Shy Kinda Love (2 page)

Six months after “that night,” all of the men who were instrumental in running the human trafficking ring had been sentenced to life in prison—all but one. Marco Munro has not been seen since the night he killed two agents. If he
is
caught, he will likely face the death penalty, which is an even stronger reason for me to remain in witness protection. Beth explained that criminals who have nothing to live for typically kill several people before they are finally caught—simply because they have nothing to lose. The FBI is still actively searching for him, but they believe my dad and I are at great risk until he is apprehended.

A week after the sentencing, Ryder and I are moving to Ohio with our new identities. I don’t know where my dad is going, and I don’t care. I am now Shyanne Adams, and he is Ryder Reed…kind of.

Once we were through the immediate crisis, Ryder explained that in the discussions with the FBI—about my protection—he agreed to the job that had been offered to him previously. He has never given me the full details of his job, only that he’s not an agent, but his team will work very closely with the FBI. He also explained that he will be living with me but will often have to leave on assignments. His new job will require him to have multiple identities, so he chose to keep the same first name as his primary I.D. and only changed his last.  It is all too surreal for me, so I stop asking questions.

As we prepare for the move, Beth tells me she has secured a stall at a barn for me near our new home. She gives me the number for a woman named Angie, who owns the barn. She also hands me a sealed envelope.

“What’s this?” I ask, beginning to open it.

Beth places her hand over mine, preventing me from breaking the seal. “Your father started a trust in your name when you were born. He made some shit decisions, but he was a genius investment broker.” She tilts her head in the direction of the envelope. “This is the information for the account where that money has been transferred.”

I furrow my brow and repeat what I’ve been told: “All of my dad’s money was seized.”

Beth nods. “Yes, but this is
your
money. His money was taken and used to help the other victims.”

Other
victims?

Seeing my confusion, Beth explains, “You’re a victim too, sweetheart. I know you won’t allow yourself to believe that, but I, and the Federal Bureau of Investigations believe that you are. So, it has been determined that you will receive all of the money from that account… and it’s a lot of money,” she says, winking.

Although I don’t agree, I know that I’ll need money to live. I thank Beth for all of her help and tell her I’ll send her pictures of my horse, when I get him.

Beth shakes her head with a sad smile. “I’m not your marshal, so we can’t have contact.”

Of course—someone else I have come to care about, and who I will probably never see her again.

Beth pulls me in for a hug. “I’m going to miss you, but I feel blessed that I got to know you.” She steps back and wipes a tear from her cheek. “You are a very strong young woman, but
you
have to start believing that about yourself.”

If it were true, I would believe it.

Chapter 1

Three Years Later

As I pull my truck into the drive I see Ryder’s jeep parked in the garage. Dropping my head back to the headrest, I let out a long breath. I love Ryder and I’m glad he’s back in town, but I know the reason—today is my birthday. My plan for the evening was going to consist of make-me-cry movies and a bag of salt and vinegar chips.

Maybe I can back the truck out and go back to the barn. He’ll be pissed, but dealing with a pissed-off Ryder is easier than dealing with whatever he has planned for this evening. Just as I’m about to put the key back into the ignition, I hear the front door open and I look up to see Ryder standing in the doorway.

“Don't even think about it,” he says. “Get your ass out of that car and into this house.”

It's frustrating how well he knows me. Resigned to my fate for the evening, I get out of the truck and give him my best grumpy face. I also drag my feet for effect. Although he is a six-foot, tattooed badass, I learned long ago that Ryder is defenseless against a pouting girl.

“Stop acting like a child, Shyanne.” He’s trying to sound irritated but I can hear the smile. “How was the barn?” he asks, as he places his hands on my shoulders and looks down at me.

I shrug. “Fine.”

“Good. Now go get a shower, and scrub off the smell of horse shit. We’re going out,” he says, while guiding me through the front door.

I step back, away from his reach. “What? No, I’m not. You know I don’t like to go out. You can go. I just want to stay in and read, or watch a movie.”

Ryder clenches his jaw and I watch as his short-lived sweet disposition vanishes and badass Ryder returns. “It’s your twenty-first birthday. Happy birthday, by the way.” He wraps me in a tight embrace and kisses the top of my head, then turns me and points me in the direction of my room. “I’m done watching you waste this life away. Now go get your ass in the shower before I throw you in there.”

I know arguing is futile, and I honestly don’t care enough to fight. I begin walking back to my room but I don’t get three steps before I feel him grab my elbow and spin me to look at him.

“I mean it, Shyanne, I’m done watching you exist as this empty shell.”

I roll my eyes and pull my arm from his grasp. My expression might look like I’m not fazed by his words, but the fact that he called me Shyanne instead of “baby” tells me just how serious he is.

When I was a kid, and Ryder’s sister Casey was my best friend, he used to call us both “baby.” It was a teasing nickname he used to get us all riled up. It worked for the first few weeks. After that, it just became the name he assigned to us. Sometimes he would call one of us by name, but mostly it was just “baby.” When I was eleven and Ryder was 16, we lost both Casey and their parents in a car accident. Ryder continued to call me “baby.” I remember loving the nickname even more, because every time he said it, it made me think of Casey. Today when Ryder calls me “baby,” it sounds like my name. Like in the movie
Dirty Dancing
. It’s just my name, not an endearment. It’s what he always calls me, so when he uses my real name, he’s making a statement.

“Fine,” I say again before pulling away from his hold. I walk back to my room to do as I’ve been told.

Once I’m out of the shower I dress in jeans and a purple-and-white plaid shirt, unbuttoned, revealing the black cami underneath. I dry my hair and do nothing more to it, leaving the long, brown, naturally-wavy strands to fall over my shoulders. Wearing no makeup, no jewelry, and no smile, I walk into the kitchen to find Ryder pouring two shots of Patrón.

I look from him to the bottle in his hand. “Tequila. Really? You know what that shit does to me.”

“That’s exactly why you’re drinking it. You need to be somebody else tonight.” He slides one of the shots across the bar to me and raises his own to toast. “Happy birthday.” We both throw back the shots with no salt and no lemon, not wanting to ruin the taste of the liquor.

Although I am still not happy about being forced into a night out, I can’t look at this man and not be thankful to have him in my life.

After the accident that took his family, Ryder and I became very close. We shared the pain of two kids who had no idea how to handle that kind of loss. Ryder took care of me like he used to take care of Casey—like his little sister. When he turned eighteen he signed up for the army, and he left for boot camp as soon as he graduated. During a tour in Iraq, Ryder was shot in the abdomen by enemy fire. When I was seventeen, Ryder was honorably discharged and returned home. That’s when he discovered something was very wrong in my world.

Now, Ryder turns and opens a drawer behind him, pulling out a small box. He rounds the island and stands next to me, holding the gift out for me to take.

“I don’t need anything,” I tell him, at the same time reaching to take the gift. He says nothing, so I lift the lid to find a Visa gift card lying inside. I squint my eyes. “What’s this for?”

“That’s for you to go shopping,” Ryder says, holding up a hand to stop me from arguing. “You’re going to start going other places besides the barn and here. You need to buy some clothes because all but two of your shirts smell like horse.” He leans down, burying his nose in my shirt. “Glad you chose one of those two for tonight,” he says with a smile.

Regardless of his perfect smile, I’m still irritated. “Happy twenty-first birthday, now get a life,” I say sarcastically.

Ryder’s face instantly shifts back to his badass hardness. “Don’t act like this is me being an ass. This is me being done watching you barely exist.”

I let out a loud sigh, knowing he’s right. Refusing to argue, I ask, “Where we goin’?”

“The Hole. I think the college let out this week, so all those annoying kids should be gone for the summer”

The Hole is actually named The Barn, but it’s not even nice enough to be considered a barn. So somewhere along the line someone started calling it The Hole and it stuck. The bar is small, and really just a local dive.

I pour myself one more shot, hoping it kicks in before I have to walk through the door of the bar.

We get to the bar and immediately see that the college kids have not yet left for the summer. The bar is not packed, but there are several tables occupied with carefree guys and half-drunk girls. As I follow Ryder, I keep my head down, but I can feel everyone here staring at me.

I pull on Ryder’s sleeve. “Can we go someplace else, like back home?”

He shakes his head and continues on his mission. I follow him to the bar, where we both take a seat. “Just a couple of drinks. You don’t have to talk to anyone, or sing and dance,” he says, nodding to the karaoke set up at the front of the bar.

I give him a “bite me” look and then wave for the bartender. If I’m going to endure this hell, then I’m going to need a lot more alcohol.

As the bartender approaches he lifts his chin in greeting to Ryder.

“Hey, Nate,” Ryder replies. “Can we get a couple shots of Patrón?”

“Sure thing.”

When Nate places the shots in front of us, Ryder lifts his glass to me. “To the strongest, most beautiful girl I know. My wish for you is that you find a reason to start laughing again.” He knocks his glass against mine. “Happy twenty-first birthday,” he says again, then throws back the shot.

Feeling a little sad at his words, I shift my eyes from Ryder’s face over his shoulder, where I see a gorgeous guy watching me. The contrast between his messy dark hair and his blue-grey eyes is stunning, but it’s the intensity in those eyes that has me mesmerized. I feel completely exposed—as if he can see my every thought and every fear.

The stranger’s eyes are locked on mine as Nate pours
him
a shot of Patrón. He lifts his glass to me, as if he heard the whole speech Ryder just gave, then he too throws it back. I pull my eyes from him and look down to my shot, which I have yet to drink. I lift the painkiller to my lips and down the warm liquid.

My eyes instantly fall back on the stranger and as I sit, eyes locked with Mr. Patrón, I feel someone approach the bar next to me. I look to my left and see a tall blonde pulling out a barstool to sit. She raises her hand, gesturing for the bartender. “Hey, Nate, can I get a pitcher of whatever they’re drinking,” the blonde asks, tilting her head in the direction of a table behind us.

Instinctively, I glance over my shoulder where four other girls are seated. I look back from the table just in time to see the girl next to me pour something into the pitcher of beer. Surprised, my eyes widen as they meet hers. She winks and looks back to Nate, asking for a knife.

“What are you doing, Keegan?” I hear Nate ask, sounding only irritated, not concerned.

I look over to see him watching Keegan with his head tilted to the side. I then look to Ryder, realizing I was not the only one to see Keegan dosing the beer. Ryder has his brows raised and is waiting for Keegan’s answer.

“Relax, boys,” Keegan says. “It’s just a little something to help rid them of all that shit they always seem to be full of.” She gives us a playful smile, then turns to approach the girls. Unsure what else to do, I turn in my chair to listen to this interaction.

“Hey, girls, it’s so good to see you all again,” Keegan says as she sets the laxative-filled beer on the table. She then slides into the booth next to one of the girls. Keegan lifts a hand, gesturing to the new beer. “This is a gift from me, to let you know how I feel about your little prank on Jessie last semester. Encouraging her to not wear panties under her skirt, then getting her drunk and making her dance on the table while every guy utilized their cell phone cameras. Genius, girls. Just genius.” Keegan wraps her arm around the shoulder of the girl sitting next to her while the others watch in confusion. Keegan pulls the girl close. “I know we have not all been the best of friends, but I have to admit, I’m impressed.” She leans toward the girl she is side-hugging and kisses her on the cheek, then lets go. “Enjoy your evening, girls.” Then she stands and strides back to the bar.

I am very interested in learning more about her little plan, but before I can ask, another girl takes the stool next to Keegan and begins talking. “That was so sweet of you, Keegan. I know you hate those girls, especially after what they did to Jessie, but that was so nice of you to buy them a beer. What did you say to them? Did you lecture them? Maybe if more people would be nice to them they’d start being nice to others.”

Who the hell is this girl, little miss sunshine?

Just as I finish that thought Keegan turns toward me, rolling her eyes. She holds out her hand. “Keegan Hughes, and this little bowl of happiness is Gemma Wulf. She’s my naïve, hopelessly optimistic best friend.”

I shake her hand. “Shyanne Adams.” Gemma reaches across Keegan, shaking my hand too. “You two go to school here?” I ask.

Gemma nods her head vigorously while smiling widely. Keegan nods once. “Yep, seniors. How about you? I’ve never seen you around campus.”

“I live here,” I answer. I nod back to table of girls, who had started drinking the tainted beer. “The girl you were talking about, is she okay?”

Keegan shakes her head, “No. The pictures everyone took that night will haunt her forever.”

I laugh a little. “Well, maybe if one of them shits their pants tonight, you can get a picture of that.”

Keegan laughs, but Gemma looks between us curiously. Keegan sighs. “Gemma, I was not being nice to the sohos.” Keegan looks back to me. “That’s what I call them. Sorority hos. Sohos.” Then she returns to her confession with a smile. “I put a laxative in their pitcher.”

Now it’s Gemma’s turn to sigh as she drops her head in her hands.

“Ready for shot number two?” I hear Ryder ask, interrupting my chat.

I turn to him. “You mean number four? Don’t forget the two I had a home before we left.” I smile as I lean my head onto his shoulder. I can already feel the effects of my prior shots beginning to grab hold of my mind. I feel the weight of my life begin to lift as I draw in a long, slow breath. I wrap both my hands around Ryder’s bicep and squeeze, “Thank you, Ryder, for making me come out.”

Ryder pats my head like a small child. “No problem, baby. I couldn’t let you sit at home on your birthday.”

“Your birthday,” I hear Keegan yell next to me as she smacks her hand on the bar. “Why didn’t you tell me it’s your birthday?” She signals for the bartender again. “Four shots of Patrón.”

Nate nods and pulls the bottle out from under the bar, quickly pouring our shots.

Ryder waves it away. “Just three, Nate, I’m driving this one home,” he says, nodding down at me, still latched onto his arm.

I should probably turn down this shot too. I don’t think four shots of tequila in an hour is a very good plan—twenty-first birthday or not.

I let go of Ryder and lean towards Keegan. “I just met you,” I explain, with a small slur. “That’s why I didn’t tell you, dumbass.” With that, Keegan wraps an arm around my shoulders and pull me close. She looks to Gemma and announces, “I think I found our new best friend.”

What? My half-buzzed mind tries to process her words. I’m not looking for friends. Actually, I don’t want friends. With that thought, our drinks are set in front of us and I automatically lift it to my lips.