Chapter 20
Jackson
I'm tempted to move from my position on the wall, but Katrina's gesture stops me, and I remember how well she can handle herself. I settle back, waiting. Actually, I do have to admit, part of me is looking forward to this. It could be better than a Bruce Lee movie.
“So why'd you do it, Sam?” Katrina asks as Samuel raises his hands and tries to come after her. Katrina moves with a ballet dancer's grace, avoiding his grab and spinning out of the way, pushing him on the back as she does, causing him to stumble a bit. “Was it that the FBI was going to come after you? Internal Affairs?”
“I was a good cop!” Samuel yells, turning and coming after Katrina again. She's backing up, light on her feet even in her boots, and I can see she's toying with him. It's hot actually, watching her move. She's graceful, not like a dancer or a stripper, intentionally working her body to tease, but instead she's graceful in an unconscious way, like she's focused on something greater and her grace is just a means to an end.
“You were a dirty cop,” Katrina replies, ducking as Samuel grabs a little knickknack off the top of the television and throws it at her. Katrina moves so quickly that it almost looks like the porcelain projectile passes right through her, exploding on the wall behind her. “You were a dirty cop who worked for Peter more than you worked for the people of New Orleans.”
“You don't know a damn thing about what I did!” Samuel screams, trying to grab Katrina again, who blocks his hands, slapping them away before shoving him in the chest. Samuel stumbles back, and gets ready to charge Katrina, who I can see is obviously ready for him. Before he can, though, Theresa is up and out of her chair, trying to get in between her daughter and her husband.
“Michael, no! Stop!” she yells hysterically, grabbing his arm and yanking. Samuel's not in good shape, hell, I'm worried the man's going to have a heart attack if this goes on much longer, but Theresa's scrawny. Maybe Katrina doesn't understand, but I do. She might get some of her height from her father, and I can see a little bit of his face in hers, but the hair, the slender frame... that's all from Theresa Grammercy, and that body's been worn down by a decade of guilt, so what was once thin has become bony and weak.
Theresa tugs, but Samuel barely moves at all, except for turning and pushing his wife, sending her sprawling. “Shut up, bitch. You're half the fucking reason I left anyway, you and that constant harping on me, threatening to go to Peter and tell him about me and Margaret. If you were a good wife, I wouldn't have had that problem!”
Samuel turns to kick Theresa, and I start to move, but before I can even take a step, Katrina's right there, spinning him around and sweeping his legs out from underneath him. “Don't touch her!” she screams, stomping down on Samuel's left ankle. I don't hear anything break, but that doesn't mean it doesn't probably hurt like hell. “You have no right!”
Unfortunately for Katrina, while she's an expert in the martial arts, she probably hasn't watched as many cop shows as I have, and she forgets one of the main cop rules in a domestic disturbance, which is never ignore anyone. Her own mother, who should have been grateful for her daughter's assistance, instead throws a shoe at her. It catches Katrina in the chest and surprises her just enough that Samuel is able to grab her ankle, sending her tumbling to the floor next to him with one hard yank. Theresa's still trying to get involved, but I grab her, dragging her away toward the bedroom.
“Sit down!” I say, shoving her into the bedroom and closing the door. It's not great, but it's better than nothing, and before she can push the door open, I grab a bookcase and jam it under the handle. It's not much, but it’ll give me a minute.
I run back to the living room, and watch as Katrina flips Samuel over neatly, landing on top of her father, anger and rage etched on her face. “You son of a bitch! You fucking bastard! You left me, you cheated on your wife, and you try to pretend that you're the victim! I hate you!”
Katrina starts pounding him in the face, vicious elbows and forearm blasts that batter away at his arms. He's beyond trying to defend himself, he's out of shape and exhausted already, but Katrina isn't letting up. Samuel's just got his arms up over his head to try and absorb the punishment, but I can tell from looking at Katrina's face, she isn't letting up.
His arms slip, and one of Katrina's elbows slices through, shattering Samuel's cheekbone, and his head drops back, stunned. His arms fall to the side, and she grabs him by the throat, a look of murder on her face. “Katrina! Katrina, stop!”
“No way, Jackson,” she hisses, her eyes locked on Samuel's face. Her fingers start to tighten, and he hacks, trying to grab at her wrist, but her grip is too strong. “He's got to pay.”
“By turning you into a murderer like him?” I ask, coming next to her. I can't grab her, she's so high-strung right now that I'd probably just make her angrier, but I lay a hand on her right arm, just above her elbow. “Katrina, do you want to become as bad as he is? To become like him?”
“He took ten years of my life away,” Katrina hisses, twisting Samuel's hand with her left when he finally gets a grip on her wrist. I hear something snap like dry twigs, and Samuel's gasps and coughs weaken as he gives a pained whine. “I think I deserve that much, with interest.”
“Then do it the right way,” I whisper, closing my hand on her arm. Her arm is thin, wiry with muscle, and I can close my fingers all the way around it, but I don't tug. I have to try, to let her do the right thing. “Let him go, Katrina. Do it the right way.”
Katrina's face is still etched in fury and anger, but her fingers relax, and Samuel coughs, a little bit of blood dotting his lips as he does. He starts to raise his head and Katrina throws a palm strike, catching him between the eyes and bouncing his head off the floor, knocking him out. “Fine.”
Katrina gets up, her knees shaky as she looks down on her father's laid out frame, and I hold her carefully, supporting her as she starts to walk away. The door to the bedroom finally gets opened and Theresa comes out, running to her husband and looking back at us in an expression that's so pathetic and miserable I actually feel slightly sorry for her. “How can you do this to your own father?”
“My father died ten years ago... along with my mother,” Katrina whispers. “I swear to you, though, you two will pay for what you did. If I were you... I'd start running before he even wakes up.”
“Come on, Katrina,” I say softly, holding her arms. “We don't need to be here any longer.”
We leave, and I have to half-carry her to the stairs, where she starts to recover, brushing my hands off. We run down the stairwell and out the gate, not stopping until we're around the corner. Slowing, we begin walking, Katrina looking straight ahead. “You okay?”
“No.” Her voice is steel-hard, her eyes emotionless. I look down, and see that her hands are balled up, her forearms still tense and corded with effort at restraining herself.
Okay, fine. I understand that, and that's what I'm here for right now, helping her when she's not totally in her right mind. “Let's get back to the hotel, figure out what to do next.”
“The Metro station's just up the street.”
We walk in silence for a little bit, and I feel more confident as we put some distance between us and the apartment that we're not going to have Miami-Dade cops come rolling up to arrest us. Part of me is turned on, Katrina was so sexy and beautiful as she unleashed only the smallest bit of retribution on her father. However, it was scary too, watching her so close to going over the edge.
“Jackson,” Katrina says as we reach the station, and I still can see in her eyes a lot of steely hardness, but also a hint of my Katrina coming back.
“Yeah, Katrina?” I ask, taking out my wallet to pay the ticket machine.
“Back there, talking to me. You were right.”
I put the money in the machine and look at Katrina, who's still got her hands balled up. “I swear to you that you will get them. And Peter.”
Katrina nods once. “Let's get back to the hotel.�
�
Chapter 21
Kat
I hold it together pretty well on the ride back to the hotel, although I need Jackson to open all the doors for me. I can't get my hands to unclench, and I know I'm still stalking as we walk up the stairs to the second floor to our room. It's only once we're inside that I start to tremble, and I look around, looking for something I can vent my rage and fury on.
Jackson notices, and grabs one of the cushions from the room's chair, holding it against his body like a shield. “Go ahead, let it out.”
My first punch isn't enough to satisfy me, so I punch again, and again, and again. I'm losing count, my hands barely cushioned by the foam Jackson's holding as my hits thud against his body. I know he’s taking some of the blows, but he nods, encouraging me as the tears start to flow.
“The motherfucker!” I yell in between punches. “How could they just lie to me like that? How could they look me in the eye and lie?”
“I don't know, Katrina,” Jackson says, wincing again as I punch him directly in the chest through the cushion. “I'm sorry.”
“No, they're the ones who are going to be sorry!” I yell back, punching again. Jackson takes a step back, and I follow, raining punches into the cushion. “I'm going to see them both in jail for this! I'm going to destroy them! I'm going to... argh!”
The dam finally breaks inside me, and the tears start. Jackson puts his hands on my shoulders, but it only makes me cry harder. “It's okay, Katrina,” Jackson tries to reassure me, but the tears won't stop. I sit back, sobbing at all the pain and loss, but Jackson slides down next to me, wrapping his arms around me and holding me closely. “It's okay, Katrina.”
I clutch at him, crying for untold minutes until I'm able to pull myself together again. “Why, Jackson? Why'd they do it?”
“It doesn't matter, Katrina,” Jackson says softly, his strong arms holding me safe and secure. “It doesn't matter. What matters is that you're who you are, and that's pretty damn amazing.”
I sniff and feel fresh tears as I think of the lies. “Then why don't they love me?”
“I don't know, and it doesn't matter,” Jackson says again. His fingers come to my chin, and he turns my face to look into his eyes. He's close again, and this time, there's no denying what we want and need.
Our lips touch, hesitant at first, but it feels so right, and it becomes stronger. My hand comes up to his neck and we grow deeper, our tongues coming out to caress each other. I'm lost, and I've never felt this before, never felt this level of trust and desire inside my body.
We part, and Jackson looks guilty. “Katrina, I shouldn't be taking advantage of you.”
I chuckle and shake my head. “I... liked it. It's a great first real kiss.”
“What?” Jackson says, surprised. He shifts back, and I feel heat on my neck and face. “What do you mean, real kiss?”
“I mean... I'd never had a real kiss before,” I answer, getting to my knees in front of him. “I’ve had one purpose in my life, and everything I’ve done was to help achieve that goal.”
“You mean you've never... well, you know, had sex?” Jackson asks, and I blush, but laugh at the same time.
“I'm not a virgin, Jackson. But it never had meaning. There was no emotion.”
I lean in, putting my hands on his shoulders and kiss him again, our lips melting around each other. “Can I tell you a secret, Jackson?”
He nods, and I smile. “You were the first boy I was ever interested in. Actually, I guess you're the only boy I've ever been interested in.”
Jackson smiles and pulls me closer. We raise up, our bodies pressing closer, and I feel a tingle in my body as my breasts press against his chest, my nipples tingling at the pressure. His fingers trace around my ear, and I shiver with desire.
“Katrina,” he says softly, like I used to dream a lover would when I allowed myself such dreams. “So beautiful, so strong. Amazing.”
I bite my lip. “Jackson... it's always been you. You make me feel pretty... you make me feel like...”
“Like what?” he asks when I don't answer. He smiles, and kisses my cheek, trailing his lips toward my ear as I tremble in want. “It's okay. Tell me.”
“You make me feel like... like there's a chance for a future,” I whisper as his lips find the curve of my jaw and kiss, nibbling on the skin and finding the lobe of my ear, where his tongue traces the sensitive curve. I feel every caress of his tongue on my skin, and I'm hot, more aroused than I've ever been. “Oh God...”
Jackson smiles as he sits back, getting to his feet and helping me up. “Come on, Katrina. Let me show you what a future can really be.”
I reach up, taking his hand, and he pulls me up, confident but gentle at the same time. Standing, he pulls me into an embrace, kissing me with that same confidence, with more passion than before, turning me slowly so that I'm backed against the bed, and I tumble down, laughing as my legs fly up and I literally floomph onto the bedspread.
Jackson chuckles and kneels down, taking my right boot in his hand and untying it slowly, his hand cupping my calf as he eases it off my foot. My breath catches as he pulls my sock off, and with careful, almost meticulous attention, he kisses my toe before setting it down, his fingers still lingering on my calf. “I wanted to touch these since that first visit to your place,” he says as he unties my other boot, pulling it off before cupping both calves and massaging them with his fingers. “You have no idea how sexy you really are.”
Jackson kisses my knees through my pants as I scoot back, and he joins me on the bed, lying on top of me as we kiss. I'm running my hands through his hair, moaning softly as he finds the pulse of my neck and licks, tasting my skin. Oh, it feels so good...
I feel his hand come up to cup my breast, and suddenly I'm filled with fear, my desire wilting inside me. No, this is too fast, this is going to complicate my mission…
“Wait... wait, Jackson, please, get off,” I beg, pushing him away. “Wait... it's too fast, too fast.”
Jackson rolls, giving me space, getting off the bed and stepping back. “What's wrong?”
“Too... too fast,” I gasp, my heart racing in my chest. I'm not able to make any other words, I'm so confused. My body's tingling, and I want him so badly, but I'm afraid, my body and my heart and my head warring with each other. “Jackson... I can't. Not yet.”
He looks like he wants to protest, and my body wants him to. My body wants him to disregard my words and shove me back into the mattress and get back on top of me. But my heart is afraid. I've never let anyone in this close before, and my head is against it, knowing that if I do, my mission becomes that much harder.
He must see the confusion in my eyes, because he nods. “When you’re ready.”
Chapter 22
Jackson
It's not the ocean, but the lake is beautiful, and according to the guy I asked at the supermarket where I bought the supplies, there's no problems with snakes or alligators. The blanket we snatched from our hotel room, and Katrina carries it folded over her arm as we walk toward the shore, holding hands. “A picnic, huh?”
I shrug. “I know that I come off as a rich boy,” I say, thinking about the skirt that Katrina's put on again. She looks so fucking sexy in it. “I know that I like to make it rain sometimes, but I can enjoy the simpler things in life too, you know.”
“I know,” Katrina replies, giving me a meaningful look. “Jackson, my opinion of you has changed from a few weeks ago. Yeah, I know you still enjoy the money, but this... this is very nice, too. Come on, let's enjoy.”
Katrina spreads out the blanket while I arrange my backpack, which we filled with items grabbed from the supermarket's deli: fried chicken, potato salad, and sweet tea, with a tub of banana pudding for dessert. A certifiable Southern feast. “You're really willing to risk that stuff calling itself tea after what happened earlier with the stuff at the cafe?”
“As long as I keep telling myself it's not tea, I can live with it,” I say. “Besides,
it's better for us than Coke, and you said you don't drink alcohol, right?”
“No, I never drink it by choice,” Katrina says, curling her legs underneath her. “I know, it's weird.”
I sit down and open the container of chicken. “Actually, if it doesn't cause you pain, I'd like to hear more. You've told me some, but you’re still a mystery.”
Katrina thinks, then nods. “Okay. Well, you kind of got the basics. After the bomb, I was pretty screwed up, and bounced to two foster homes before landing with Virginia. She's had her own issues, and while she never told me all the details, let's just say she had her own vendetta that she dealt with. But through her, I learned to channel my anger and frustration, to focus on what was necessary. But it also blinded me to some things as well.”
“It's fine,” I dismiss, handing her a paper plate with food on it. “Go on.”
“Well, the first thing she taught me was mental focus. I was taught to use my anger to burn away everything that wasn't focused on my goal. I was taught a meditation, one that, thinking about it now, does give me some regrets.”
“How's it go?” I ask, and Katrina shakes her head, embarrassed. “It's okay. I won't be upset, no matter what it is.”
Katrina looks at me, her light blue eyes questioning, and reaches a decision. “Okay. Here's how it goes.
There is no peace. Peace is a lie.
Freedom is a lie.
Happiness, love, and the future... are lies.
The rage is the truth. Rage gives me power.
Anger gives my power focus.
I have my target.
Rage... Power... Anger... Focus.
DeLaCoeurs... Vengeance is mine.
Pretty morbid stuff, isn't it?”
I swallow, hearing the icy rage in her voice as she repeated the mantra, and nod. “Yeah, but I understand now. After today... I understand more.”
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