“I’ll ask you again,” she says in a low voice, pressing the tip of the knife more firmly against my flesh. “Who are you?”

The front door opens and she jumps at the sudden intrusion, the blade of the knife nicking my skin. I feel a small trickle of blood run down the column of my throat, and it’s all I need to spur myself into action. My hand shoots up and wraps itself around her wrist, while the other effortlessly wrenches the knife away from her. I hear it clatter against the tiled floor and throw my foot out, kicking it away.

The barmaid’s eyes open wide as she realizes what’s happened, but before she has a chance to react I grab her other wrist, securing both behind her back with just one of my large hands, holding her against me.

“Having fun, are we?” Keets drawls as he leans against the doorframe at the entrance of the bar.

“Keets,” the woman cries out in relief, struggling against my hands as I continue to hold her. I close my eyes and grit my teeth as she moves against me. It’s been too long since I’ve had a woman pressed against me; if she’s not careful, I’m going to make a damned fool of myself.

“Shan?” Keets says, looking between her and me as though he’s just recognized her. “What the hell is going on?”

“This guy,” she says, finally shoving herself away from me, “broke into the bar last night and destroyed it. Look at this mess!”

“I didn’t break in,” I respond hotly. “I was here last night; I must have passed out.”

“I’ll say.” Keets laughs. “You were knocked the fuck out.”

Parts of last night start coming back. The alcohol, the barmaid getting mauled by a drunken creep… getting my ass handed to me.

“Why the fuck did you leave me here?” I demand, taking an angry step toward him.

“Dude, Ruth said to leave you there to sleep it off. You’re lucky the sheriff realized you weren’t at fault and didn’t haul your ass to jail.”

“I don’t give a shit how it happened!” Shan shouts, glaring at Keets. “I’m calling the cops.”

“Shan, wait,” I say, picking the knife up off the ground and placing it down on the bar for her to see.

She rounds on me, phone in hand. “Don’t call me that,” she hisses. “My name is Shannon. Only my friends call me Shan.”

“Are we not friends?” I ask, smirking at her. “If you’ll remember, you were pressed pretty intimately against me a minute ago.”

“Ohh, you…you…” Shannon’s face turns a dull shade of red and she grips the phone tighter, turning her back on me.

“Shannon,” Keets says quietly, prying the phone out of her death-like grip. “It’s okay. I know him.”

“Y-you do?” she asks, turning her face up to him.

I watch this exchange with interest. Keets and Shannon seem to know each other quite well. They seem close… intimate.

I’m surprised by the sudden surge of jealousy that rips through me.

“This is Stone,” Keets is saying.

Shannon turns to face me, the look on her face now one of curiosity rather than anger. “This is Stone?” she asks disbelievingly. I don’t like the way she says that. What has Keets told her about me?

She looks me up and down, and I’m quietly grateful that my earlier hardness is gone.

“I don’t care,” Shannon finally remarks, turning her pert little nose up at me and glaring once more at Keets.

Fucking snob. I’m getting more and more pissed off. The pain in my head is intensifying, and I just want to go home and go back to sleep.

“You saw what he did to my bar.”

“Your bar?” I question out loud, my eyes practically bulging out of my head. “You mean you own it?”

“Inherited it from my daddy,” she replies proudly, throwing me a glance that could freeze Hell over.

“Look,” I say, shaking my head in bewilderment. I’m so over it. I just want to go home, drink my body weight in whiskey and go to sleep. “I’ll be happy to reimburse you whatever it costs to fix this place up.”

Shannon glances over at me, pride written all over her face, and I inwardly groan. This woman is too damn stubborn for her own good. “You think you can just pay me off because I’m some helpless female?” she asks indignantly. “I work hard at this bar, and I make damn good money.”

“I’m sure you do,” I say, rubbing my aching temple with my thumb and index finger. “But I would like to make up for my own misdeeds.”

“I may have an idea,” Keets interjects as he stands back with his arms folded, watching us in amusement.

“What?” Shannon asks, looking at my friend adoringly in a way that makes me want to throw up.

“Let him work off his debts in the bar.”

“What!” Shannon and I yell in unison as we glance at each other. He can’t be fucking serious.

Keets grins and pushes back the brown hair that falls across his eyes as he adjusts his small, black rimmed glasses. “Well, why not? Stone, you know you need to do something other than drink.”

“And you think working in a bar will fix that?” I ask, my eyebrows shooting up on my forehead.

“Shannon,” Keets says, pointedly ignoring me. “You know you could use the help around the bar.”

“Well, yes,” she responds slowly. “But him?”

“What the hell is wrong with me?” I ask, drawing up to my full six-foot height, towering over her. Just who the hell does she think she is?

“Are you serious?” She laughs, gesturing around the room. “Look what you did to this place in just one night!”

“That was an accident,” I clarify, leaning down until we’re making eye contact. But I’m not prepared for the jolt of awareness that strikes me the moment our eyes meet. Her eyes are a pale blue, with tiny flecks of green. They’re so damned expressive, I feel like I could read her mind just by looking at them. Unfortunately for me, her mind seems to be screaming some pretty obscene things about me right now.

“So, it’s settled,” Keets says brightly. “Stone will work for you until the damages are paid off. I’ll take the ‘help wanted’ sign off the window.” He disappears before either of us can say a word.

Shannon sighs and runs a hand over her head. “I guess you can start tidying up out here,” she mumbles, not looking at me. “The broom’s behind the bar. I’ll be in the back; I have some paperwork to fill out.” She leaves the room without waiting for me to respond.

I watch her go, trying desperately to ignore the gentle sway of her hips in those damn jeans. Finding the broom, I begin to sweep up the broken glass, but my mind is still stuck on Shannon. Who is she? Are she and Keets an item? He’s never said anything, but I know it’s none of my business. So, why am I jealous at the thought of my best friend’s hands touching her?

I shake my head, forcing my resolve to harden. I can’t get involved with a woman. I’m too angry, too bitter … too imperfect.

 

By the time I get home that afternoon, I’m exhausted. Unlocking the front door, I step inside and kick it closed behind me, dropping the keys in a bowl on the coffee table as I walk by the couch and into the bathroom. Standing in front of the mirror, I let out a slow breath as I pull my t-shirt off and force myself to look at my reflection. I’m still fit, my body rock-hard despite the beating I’ve been giving it the past few months. But it’s the scars that draw my attention the most. They pucker my flesh starting from my neck, disappearing into the waistband of my jeans. Jagged, red and angry, they mar my skin, a constant reminder of all I’ve seen.

My right leg aches from the exertion of the day, a grim memory of the shrapnel that severed nerves below my knee when a grenade nearly took my leg off back in 2003. I was told that I’d never walk again. It’d taken me two years of hard work, but I proved them wrong. I’d been able to go back to Afghanistan and get back on the field with nothing more severe than a horrible scar that runs all the way around my leg below the knee, and a limp that becomes more pronounced when I’m too active. Then came the surprise attack from the Taliban on our small group. We’d been asleep, never stood a chance. When I woke up, I was in the hospital, flown home to Texas with a medical discharge from the United States Army.