Crying Wolf (Black River Pack Book 1)
CRYING WOLF
Rochelle Paige
Copyright
© 2014 Rochelle Paige Popovic
All rights reserved.
Edited by Mickey Reed
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used factiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons or living or dead, events or locals are entirely coincidental.
The author acknowledges the trademark status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/ Use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owner.
My fellow book addicts –
Reading has always been an escape for me. I’ve been a fan of romance novels ever since I was a tween and discovered my mom read them. Throughout the years, I’ve developed a love for many different sub-genres – including paranormal romance. There’s something about shifters that pulls at my heartstrings – their instant certainty about the woman they love, that possessiveness they feel for their mate and so much more. I recently found myself struggling while writing Checked Into Love (Bachelorette Party Book #2) and turned to a reading binge to help me get past the slump. It reignited my love for paranormal romance and sparked the Black River Pack. Hunter, Spencer and Parker were born and demanded I start their series sooner rather than later. Pushy wolf shifters!
PROLOGUE
Grace
I knew there were people who didn’t believe in love at first sight. Hell, I wished I could say I was one of them. Unfortunately, I knew better from personal experience—and not the good kind. I met Sam Carson when I was nineteen and fell for him immediately. In addition to the instant attraction I felt for him, I’d lost my parents the month before in a car crash, so he made me feel like I wasn’t alone anymore.
If you looked up “golden boy” online, I wouldn’t be surprised if his picture popped up as the first result. He was six feet tall with blond hair and blue eyes. He loved the outdoors and always sported a tan on his muscular frame. And he made me feel safe—which only made sense since he was a cop, after all.
Things progressed quickly between us, and two months into our relationship, Sam convinced me to move into his apartment. He always made time for me and treated me like a queen. He quickly became my whole world, much to the dismay of my few close friends, who all hated him. I thought things between us were amazing.
Then he wanted me to quit my job. Sam didn’t like the way guys looked at me while I was waitressing at the bar, and he was always pissed when he saw me put on my uniform. The tops were designed to show cleavage since it was good for tips. Sam finally convinced me that I should look for something better while he covered all our expenses. However, each time I found a job that I thought was perfect for me, he found reasons why I shouldn’t take the position. He was so persuasive in his arguments that I just kept looking, and before long, several months had gone by.
I didn’t realize it at the time, but little by little, he’d managed to remove everything from my life that wasn’t connected to him—my home, my job, even my friends. I felt guilty going out with them when they said bad things about Sam, and he used that to turn me against them. Eventually, he was the only thing I had left, and then things got really bad.
He didn’t like my clothes, so he bought me ones that didn’t show off my figure quite so much, which meant we didn’t argue as often, so I found myself wearing his choices more and more. Although I liked to keep my hair up in a ponytail because it was easy, Sam thought it made me look sloppy. Eventually, I started wearing it down all the time since I knew he preferred it that way. He drilled into my head that I was the lucky one. That I would have nothing—be nothing—without him in my life. And for a little while, I believed him. Until he hit me.
It wasn’t a playful spanking in bed meant to turn me on and make me beg, although I’d long since discovered that he liked making me beg. It wasn’t even an open-handed slap. When Sam hit me, it was a brutal punch to the stomach without holding any of his power back. And he was considerably stronger than I was, since I’m only five foot three and a hundred pounds when wet.
As I crouched on the floor, panting and trying desperately not to puke, Sam stood over me and told me that it was my fault he’d lost his temper. Looking up at him, I realized I didn’t know him at all. He wasn’t the man I’d thought he was. There were no apologies. He certainly didn’t beg for my forgiveness. Instead, I received a warning that nobody would believe me if I told them what happened since he was a cop, and I had no bruises, no broken bones, and no cuts. It was then that it dawned on me he’d known exactly what he was doing when he punched me. If it came to his word against mine, he would have had the advantage.
Although I’d allowed him to dominate our relationship, I wasn’t usually a weak person, nor was I dumb. Sam liked to make me think I was both since I’d been waitressing in a bar when we met. It hadn’t been easy getting them to hire me at my age, even though state law allowed me to work there once I turned eighteen. I made pretty good money there, too. In hindsight, I wished I had never quit that job. Hell, there were a lot of things I wished I had done differently back then, but I was determined to make better choices going forward.
The first time I tried to leave, Sam caught me packing my bags. It was the day after he hit me and he had apparently come home early to make sure I was okay. His eyes iced over when he saw what I was doing. He didn’t hit me again. He merely threatened that he’d find me if I tried to leave and took my bags with him when he left. I knew that, if I had any hope of ever getting away from him, I’d need to make sure he couldn’t get all of his cop friends to look for me after I was gone. So I made a plan—one that would hopefully make his fellow police officers unwilling to help when I finally left for real.
I disappeared the next day, taking only the bare necessities with me. Knowing it would be the first thing Sam would try, I powered off my cell phone so it couldn’t be used to trace me. Then I parked my car at the airport in long-term parking and took a bus back into town. From there, I headed to a women’s shelter and stayed for three days—long enough for Sam to file an official missing person’s report on me even though I was sure he would have started searching the moment he realized I was gone.
On the morning of the third day, I took a bus back to the airport to pick up my car. When I returned to our home, Sam was stunned to see me walk in the door. His partner and two other cops who were with him at the time watched as he hugged me tight before asking me if I was okay and where the hell I had been. I heard the edge of anger in his voice, but I figured they probably thought it was just concern.
“I was doing my campus visit,” I answered, acting like he’d known where I was supposed to be all along. “Did you forget? The one at Blythe College—to see if I want to go there as a freshman next year. I know you aren’t happy about the idea of me living on campus, but I really wanted to see what it would be like. I thought we’d hashed this all out before I left.”
The guys left shortly after, and I paid for making him look like a fool in front of them. He was careful not to leave any marks or break any bones, but I felt each and every punch for days after just the same. I kept reminding myself that it was worth it because I saw the doubt in their eyes.
I bided my time, suffering his insults and demands for sex. I faked my orgasms and acted like his good little girl for a whole month before I left again. I stayed away for an entire week since I couldn’t be sure he would report me missing right away because of what happened last time. And when I came back, I acted like I’d been up at the lake to spread my parents’ ashes since it was the one-year anniversary of their deaths. I apologized for having kept my phone off, but it had been terribly emotional and I wasn’t ready to talk to anyone. When I overheard his partner telling Sam to get a grip before he was suspended for filing false reports, I knew my wait was nearly over.
I survived my last night with Sam by holding on to my belief that, when I left in the morning, I wouldn’t have to come back and he wouldn’t be able to chase me so easily. Making his friends think he was wrong about the times I was gone before had taken away a lot of his resources—a lot of his power. My hope was that it would gain me enough of a head start that I’d be able to make my escape and erase my trail before he figured out this time I was gone for good.
I hadn’t counted on him leaving me handcuffed to the bed, but that didn’t stop me. Seeing my phone on the bedside table, I called one of my friends for the first time in months. Luckily, Sam didn’t understand the strength of the bond that can grow between women, because she came running the second I explained I needed her help. After parking down the street so nobody would see her, she crept into my house and set me free using the key to her boyfriend’s handcuffs. He was a cop in a different division, but they all used the same manufacturer of cuffs, so the keys were interchangeable.
Sarah didn’t ask too many questions—she had been the most vocal about how much she didn’t like Sam and the first friend he’d cut out of my life. When we got to the bus station, Sarah went inside and bought me a ticket on the first bus leaving town. Handing me a bag of clothes and an envelope stuffed with cash, she told me that she had been waiting for when I was ready to escape and I should run hard and fast. And most importantly, I should never look back—even though it meant that this was the last time I would ever see my childhood friend.
So for six months, I ran and held on to my hope that I’d made a clean break. I’d moved from place to place, never getting too comfortable and always looking over my shoulder. One hundred eighty days of freedom had passed, and I was finally ready to settle down in a new town for good. When I pulled out a map and looked a little farther north, Wolf’s Point jumped out at me, so I headed there.
Luck was on my side, too. I checked into the local motel and asked the girl behind the counter if she knew of any waitressing jobs around town. She suggested I check with The Den, a local bar that she thought was hiring. It had been a long drive, and I didn’t wake up until almost noon the next day. Taking extra time from my normal routine, I made sure my hair and makeup were perfect because I wanted to make a good impression.
The town was smaller than what I was used to—the downtown area had a few streets with shops off the main drag but wasn’t much to look at. The sign for a place called The Packed Plate caught my attention, and I decided I’d stop there after checking with the bar about a job first. If they weren’t hiring, then the local diner might do in a pinch. The tips wouldn’t be as good, but a job was a job.
The storefront of The Den was a lot nicer than I had been expecting, and I was even more surprised when I went inside. It was bigger than it had appeared from the outside. It was dark, with wood paneling that matched the floors. There was a wide variety of beer on tap and big-screen televisions stationed around the room. It was early afternoon, but there were already people sitting at the bar.