DarkestSin (2 page)

Twelve Years Later

“Mom, you just passed our exit.”

Xan Bradley braked in reflex as if she’d be able to do a U-ey
right here on the interstate in her beat-up hatchback. Where was her head? Oh,
right. She was moving to a new town with her son yet again. Her brain was
focused on other things, like always staying one step ahead of the mafia they’d
fled when Scott was a baby. Of course he wasn’t Scott then, and she didn’t go
by Xan.

They’d moved every two years like clockwork, not that it was
actually planned that way originally. After Agent Dave Simmons had set up Xan
and Scott in a little Arkansas town north of Podunk and south of Nowhereville,
he’d apparently retired a couple of years later. Her new agent, Jack Parsons,
immediately moved them for security measures, and had done so every other year
since.

The moves she could do. Hated it, but could do. She didn’t
have control over her life now and hadn’t in over a decade. Her one demand when
entering the Witness Protection Program, however, was that Scott’s name
wouldn’t be changed once his new identity was established. It was hard enough
to get a four-year-old to understand why his daddy wasn’t coming around
anymore, much less why he had to have a new name. To get his cooperation, she’d
given him the opportunity to pick out his very own name.

She should’ve thought about that before opening her big
mouth.

Letting a preschooler decide his own name was like, well,
letting a preschooler decide his own name. For two weeks he was SpongeBob. Xan
had tried to find ways of backpedaling out of that horrid deal, but her son was
sharp even then. After ordering some official SpongeBob stuff online and
writing a letter, posing as the most famous sponge on TV, informing her son he
was honored that Scott wanted to be named after him and asking if he could pick
out his new name instead, she’d finally succeeded in undoing that mess.
“SpongeBob” wanted to pick out a name for him with the same initials, and so
Scott Bradley was born.

Why would she want to go through the nightmare of changing
his name again? Bathing cats with claws sounded better.

Though Xan was encouraged to change her name repeatedly, the
fact that she’d went to nursing school after getting free from her deranged
ex-husband caused her to put up a fight every time they were forced to move.
Sure, the feds could get her new diplomas and licenses in whatever name she
wanted. Even “SpongeBob”, Jack had told her several years before, thinking
she’d seriously find that shit funny. But she’d worked hard at putting herself
through school, and fake certificates and degrees were just that—fake. Her
compromise was she’d go by a different version of her first name. Marco called
her Dria, so she’d never willingly choose that one. But she’d gone by Lexa,
Xandie, Alexa, Lexie and Andria over the years, and now Xan would do. To help
appease the FBI gods, she also changed up her hair to help cover her identity,
but getting to keep some derivative of her first name helped her keep a little
bit of her soul.

The very soul Marco had tried to take from her. She might’ve
married him with her blinders on, but she’d wised up and gotten out of
there…with barely her life. Marco had shot her at pointblank range. The caliber
of his handgun should’ve killed her instantly. It was nothing short of a
miracle, and she’d been grateful—as soon as she’d gotten out of her coma and
realized she was actually still alive. By the time she’d awoken, her divorce
was already underway courtesy of prearranged paperwork with the attorney the
feds had secured before the attempted raid and subsequent fuckup. Since the
evidence against Marco had mysteriously disappeared, the only thing they had on
him was an attempted murder charge. She and Scott had stayed on lockdown until
Marco’s trial and sentencing since she was the victim and star witness. She shivered
at that thought—she’d never forget seeing his evil eyes in court that day. It
was that same look he’d had when he shot her.

She hoped she’d never have to see his face again, but she
knew she and her son were living on borrowed time. Marco was sentenced to
twenty years with a mandatory ten served.

And by her calculations, he should be up for parole at any
time.

“Take the next exit a few miles up. Looks like there’s a
highway that backtracks to Mayflower.”

Xan nodded as she shook off her thoughts. She didn’t like
walking down memory lane, much less taking up a permanent residence there,
which she felt she’d been doing lately. She knew it was because of Marco’s
potential release, but she couldn’t let that get to her. She had a life and a
sixteen-year-old boy to finish raising.

Okay, so that was only partly true. She didn’t have a
life—not a social one, anyway. She couldn’t afford to trust a man enough to get
close to one. Oh, she’d love nothing more than to have sex with a penis made of
skin, rather than rubber, but that just wasn’t a risk she was willing to take.
She hadn’t had real sex in over twelve years. Surely there was some statute of
limitations somewhere that’d make her an honorary virgin again, not that she’d
be able to convince anyone she was virtuous with a practically grown son. Or
one who fancied himself grown.

Xan gasped. “Is this the exit you’re talking about?”

“Yeah, chill. Seriously, Mom, you should’ve let me drive.”

“Not on your life, buddy.”

Tires didn’t screech, really, as they dang near skidded off
the road to make their exit. “Where do I go now?”

“You need GPS, Mom. Take Harkrider to 365.”

“In this beat-up piece o’ crap?” she asked, chuckling as she
followed Scott’s directions.

They were only about seven miles from Mayflower, another
Arkansas town. She hadn’t been back in this state since right after going into
hiding. It took her almost the entire two years to get used to southern life
when she and Scott were yanked out and placed out west. She was a northerner at
heart who liked the laid-back atmosphere down here, but she refused to say
things like y’all and fixin’. She had her pride.

A loud pop jolted Xan out of her reverie. The sudden profuse
smoke barreling out of the hood of her hatchback threw her into a panic. She
gasped a curse, struggling to steer the car onto the shoulder, which was
difficult since the power steering decided to evaporate into nothingness as
soon as the car died.

“Mom, watch out!”

Yeah, Xan saw it. A pothole. “I’m trying,” she gritted.

The car hit the gnarly imperfection as her not-always-trusty
hatchback came to a stop. At least they were completely off the highway. She
slumped against her seat, feeling her heart race. It seemed to be pounding even
harder now that they were stopped. She so didn’t need this. Agent Parsons
decided on this move right at the end of summer. Scott’s school and her new job
started in two days, so she only had the weekend to get settled. Granted, they
lived light, never knowing when they’d have to move on a moment’s notice, but
two days wasn’t long enough even for the minimalist of packers. And now their
one means of transportation was toast. Ugh! She was sick of running.

She grabbed her cellphone, but she didn’t have a signal out
here in the middle of nowhere. Surprise, surprise. She got out of the car,
covered her eyes to block the blazing sun as she looked down the road. “That
sign says it’s one mile to town.” She sighed, shaking her head. “C’mon.”

He got out of the car, walking over to her. “Do you want me
to carry some of our bags?”

“Nope, lock it. We’ll come back later to get everything.”

As they started down the road, Xan sighed. This wasn’t a
good way to start their new life in this town. Nope, not good at all.

* * * * *

“Oh thank God. There’s an auto shop,” Scott groaned as they
rounded the corner after walking about two miles. They’d entered town about a
mile ago as the sign had indicated but had only encountered a ranch and a farm
as of yet.

“Watch your mouth, and you shouldn’t be complaining. You’re
young and in shape.” She, on the other hand, was a melting, miserable mess.

“It’s a million degrees out here, Mom.”

Try a million and one.
Yeah, it was hot as hell. “Quit
your bellyaching.”

They walked up to an opened fence and Xan silently thanked
the heavens for small favors. The garage looked as if it was open. They walked
through the gate and into the old building with several antique and late-model
cars out front. Walking through the front door, she braced herself for the
blast of cold air to hit her face, relishing the thrill of the artificial air
she was about to gloriously encounter.

She was sorely disappointed. It was hotter in here than it
was outside. How was that even possible? Her wet clothes clung to her sweaty
body, leaving nothing to the imagination. Didn’t matter. She was past humility
at this point. She’d have a teenage moment and flash her boobs, sweat and all
if necessary, to get someone to help them out.

“May I help you?” a man with a gravelly voice asked as he
walked into the makeshift lobby next to the bays, wiping his hands on a grease
rag. He looked to be middle-aged, though she wasn’t sure since he was bald. No
gray hair to help her out with that assessment.

She looked at his nametag sewn into his shirt. “Yes,
Colonel, is it?” At his smile and nod, she said, “Our car broke down a couple
miles down the road.”

A metal crash and very masculine curses mixed with raucous
taunting and laughter startled her. Scott snickered at the colorful words
coming from the bays. He’d heard them plenty of times, though Xan tried not to
talk like that. Really, she did try to deny her sailor-mouth tendencies. She
just wasn’t very good at restraining herself all the time.

“Sorry,” Colonel mumbled. “Those are my mechanics, trying to
catch up on some work. I took over this garage after I realized being retired
was boring, and we stay pretty busy. Seems like I’m constantly hiring more
help, but we stay behind.”

The ruckus from the bays was finding its way into the lobby.
Several guys walked into the room, and Xan felt a slight panic attack coming
on. She not only lacked a love life, but she tended to avoid large groups of
men. She didn’t have anything against the male population, but after marrying
into the mafia at a young age, dodging copious amounts of testosterone seemed
like a good self-preservation tactic to live by. So she did, and when she
wasn’t prepared to interact with schools of men, her stomach took a nosedive
when thrust into that very situation.

Taking a covert calming breath so she wouldn’t look like
some skittish girl, she tried to pay closer attention to each of the men as
they came near. If she identified them individually, she could pretend she
wasn’t dealing with a mob of men.

A mob of seemingly beautiful, large, masculine men, looking
to be around her age.

Oh shit. She so did not need this. Her nerves and sense of
self-preservation took on a whole new meaning. She’d rather deal with certain
fear than possible attraction.

As she surveyed the crowd, she noticed their looks were as
various as the candy selection at the last gas station she’d stopped at. Male
sweetness was
not
better than chocolate. She just had to remind herself
of that as she stared at the variety before her. One guy had black hair,
another blond, spiked all crazy. The two next to the hot version of Billy Idol
had long dark-brown hair and curly light-brown hair. There was another bald guy
bringing up the rear, but that one had a goatee with green eyes. Colonel had
brown eyes and was definitely older than this group that’d just come in.

“Where’s Brutus?” Colonel asked the guys.

The dude with the spiky blond hair chuckled. “He’s cleaning
up his mess.”

“It wasn’t his mess, asshole. You’re the one who knocked the
tray over,” Mr. Black Hair said with a snarl. Xan instinctively took a step
back.

“Easy, Roc,” Colonel said and looked at her. “This is Roc.” He
pointed to the cranky man with black hair. “Blade,” he gestured toward the
spiky blond guy. His name made sense. His hair looked sharp enough to hurt if
he were to head-butt someone.

“I’m Hunter,” the man with long brown hair said, and then he
pointed to the guy with curly brown hair. “That’s Gage. He’s not as mean as
Roc, but don’t get too close to him.” He chuckled.

“Fuck off, Hunter,” Gage growled.

“See?” Hunter snickered. “And that guy over there—”

“I’m Bear, and Hunter’s a dick.” He ducked his head and
glanced at Scott. “Oh sorry. He’s, er, I mean he’s a punk.”

Scott laughed. “Don’t worry. I’ve heard it all. You should
hear my mom talk. She has the biggest potty mouth.”

Xan gasped. “I do not.”

“Wow, he’s your kid?” Blade asked. “Did you have him at
twelve?” He laughed but with sincerity twinkling in his eyes.

“Just about,” she murmured.

After a few of the guys laughed, she immediately relaxed.
Sure, they were all very handsome. None looked to be shorter than six feet, and
each had a body to die for, though each had a unique look all his own. But she
didn’t feel any sparks, so she felt relieved. Maybe her libido was broken. If
so, she was fine by that. She didn’t need any man drama in her life.

Why did that make her feel a little depressed? She shook off
that thought. She couldn’t get caught up with any man, so there really was no
need dwelling on the things she couldn’t have, like love, companionship, trust
and sex. God, she’d love to have sex again.

Maybe in another life.

Focusing her attention back on the problem at hand, she
looked at the assembled group of men. “Look. We need our car towed and a ride
to a car rental company. Can you help us?” Xan asked the guys in general so as
not to single anyone out.

Blade’s eyebrows shot up. “I’d love to give you a ride,
doll.” Even though his tone was clearly teasing, she stiffened. Flirting was
definitely not her forte.