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  UNSAFE HAVEN

  Bella Jewel

  Chapter 1

  “Just talk to him already!”

  I stop midway through sipping my coffee and stare over the counter at my best friend, Erin. She’s looking at me in a way that screams excitement. Her blue eyes bright, her blond hair bobbing around her chin, her mouth spread into a big grin. She raises her hands, claps them together, and then wiggles her brows at me.

  “I can’t,” I murmur, staring down at the creamy liquid in my cup. “He doesn’t really look like he enjoys being spoken to.”

  “All men enjoy being spoken to!”

  I huff. “Maybe so, but he seems . . . shy. Broody, even. He isn’t like most happy-go-lucky men. I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

  “You start with hello, Jade, and you go from there.”

  I purse my lips, and take another sip of coffee. “I mean, I have said hello, and he murmurs a reply but then just gets back to work. Marlie said he’s going to be at Sanctuary the next two days to help with all the decorations for the Halloween party. Maybe I can try and talk to him then.”

  “Don’t try, just do it, Jade.”

  I stare at Erin. She’s right, I should just talk to the mysterious, gorgeous, broody handyman who helps out at my job, but I’m far too shy to bring myself to do it. He started only a few months back, and I can’t seem to take my eyes off him when I’m there. There’s something that draws me to him. There aren’t many men that show up at my job, so having him there, and even finding the courage to speak to him, is huge.

  I don’t have the best history with men. My ex, Terry, made my life miserable for a few solid years. When I tried to leave, he wasn’t happy about it. I guess you could say I’m an abuse survivor, and because of that, I became slightly withdrawn when it came to the male species. My work has definitely helped with that.

  Working at Sanctuary has been a dream come true. It’s run by two amazing women, Kaity and Marlie, as a safe place for men and women who’ve been through something awful, like abuse or a traumatic event, and want support without judgment. After all, I was one of those people not so long ago.

  Marlie, my boss, is an extraordinary woman. She escaped the hands of a serial killer and lived to tell the tale. She wanted to do something incredible for other people who’ve experienced such terror, so she opened a place where people can escape for a little while. I’ll never forget how kind she was to me when I showed up on the doorstep six months ago, looking for a place to just feel okay, like I wasn’t so alone in the world.

  Marlie, her boyfriend Kenai, and her sister Kaity all made me feel right at home, and I found myself spending every day there, talking to other people, helping them through, and just giving any advice I could think of, so they could feel a little better. I think in doing that, I helped myself. Talking to others, seeing that some people had it so much worse, made me realize I wasn’t alone, and slowly I started to heal. I started to make friends, and I started to find a passion in helping the people who walked through those doors.

  So, after a few months, Marlie offered me a job. She liked the way I interacted with people, and felt I was beneficial, not only to Sanctuary, but also to the people who walked in the doors. It’s only part time, but I go in and help out wherever I’m needed. Showing people around Sanctuary, making them feel comfortable. I also clean and help with some bookkeeping and whatever administrative tasks they need help with. I was working as a waitress before, a somewhat empty job, and I didn’t feel like my life was taking any course of its own. Now, I feel like I’m finally giving back, finally doing something to help others.

  It gives me purpose. I love it.

  Until Kenai brought his very attractive friend in to do some maintenance work around the place. Oliver. Gorgeous. Quiet. And someone I can’t keep my eyes off. Every time I go to work and he’s there, I find myself watching him, curious, wondering about him and why he’s so quiet and withdrawn. My nurturing instinct wants to go over, to see if he’s okay, to make friends with him and start a conversation—after all, it shouldn’t be just women I help—but every time I go to do it, I chicken out.

  I’m shy.

  Horribly shy.

  I can’t say I’ve always been that way; I haven’t. I’m like this because the last time I found my voice, I regretted it very quickly. The one and only time I stuck up for myself to Terry, it backfired and I ended up in hospital with a broken collarbone, two broken ribs, and a black eye. It was enough to weaken me. So I stay mostly silent, only talking to the people who come in, and Marlie or Kaity. When it comes to men, I have major trust issues. But Oliver . . . he speaks to me without saying anything. Something about him makes me want to talk to him.

  “I have to go in there now, maybe I’ll try,” I say. Erin is staring at me with a scowl, obviously unhappy with my lack of enthusiasm. She’s never shy. At all. So I can see why she finds it hard to understand why I struggle to make conversation with men.

  “I know you’ve had a hard time with men before, but not all of them are the same,” she says. “Don’t let one bad experience ruin you forever. Talk to Oliver. You might find it’s worth it.”

  I smile at her. “Thanks, and I will. I’ll try.”

  I finish up my coffee and conversation with Erin and then leave home to head to work. When I arrive at Sanctuary, there are more than the usual number of cars there. Some of the women who come in must be helping with the Halloween party we’re throwing on the weekend. It’s good for them, and it gives them something to look forward to. In a way, they’re giving back to Sanctuary.

  I get out of my car, lock it, and walk inside to find Marlie. She’s standing with Kenai, both of them staring up the stairs, no doubt discussing decorations. “Good morning,” I say when I stop beside them.

  Marlie looks at me and smiles. “Heya, Jade. How are you?”

  “Good. Ready to get this place looking spooky. What’s the plan?”

  “Kenai and Oliver have gotten the decorations all ready, it’s just a matter of putting them up. We’re going to have cobwebs on the stairs and balconies, spooky creatures hanging from the ceilings, maybe even a smoke machine. What do you think?”

  I beam. “Sounds fun. Where can I start?”

  “Upstairs in the big closet are some decorations, you can grab them and start putting them anywhere you think they might look good.”

  I nod. “I’m on it.”

  With that, I disappear up the stairs, excited to get started.

  * * *

  I love Halloween; it’s my favorite holiday of the year. I love the decorations, the spooky stories, the trick or treating and the fun that comes along with it. I like carving pumpkins, making different candies, and I especially love when all the kids come to my door. As spooky as it is, I feel like it brings people together, allows people to interact and have some fun.

  I find the storage closet, step inside, and flick on the light. It’s full of decorations, plates, cups, tablecloths, and everything you could possibly imagine for Halloween. I walk in a little further, reaching down for a box of fake cobwebs
, when the door behind me slams closed. Spinning around, I reach over for the door handle, only to find it locked. Furrowing my brows, I rattle the doorknob again. Still locked. Great. I’m stuck in here.

  I bang my fists on the door a few times, calling out, but nobody comes to my rescue. They must all be downstairs. Huffing, I turn and stare at the boxes. Just great. I’m in here, but I have no way of getting out or getting help. I left my phone in my purse, in the office. I bang on the door again, a few times, yelling louder and louder. A few minutes pass by, and I start getting a little more worried. Someone will come up here eventually, but it’s hot, and stuffy, and I want to get some work done, not be stuck in a damned closet.

  I sit for a few minutes, wondering how the hell I’m going to escape this. Shrugging, I start sorting through the decorations. After a while, it’s getting a little harder to breathe, so I turn around and bang on the door again, calling out. Still no one. Feeling a little stressed out, I try to distract myself with the decorations again but I really don’t like the feeling I’m getting. My chest is tight and I’m starting to get a little panicky. I don’t think there is a human alive who likes being in a place where they can’t get out, even if it is only a closet.

  I pound my fists on the door again, calling out a little louder, and a little more frantically. My voice is soft at the best of times, so it’s hardly loud. I still try, though. I’m just about to give up again when the door swings open. Not expecting it, I stumble backward. A scream escapes my throat and my legs flail around as I hit a box, falling right into it, bottom first, and crushing all the decorations. Two big hands reach down, curling around my arms and pulling me up. I come face to face with Oliver. He’s standing, holding on to me still, staring at me with those intense hazel eyes.

  He’s classically good looking, with light brown hair that’s messy and falls over his forehead like it’s been made to do that. His skin is a soft brown, and his eyes a deep hazel. He’s got very masculine features to match his very large, very muscled body. A few tattoos snake up one arm and disappear underneath his dark shirts. The ones he always wears. He’s gorgeous, in a bad-boy yet breathtakingly beautiful kind of way. His tattoos and dark features give him an edge, yet there is also a softness about him.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper, looking up at him. “I locked myself in here. I wasn’t sure if anyone would hear me calling out.”

  “I was coming to get more decorations when I heard you yelling. You hurt?” His voice is rich, thick, and husky. It matches him perfectly.

  “Ah, no, I’m not hurt. A little embarrassed, but not hurt.”

  He studies me. “You should be more careful. If nobody was up here, you might have been in here a while.”

  I flush and nod, stepping back. He releases me, dropping his hands to his sides.

  “I’m Jade,” I say, meeting his eyes for a second before looking away, cheeks still burning.

  He smells incredible.

  “I know,” he says, his voice low.

  “And you’re Oliver.”

  His eyes flash when I meet them again. “Yeah.”

  “It’s nice to meet you,” I offer, extending my hand, feeling lame the second it comes out of my mouth.

  He nods, reaching out and curling his fingers around mine, shaking my hand gently. It feels nice, really nice. I try to keep the blush from creeping up my cheeks. I drop his hand and he holds my gaze for a moment before looking back toward the decorations. “Need a hand? I’m looking for decorations too, so we might as well do it together.”

  My heart races. The chance to work with him, maybe make some conversation? Yes please.

  “That would be great, thank you. I’ll probably need help putting some of these up. I’m not very tall.”

  His eyes drop down my body, and then he shakes his head, “No, you’re not.”

  I don’t know if he said that in a good or bad way, but the way he dragged his eyes up my body, I don’t really care. It makes me feel alive, nervous, happy, and anxious, all at the same time. My skin prickles, and I swallow, running my fingers through my mousy brown hair, and straighten. Do I look okay? I wonder what he thinks of me. I’ve always found myself to be . . . too small. My petite frame barely reaches his shoulders, and my hair is long, stick straight, and I would say a fairly plain shade of brown. My eyes, blue like the sky, are my best feature without a doubt.

  I was never blessed with curves, or big breasts, or a great round ass, so I often wonder if I have the assets men find attractive.

  “Grab a box,” Oliver says, shaking me out of my thoughts.

  I reach down, grabbing a box and lifting it into my arms, which barely go around it. I shuffle forward, and Oliver watches me, brows raised. Then, with somewhat of a sigh, he grabs the box from my arms and carries it into the hall effortlessly before reaching for another one. My cheeks flame again. Great, he probably thinks I’m useless. I can’t even hold a box. He drags the boxes over to the balcony and pulls out the fake cobwebs, staring at them with disgust.

  “This isn’t goin’ to be easy.”

  I stare at the tangled mess. “No, but I guess the good thing about it is that it’s supposed to look messy, so we can get away with it.”

  He nods and pulls the big white clumps out. “You take one end, we’ll stretch it out as much as we can and just attach it bit by bit to the railings.”

  “Okay,” I say in a soft voice, taking one end of the odd-feeling cobwebs and stretching them out. Oliver finds some string and starts tying it to the railings, and we move along slowly, attaching it as best we can.

  “Have you known Kenai long?” I dare to ask, in an attempt at making conversation.

  “Yeah,” Oliver murmurs. “A while now.”

  Right. “It’s a great place they’ve got going on here.”

  He glances at me. “It is.”

  Gosh, I usually don’t talk much, and this is why. When people don’t answer me, it makes me feel silly. I close my mouth and just keep shuffling along. For a bit, the silence is incredibly uncomfortable, and I shift around trying to figure out what to do. I don’t want to make conversation if he’s not in the mood to talk, but this silence is killing me.

  “You worked here long?” Oliver asks after about ten minutes, his eyes flicking in my direction.

  “Ah.” Crap, now I’m nervous that he is talking to me. “Not really. I came here for the same reason everyone else does, I suppose. But I felt at home here and wanted to do more, so Marlie offered me a job. So, I’m just a bit of everything, I guess.”

  “You were one of the people who came here to find peace? To get away from something?”

  My eyes go to his, and he’s watching me with an intensity I can’t put my finger on. It’s almost as if he will be able to tell, just by looking at me, if I’m lying or not. I swallow and decide to just tell him the truth. My therapist told me talking about my ex would help me heal, because for so long I kept it all to myself and almost acted like he didn’t exist and what he did to me didn’t happen. Which she deemed “unhealthy.”

  “I was,” I say, stretching the web out even further. “My, ah, ex-boyfriend gave me some troubles.”

  “What kind of troubles?” Oliver asks, tying some more string to hold the webbing on.

  I shift a little, because I’m not really used to strangers asking me questions, although I guess I can understand why he wants to know. There’s no harm in telling him. It’s my story; I can’t change it, so there is no point denying it. “He was abusive, physically and mentally. After I left, he became obsessed and stalked me for a while, threatening me. I got free of it, but it haunted me, I guess. I only had my best friend to talk to.”

  “Was he always like that?”

  I shake my head. “No, not always. At first, it was good. A seemingly normal relationship, but over time, he became possessive, starting over small things, like someone looking in my direction, and then it all just got worse until it blew up. Then he wasn’t the person I thought I knew. Not at all.
”

  I shiver, remembering what it was like living with Terry sometimes. The man I fell in love with very quickly changed, revealing layers of possessiveness, controlling behavior, and abusive tendencies. There were times I couldn’t even look at a man passing or he’d lose it. Swearing that I was trying to leave him, that I was sleeping around and cheating on him. It was an obsession that quickly turned dark.

  Oliver’s jaw tics. “What’s his name?”

  I blink. “Who? My ex?”

  “Yes. His name?”

  “Ah, Terry.”

  Oliver holds my eyes. “Last name.”

  Oh boy. The way his voice sounds makes my skin shiver. He’s serious right now. He wants to know, and I know exactly why he wants to know. He’s like most normal men. They don’t like to know scum like that is walking the streets, and they want nothing more than to stamp it out. I understand that, believe me, but I just escaped Terry’s clutches; I don’t want to go back to them by raising the past.

  “I can’t tell you that. Not because I don’t want to—believe me, a part of me does—but because it’s the safest option.”

  Oliver’s eyes flash. “I’m not going to do anything, I just don’t like the thought of men like that walking this earth to hurt more women. Pains me to know they’re out there, roaming free, without a care in the world.”

  “You can’t control everyone,” I say softly.

  “No,” he murmurs. “You’re right about that.”

  “Yeah.”

  He studies me for a few moments. “What about your parents? Where were they when this was happening? I know you’re a grown woman, but most families tend to notice when things go wrong. Nobody noticed?”

  “I don’t, ah, get along with my parents.”

  “Why?” he questions.

  I don’t have the best parents in the world. They were never great; not a single moment of my childhood do I recall them being any good. I was an accident, and I was reminded of that my whole life. My mom cared more about money and her friends than me. It was as if I was a burden. And my dad was a drunk who never did anything but sit in front of the television, watching the world go by, not a care in the world, beer in hand.