Outcome – excerpt
Outcome was supposed to be this little novella that followed Austin and Cam’s Aftermath, but it seems like Chase and Remy are talkative fellas, not to mention more complex than I originally thought. In other words, it will most likely be a novel, especially since our beloved Cam and Austin want to throw in their two cents, too. They refuse to be forgotten!
I don’t have a relase date quite yet, but I’m working on it. This book is my priority right now.
While you wait…
oOo
“What does the Joshua tree represent, Chase?”
“Freedom. It was the first thing I saw when we escaped. Desert and…that tree.”
Excerpt
“Well…” Donna wrung her hands together and cleared her throat. “I don’t know the protocol for having escaped asylum patients in the bar.” Chase lifted a brow, to which Donna huffed. “The dude sure looks like he’s escaped from some kind of mental institution, anyway.”
“You’re gonna have to elaborate, hon,” he said drily.
It was too fucking early in the evening for trouble. That shit wasn’t supposed to start until the alcohol had flowed for at least several hours.
“He’s just sitting out there in nothing but underwear!” Donna threw an arm in the direction of the bar, fire shooting out of her eyes. “Do I throw him out? I mean—” She released a breath and appeared to be trying to calm herself down. “I mean, he’s not exactly bothering anyone, but—Christ. No dress code doesn’t mean you can show up here naked.”
Chase killed his smirk and shook his head. “All right. I’ll take care of it.” He waved a hand for Donna to take the lead, then followed her down the hall. “Did you finally kick out that boyfriend of yours, by the way?”
Donna chuckled shakily. “I wish. He won’t budge. But I left him instead. I’m staying at a friend’s for now.”
That didn’t satisfy Chase, but at least Donna wasn’t around the prick anymore. As far as he knew, Donna had never been physically abused, but emotionally seemed to be another matter.
“We’ll talk more about this later.” He turned to give Donna a look, silently daring her to defy him. Thankfully, she didn’t. “It’s your name on the lease; he’s the one who should get the boot.”
She nodded stiffly in agreement. “Yes, Daddy.”
Chase snorted and looped an elbow around her neck, much like a father would with his little son, accompanied by a “That’s my boy,” or “Well done, slugger.”
“Fuckin’ brat,” he chuckled instead, then made a move to open the door that led to the bar. But before he could open it fully, Donna stopped him and surprised the shit outta him when she squeezed his midsection. Tightly.
“Thank you, Chase.” Her whisper nearly closed up Chase’s throat. He was being hugged. By someone other than his sister. “For everything you’ve done for me.” She peered up at him with gratitude in her eyes. “I know we’ve only known each other for a couple weeks, but I want you to know I consider you an amazing friend.”
Chase nodded dumbly, having no fucking clue what to say. He didn’t help out in order to make friends or to look like a hero. It was just what was right.
“I’m making you uncomfortable, aren’t I?” She slid him a small, knowing smile.
He blew out a gust of air, a half chuckle. “A bit.” Not the hug, though. Only her words. He wasn’t used to that kinda talk. “I think I have a hospital patient to check out.”
“Mental hospital patient,” she corrected him as she released her hold. “And I’m done being sappy, boss. I solemnly swear.” She saluted him for good measure.
Relieved that the awkwardness had passed, Chase gave a quick nod in return, then left Donna behind to see who this “patient” was. The bar wasn’t by any means packed with people, but it was early, and a few were happy to see Donna back to taking orders.
“Sorry for the delay, boys,” she said, getting busy.
Chase walked over to the end of the bar where a young man wearing only boxer briefs sat. Hell, was the punk asleep? Forearms on the bartop, forehead planted on one of those arms. Messy hair, shorter on the sides, nearly black, with some streaks of red that looked washed out. Chase’s sister dyed her hair in odd colors like that sometimes.
“This is a bar, kid. Not a hotel.” Chase folded his arms across his chest and leaned back against the counter behind him. He eyed the ink on the man’s arms, shoulders, and neck. It was a stark contrast against the pale and unblemished skin. The artwork was intricate and impressive, albeit depressing. Dark clouds, a Grim Reaper, lyrics that belonged to songs about death, something that looked like the beginning of a tree on his ribcage, but Chase couldn’t see farther down. Quotes about suffering, about staying true to who you are, a snake slithering toward a big, red apple, and an inked bullet wound.
The man spoke at last, quietly, and stayed in his position. “If I can just stay for ten minutes, that’d be great.” He sounded drained and like he’d been drinking too much whiskey.
The voice didn’t fit what Chase saw, which was youth. Or perhaps the lithe body with sinewy muscles betrayed him and made the kid look younger than he was.
Admit it, man. You like what you see.
Chase silenced that little voice with an internal growl.
Attraction and romance had no business in his closet.
“You mind telling me why you’re only in your underwear?” Chase was starting to feel impatient. “I get that it’s summer, but there are limits.”
The younger man let out a humorless chuckle. “I’m afraid clothes weren’t my priority when I finally escaped that witch.” Chase stiffened instinctually at escape. Bad fucking joke, if that’s what it was. “She’s supposed to be my best friend…” The man lifted his head a few inches, only to bury it in his hands. “She called it detox. I call it torture. Three goddamn days, dude, just because I happen to like booze. Three days in handcuffs—even when I went to the bathroom!”
Detox? Chase frowned, then heaved a sigh, ’cause none of this shit really mattered to him. Clearly, the man hadn’t been kidnapped, and that was all Chase needed to know. Maybe he had this compulsion to fix problems, but he couldn’t shoulder it all.
The fact that this stranger was bitching about wearing handcuffs for three days only made Chase wanna laugh. He’d endured cuffs for five months at one point, without a single reprieve. The evidence lingered around his wrists in uneven white lines, and it always would. He hid those vicious scars under two folded bandanas.
“I finally escaped when she let me take a shower in the master bathroom.” A huff. “Gotta love windows.” Rubbing his eyes, he finally let his hands fall away, and he gave Chase a once-over.
Chase’s frown deepened, first registering a handsome face that looked aged from something that had happened, piercings in his bottom lip and eyebrow, then light green eyes that he deemed unforgettable, but… Wasn’t there something familiar?
“Oh, shit.” The man’s breath left him in a whoosh, those pale green eyes widening. Anguish and fear—fucking fear—took over and for a second made his jaw slack. Then he suddenly pushed off the barstool and stumbled a few steps backward. “I-I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—I didn’t know y-you worked here.”
With every stuttered word from the man, with every step he took toward the door, and with each patron’s attention he got, it slowly dawned on Chase. Brick by brick. The months of research he’d conducted after getting back to freedom three years ago. The paper clippings. The miniscule profile photo on a website for music streaming. The article about that website changing owners a year ago.
Fury unfurled inside Chase. His hands clenched into fists. His jaw ticked with tension, his spine went rigid, and his gaze turned murderous. His heart began racing, his chest tightening beyond what was painful. Just looking at this man, facing him for the first time, threw Chase back in time. Three years to be exact.
“I’m sorry, Chase.” The man who wasn’t a stranger—not really—pushed the door open and fled.
Remy Stahl.
Chase’s kidnapper’s little brother.
