Claim (Fury Brothers #5)

1. Bell

1

BELL

I turned up the collar of my jacket. A light rain was falling, and I was feeling chilled.

Scanning the street of the podunk town that lay halfway between Houston and New Orleans, I let out a sigh and crossed the road. There wasn’t much to it. There were a couple of cheap motels, some retail stores that had already closed for the day, and a gas station where the Greyhound bus stopped. The lights were on in the attached diner. It looked welcoming, and I needed a coffee.

Hitching up my backpack, I headed for the door. As a habit, I tightened my grip on the strap. The bag held all my possessions. Everything I had in the world.

When you were on the run, you couldn’t take very much with you.

And so much got left behind.

I hunched my shoulders and walked inside. A bell above the door jingled. An older blonde woman wearing a white apron and holding a coffee pot nodded at me.

“Take a seat, hon. I’ll be with you in a minute.”

With a nod, I took a seat at a table near the window. I watched a car drive past and scanned the growing shadows on the sidewalks.

There were no lurking silhouettes. No one was watching me.

Swallowing, I looked at the menu. The plastic was scarred and faded, and I ran my finger over a groove where someone had bent it once. I didn’t have a lot of money left, so I couldn’t splurge.

Loud voices echoed through the diner. Glancing sideways, I spotted three guys in their twenties at a booth, laughing and joking, as though they didn’t have a care in the world.

They probably didn’t. They probably worked, hung out, partied on the weekends. I wondered what that felt like.

An older, dark-haired guy sat a few tables away in the other direction, his head down as he read a newspaper.

The waitress appeared. “What can I get you?”

I shot her a small smile. “Coffee, please. Black. What’s today’s special?”

“Meatloaf. It’s not fancy, but the cook has a special recipe. I promise it’s hearty and filling.”

And cheap. “Meatloaf, it is.”

With a nod, the waitress—whose name tag said Karen—headed back toward the counter.

I drummed my fingers on the Formica table. I needed to decide where I was going. North? I could head to Memphis, or St. Louis. Or should I continue east? To New Orleans, or even Florida.

For a second, I wondered how my mom was doing back in Dallas. It’d been almost a year since I’d seen her.

It’s safer this way, Bell.

But that didn’t stop the pain. I missed her so much.

I’d always wanted to go to New Orleans. I tapped the table again. Then again, Florida had the beach. Who didn’t like warm weather and golden sand?

The front door opened, and a young couple entered, accompanied by a gust of cold air. The man had his arm around a slim woman with red hair. She was smiling up at him.

All of a sudden, my vision blurred.

Allison .

The image of my best friend—with her wide smile, freckles, and long, red hair—was stamped in my head. I had so many images of her.

We’d been best friends since the second grade. Since the day she’d sat down beside me in class and announced that we were going to be best friends forever. And we had been. Through elementary school, middle school, and high school. Then, we’d decided to go to college together at Baylor. I’d studied business, and Allie had wanted to be a nurse.

Helping people when they need it, it’s important, Bell.

She’d been the nicest person I’d ever known, with a good heart. She’d just been good and beautiful.

My hands curled around the edge of the table, and time clicked back in. I blinked and saw the redhead and her boyfriend take a seat at a table.

She wasn’t Allison.

Allie was dead.

My belly revolted, tying itself in a knot. I tasted bile in my mouth, and breathed through the sensation. I dug my fingers into my thighs, pressing into the denim of my worn jeans.

“Here you go.”

Karen set a mug of coffee and a plate of food down. The smell hit me, making my nausea worse. I managed a smile. “Thank you.”

She eyed me. “You need anything else, hon, you let me know.”

I nodded. That small bit of kindness made tears prick my eyes.

There hadn’t been much kindness in my life since I’d left home.

Shaking my head, I locked it down, and picked up my fork. Survive . That was what was important. And I, Bellamy Sanders, was a fucking survivor.

I wouldn’t let him win.

I ate one bite of my meatloaf, chewing slowly. I was on my third mouthful, when someone stepped up to my table.

“Hi there, sweetheart.” It was one of the men from the loud trio. He had light brown hair, and a face he probably thought was handsome, but just looked ordinary. He slipped his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “You look like you could use some company. Why don’t you come join us?”

I shot him a bland look. “I’d like to be alone.”

“Come on now.” The smile he shot me told me he thought he was charming. “I’m a nice guy.” He leaned closer. “We could have some fun together.”

Ugh . I hated pushy guys like this. I’d unfortunately learned that when you were a woman alone, you attracted guys like this. A lot.

“I’m fine. Thank you.”

A frown formed, creasing his forehead. “Hey, I’m being friendly here.”

“I just really want to eat my dinner.”

“You can eat it with me and my friends.” He waved at his table. “We can get to know each other.”

My heartbeat picked up. He wasn’t going to let it go. He was going to make a scene.

I sighed. “Look—”

A shadow fell over the table, and I lifted my head.

My heart skipped a beat.

It was the lone man from the other table. Since he’d been sitting, I’d missed an important fact. He was huge. He was tall, broad, and all muscle. The sleeves of his blue shirt were rolled up, and his arms were covered in tattoos. The ink was a mix of different designs like flowers and swirls, and cool geometric patterns.

His face wasn’t exactly handsome, but I couldn’t look away. He was rugged, with a nose that had been broken before, shaggy, black hair, and a black beard covering his strong jaw.

His storm-cloud eyes trained on my unwanted visitor. “She said she wasn’t interested.”

“Stay out of this.” The younger man kept his gaze on me. “This isn’t your business.”

“Yeah, it is, because you’re being an ass. Go.”

Mr. Persistent turned to face the older man, then he froze.

I hid a smile. Yes, that’s right, you aren’t the biggest guy in the room.

“ Now ,” the tattooed giant growled.

The pest clearly weighed his options, then sniffed. “She’s not worth it anyway.” He sauntered back to his friends.

I kept staring at the stranger. I couldn’t look away.

His head turned back to me, and storm-gray eyes met mine.