to her knees.

  She’s looking at me with something I can’t quite identify. She’s not scared but she’s not sure either.

  “I’m not going to hurt you. I’ll never hurt you, Dahlia.” Staring into her eyes as she blinks, I can see she believes me.

  “I know.”

  “I’m Davis. Davis Warren. Yes, this is my home. I run oil drills all across the country. But I’m here in Texas a good part of my time.”

  I reach to take off her ball cap, then proceed to dry her face and her hair as she sits silently. I bandage the tiny cut on her arm, then the one on her forehead, wishing the whole time I had been there sooner to prevent any harm from coming to her.

  Touching her is sending desire flooding through me. Her scent engulfs me; she smells like roses and candy. Every part of her is perfection. I count every one of ten amazing freckles on her nose, note the flawlessness of her skin. Zero make up, I see that right away, and a girl like her should never bother because it could only take away from her natural beauty.

  But my stomach knots as I finish drying her.

  “I’m going to get something and cut that ring off.” I state, leaving no room for argument.

  “Yes, please.” She answers and her hand comes down to rest on my thigh. “It hurts and I want it off.”

  My nerve endings come alive where she’s touching me but I shift and stand to go to the tool cabinet at the back of the trailer, then come back with a small pair of metal snips, two small pliers stuffed into my back pocket and a tiny strip of copper sheet that I dabbed with machine oil. I’ve got a lifetime of tools for almost every purpose you would need out here, between this cabinet and the back of my pickup, and I’m thankful as hell for that right now.