As I trudged through the pouring rain, my soaked clothes clinging heavily to my body, I couldn't help but shiver uncontrollably. The storm had caught me off guard, and I cursed myself for being so careless as to venture out without an umbrella or raincoat. The sight of our childhood home, a burnt wreck we had been trying to salvage, made my heart leap with joy in the midst of the downpour. The dim glow of a flickering lantern in one of the windows indicated Mark must be home already.
Pushing open the front door, its loud creak echoing through the empty house, I entered the cold and damp interior. The scent of mold and burnt wood permeated the air, a testament to the state of disrepair. With no electricity, the feeble light from the small lantern on a makeshift table in the living room offered the only illumination.
"Mark?" I called out, my teeth chattering. "Are you here?"
No answer came, and I let out a weary sigh. It seemed Mark had left the lantern on for me, indicating that he had recently departed.
"He is Donovan! A freaking Donovan," I thought to myself, cringing at the way I had addressed him. I should have known better with his air of arrogance. The Donovans held a certain status and power in this town, often compared to royalty. The rumors speculated that they owned Brooks County and had significant influence over government officials. There were even whispers of them being involved in organized crime, but those were mere speculations.
Nevertheless, Mark knew the Donovans, so they couldn't be all bad, right? He had once told me not to believe everything I heard about them when I mentioned the rumors of their involvement in forcing people out of their homes in Valley County, a neighboring fishing town west of Brooks. Although he didn't elaborate, I trusted his judgment. Mark was never one to speak much, but he had always been there for me. He provided for my education and necessities, worked hard to restore our father's property for our shelter, and shielded me from the harsh realities of the world.
I shook off my thoughts, realizing I had gotten distracted. Retrieving my wet phone from my bag, my heart sank as I discovered the cracked screen.
"No. No. No!" I exclaimed, frustration and exhaustion evident in my voice. "Can this day get any worse?"
A thunderclap boomed outside, and I held my breath, silently praying that our already damaged house wouldn't be struck again. I felt defeated, on the verge of tears. Months of hard work and odd jobs to save up for that expensive phone, have all gone to waste.
Disappointed, I placed it back in the packaging, shoved it into my wet bag, and retrieved my books instead. I made my way to the fireplace, carefully building a fire in the living room. The crackling flames brought warmth and a glimmer of comfort, their gentle heat gradually drying the dampness that clung to my clothes. I positioned my books nearby, hoping the radiating heat would aid in drying their pages.
With a sigh, I went to the kitchen to fill up the kettle with water and put it on a gas burner to heat it for my bath and found my way up the rickety staircase to my room, which was sparsely furnished with a twin bed and a dresser.
Mark had managed to fix the roof and the windows, but there was still a lot of work to be done. I quickly changed out of my wet clothes and wrapped myself up in the towel, grateful for the warmth.
Heading back downstairs to get the now steaming water, I ascended the stairs once again, eager to immerse myself in a hot bath that would soothe my chilled body. The anticipation of the comforting warmth fueled my steps. Afterward, I made my way back downstairs, feeling a renewed sense of coziness now that the shivers had subsided.
In the kitchen, I discovered a plate of rice with chicken waiting for me in the oven, a thoughtful gesture from Mark. With gratitude, I carefully carried the nourishing meal back to the living room, where the fire's gentle glow cast dancing shadows across the room. Mark had set up a few blankets and pillows near the fire, and I collapsed onto them gratefully.
Savoring the warmth and comfort surrounding me, I took a few bites, grateful for Mark's consideration. The flavors satisfied my hunger and brought a sense of solace amidst the challenges of the day. I couldn’t help reliving my eventful night.
Archer Donovan, the presumed only heir of Victor Donovan, maintained a secretive existence alongside his family. Their names rarely graced the pages of newspapers, except when mentioned in connection to their extensive business ventures. Rumors circulated among the public, suggesting that the Donovans held dominion over Brooks County and wielded influence over numerous high-ranking government officials. Whispers even labeled them as a real-life mafia family, capable of making anyone who dared to oppose them vanish without a trace. However, such conjectures remained unsubstantiated.
Interestingly, Mark was familiar with the Donovans and had advised me not to believe everything I heard about them. When I once repeated the gossip I overheard at school about the Donovans supposedly forcing people out of their homes in Valley County, a fishing town adjacent to Brooks, he remained tight-lipped. Mark was never much of a talker, but his presence alone was enough to dispel any feelings of loneliness. He always encouraged me to bury myself in books, firmly believing that education offered an escape from poverty. He did everything in his power to ensure I received the proper education and prepared for crucial examinations. In return, I strived to achieve straight As, considering it my way of showing gratitude to him. Mark was an exceptional brother who shielded me from the harsh realities of the world.
Deep down, I sensed that Mark wouldn't approve of me crossing paths with Archer Donovan. He possessed a strong protective instinct. Excuses and evasions would only upset him. He had even offered to buy me a phone, but I insisted on acquiring one myself. I believed he was already doing more than enough by financing my classes at the community college, providing for my daily needs, and gradually restoring our late father's property to give us a home. Getting my own phone was the least I could do to lighten his burden. After washing my plate in the kitchen, I returned to the makeshift bed in front of the fire, closed my eyes, and allowed the tension in my muscles to gradually dissipate.
"I can't let him find out. Mark must never know, and I hope that jerk won't go seeking him out for revenge..." I muttered to myself, my eyes still closed. But then, the memory of his pulsating need against the back of my hand sent my pulse racing once again. The intensity of that moment made me shiver from within. His intoxicating scent seemed to permeate the air, invading my nostrils as I recalled every second in that cramped corner with him, where I leaned into him for safety as he fired the shot to eliminate one of his assailants. Despite the danger and his wounds, there was a strange sense of security being with him. It was sheer madness.
I brought my hand up to my nose and inhaled deeply, relishing the lingering fragrance on my skin. It was a captivating blend of warm and inviting notes that immediately captivated my senses. The subtle yet distinct aroma of spicy cedarwood intertwined with the freshness of crushed green leaves. His scent carried a smooth and velvety layer of sandalwood, exuding rugged masculinity, with a subtle touch of smoky vetiver that added depth and complexity to the overall composition. "Oh my, he smelled absolutely incredible," I murmured, conjuring an image of his tall, masculine figure before me, with that infuriating smirk that always set my heart racing. "Argh!" I growled, shifting my sleeping position and giving my pillows a firm punch to distract myself. "Don't think about him, Adele!" I scolded myself.
Suddenly, the shrill ring of the house phone jolted me into a sitting position. Cursing under my breath, I rushed to the mantle to answer the call, hoping it would provide a welcome distraction from my heated thoughts.
"Mark?" I answered, recognizing his voice as the only one that could be calling.
"Where were you tonight?" he asked, his tone filled with concern.
"Good evening, Mark. I'm fine, thanks for asking," I replied, trying to sound casual.
"Hmm... so?" he prodded, clearly wanting more information.
"My 6 o'clock lecture ran late. I'm home now. Thanks for dinner. What about you? Where are you?" I asked, genuinely curious.
"Working," he replied, his response short and curt.
I knew better than to press for details about his work. Mark preferred to keep it separate from our conversations, but I could see the bruises and bloodstains he often tried to hide from me. He had come home with stab wounds before and had locked himself in his room, attempting to treat himself. However, the wounds had made him feverish, and he had no choice but to accept my help. I had considered pursuing a medical career so I could be of use to him, but the cost of medical school was prohibitive, and I couldn't burden him further. Majoring in Chemistry was the best I could do for now. Luckily, I found a part-time job working with a veterinarian, gaining valuable experience in first aid.
"I'll be home late. Lock up," he instructed, his voice firm.
"I..." I began to respond when suddenly, a loud crash shattered the stillness of the conversation. It sounded like someone had thrown a rock or something heavy against a window. My heart raced, but this time it wasn't from desire.
"What the hell was that?" Mark's voice rang through the phone.
"I think someone is trying to get inside," I whispered, my voice barely audible.
"Get to the basement now! I'm on my way!" Mark yelled, his urgency evident as another window shattered, piercing my few minutes of peace with chaos.