Pedal to the Metal: Love's Drivin' but Fate's Got the Pole (The 'Cuda Confessions Book 3)

by Eden Connor

  He’d tried getting close to Dr. Banks, thinking she’d be a good alternate source of information on Cotton. Yeah, that was why. Not because she was really cute in a wholesome, girl-next-door way, with an adorable nose, dusted with freckles, and eyes so big they practically swallowed her face. It couldn’t be because she had a slim figure crowned with small round breasts. It wasn’t because she always wore her hair knotted so tightly that he’d spent hours thinking about setting it free. No, it was because she was a good source of info. Sure. Cue the sarcastic laughter.

  Tanner paced back on forth beside the door after Cotton and Dr. Banks left. The other inmates sensed it was no time to be loud, so when the shriek split the air, he was out the door before the shrink had time to draw breath for a second scream.

  His heart hit his boots when he reached the gazebo where Dr. Banks usually took her patients. The stone structure was empty. If the little bastard had his hands on her—

  Running flat out, he cut around the gazebo that anchored the central yard of the wire-fenced facility, and finally sighted the pair close to the tree line. His anger kindled as Evel kneed the Doc’s legs apart. The kid fell forward, using his upper body his to pin her hands. Tanner lengthened his stride.

  Dr. Banks managed to free one arm. She struck a solid blow to the prick’s nose, using the base of her elbow. Cotton slapped her hard enough to knock her face to the side.

  Tanner hurled his body into the air, driving his shoulder into the delinquent’s ribs. Rolling smoothly to his feet, he jerked Cotton upright by the collar of his dull yellow jumpsuit, now streaked by blood from the kid’s nose.

  Shaking him like a rag doll, Tanner demanded, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Covington?” The adolescent was big for his age, but no match for Tanner, easily a foot taller and sixty pounds of solid muscle heavier.

  “It’s a lie!” The kid’s pale blue eyes swam with tears. He aimed a wad of spit at the doctor. Tanner blocked that genius move by taking a step back, dragging Cotton along for the ride.

  “You’re a goddamn bitch. It’s a lie! I just made that up to fuck with that other head-shrinker!” The kid screamed at the psychiatrist as she lay stunned on the cold ground.

  Rapid footsteps pounded behind him as another JCO arrived on scene. Tanner shoved Cotton into the other officer’s arms, dropping to his knees beside the woman. Maybe she’d be grateful he’d saved her and talk to him. Cold thought, but Tanner had a job to do.

  “Lock his ass in solitary,” he ordered over the teen’s spew of profanities. The other guard shoved Evel’s left arm into an unnatural twist behind his back. “I’ll deal with him in a few,” Tanner promised the retreating pair. Turning his full attention to the woman, he gently pushed her back down as she struggled to rise.

  “Hang on. Not so fast, Doc,” he murmured, switching to a crooning tone that’d worked magic with many a female. “Let’s just be sure you’re okay before you try to get up.”

  “I’m the doctor,” she said. Cotton’s smack had knocked some of the frost off her, he noted, beginning to assess her injuries.

  “Hush,” Tanner soothed, sliding his fingers through her soft hair. He gently probed the back of her head, searching for tenderness while his eyes roved her face. Her lower lip was swelling. She might develop a shiner under one of the pretty eyes that reminded him of twilight shadows in the desert. The print of Cotton’s hand was a livid red on her cheek, contrasting sharply with her creamy skin, tempting him to go beat the fuck out of the little bastard.

  “Did he... hurt you... anywhere besides your face?” Her baggy shirt and pants were dirty but not torn.

  Cotton landed in juvie for the brutal rape of an eight-year-old Mexican girl that had, in his words, ‘tainted his neighborhood’. He’d told Tanner with some satisfaction that after he raped the little girl, he’d pissed on her. Evel hadn’t fared as well with a grown woman. Or hadn’t had the time he needed to succeed. The ominous thought was accompanied by the squeeze of an unseen hand in his gut.

  Tanner couldn’t afford a distraction like the psychiatrist. The clock was ticking on his illicit op, but something worse occurred to him. Cotton had already been in a few scrapes. If the kid actually hurt the shrink and she made a report about the incident, Evel could be returned to the higher security prison in the mountains. Time for damage control.

  “He just struck out at me and then tackled me,” Dr. Banks said slowly. “I’m okay.” Her eyes were unfocused, he noted. Christ, she has beautiful eyes. She pulled away from his attempt to pluck a piece of grass from her hair, causing the mass to tumble free. Spilling across the grass, the tousled state made Tanner think briefly that was how it would look after she’d been thoroughly loved.

  Because, yeah, this was the perfect time to pop wood.

  Jesus, Caldwell, get a grip. Your op’s going to hell in a hand basket and all you can think about is how to get her in bed. Twenty-one days of motel living in a strange town had left him lots of free time on his hands. Time he’d spent thinking about two things. How to get Cotton to open up and how to melt the Ice Queen. Not necessarily in that order.

  ***

  Tori squinted through the pain blooming on the right side of her face, fighting for control as Max Martin probed her cheekbone. She wasn’t going to fall apart. Not here, and not while Mr. I’m-Gorgeous-So-Of-Course-I’m-Cocky was about to get his ‘I told you so’ in. She’d been involved with exactly two testosterone-oozing alpha males in her life. Both made sure to hurt her terribly on their way out the door.

  Still, better to focus on his thick fringe of black lashes, somewhat hawkish nose, high cheekbones, and square jaw than to let the horror of being struck by another man, even a half-grown one, sink in. Better to wonder for the millionth time if the darkness of his skin stopped at some tan line than let fear control her.

  In her fantasies JCO Martin was that fabulous bronze all over.

  He leaned over her, close enough so she could feel the heat coming off the man. Broad shoulders blocked the apathetic winter sunlight. Huge hands swept her arms and legs. His clean, masculine scent surrounded her. A physical ache began in her clit.

  Oh, hell, no. No more men like him.

  What defect in her gene pool made her instantly attracted to this sort of man? She needed some sweet, funny guy, not some macho asshole who likely got offered a pussy buffet daily and probably gorged on it. Her thought put the starch back in her spine. Smacking his hand away, she forced herself to sit up.

  “Get your hands off me.”

  Despite her watering right eye, she couldn’t miss the mocking glint in his eyes. The look said he knew he could make her take that back if he wanted, but she ignored him and got to her feet. He didn’t want to, she didn’t want him to, and now she had a stack of paperwork to fill out on Cotton Covington before she could go home and finish packing.

  “What the hell happened?” Martin sounded pissed, likely because His Royal Gorgeousness deigned to offer her his help and she hadn’t gone all weak in the knees. His voice was as rough as the ground, gravelly and deep, but she wanted to believe the February wind was sending the shiver down her spine.

  Don’t you dare fucking wobble, she silently ordered her legs, taking a step so she’d be up range of his spicy scent. That scent tempted her to fall into his arms, acting helpless and needy. He’d been making her feel needy since the day he’d been assigned to the residence hall closest to her office.

  Since his arrival, she’d fallen in the habit of working late, hoping he’d bring his boys out after dinner for a quick game of basketball so she could ogle him from the safety of her office. The prison guards wore simple T-shirts, long sleeved this time of year. On occasion, he stripped off his shirt and joined the game, apparently impervious to the cold. Even through the cotton knit, she could see the definition in his arms. How long since a man had put his arms around her?

  “I pushed him. He pushed back.” Tori snapped, alarmed by her unruly thoughts, “And I don’t answer to
you.” She took another step away.

  One dark brow lifted. “Does that mean you’re not gonna write him up?”

  She stared at Max, holding her breath, torn between arousal, exasperation, fear, and curiosity. Why did he look so damned hopeful? Why was this man so interested in Cotton? She knew from talking to the kid that the new JCO had gone above and beyond to befriend a person who made it a habit to be as dislikeable as possible. Cotton responded well to Martin’s mix of no-bullshit discipline and teasing male banter. The rest of the staff had pretty much written the kid off already, but not this guy.

  Forcing her gaze away, she dusted bits of leaves from her pants. “I most certainly am going to write him up. He has to learn physical violence is an unacceptable response when he feels emotionally threatened.” Her face hurt, but she refused to dash away the tears. She wasn’t weak.

  So why was she staring at him again?

  A dark look crossed his face, smoothed away in an instant. He reached out and wiped away a tear rolling down her abused cheek. The shock of his touch hit her harder than Cotton. Hands that large shouldn’t be capable of such tenderness.

  That notion led her thoughts to a bad place, making the trembling in her core crank up a notch.

  “C’mon, let’s get you some ice.” He turned on a smile she’d bet her last dollar usually got him his way. “Cotton’s paperwork’s not going anywhere, but you might be able to avoid a black eye if we hurry.”

  Defective gene pool. That had to be why she let him lead her to the Mess Hall. The warm hand he placed at the small of her back helped calm the tremors threatening to shred her self-control, so she allowed it to remain as they walked.

  Yeah, that was why. It wasn’t because she had lain sleepless for two weeks or more, fantasizing about how his hands would feel on her bare skin.

  The Mess Hall was deserted at three in the afternoon, because the inmates fixed their own evening meals in each residence hall. The JOC’s carried keys to most of the locked doors at the facility. He let go her hand to find the correct key. Wrapping her arms around her waist to ward off the tremors, Tori’s thoughts jumped to Cotton’s assault.

  She’d pushed him too hard, trying to get to a breakthrough before she left, because the idea of leaving anything undone went against her grain. She’d put herself in a position to be hurt, mainly because it bent the gorgeous new JCO out of whack when she put forth the idea. She didn’t need her medical degrees to understand contradicting his reasonable objection had been a petty way to get even for the sexual frustration he’d given her lately.

  “You’re shaking.” His gruff voice brought her back to the present. She looked around, surprised to see they’d crossed the large dining hall and entered the kitchen while she’d been lost in her own head.

  “I...I’m not,” she denied, forcing herself to take deep breaths.

  “Yes, you are.” He borrowed the soothing tone she used on patients experiencing dementia. “It’s the adrenaline. Always kicks in after a battle. Gives some people the shakes.”

  Battle. Some people.

  His words hit her like another slap in the face. No wonder she’d instinctively been both attracted to and wary of him. The man had ‘former military’ written all over him. Not the rank-and-file kind of military, either. His sleek cat-like movements, rock-hard musculature, and the way he’d just waltzed in the door and had JCO’s with more seniority following his orders without question, marked him as a damn good candidate for elite forces. Not to mention the way he’d worked wonders with Cotton, a hard case if ever she’d seen one. JCO Max Martin was the sort of man that commanded respect. A word of praise from him helped melt the ice the juvenile used to shut off feelings for others.

  “Ranger, Delta Force, Air Commando, Force Recon, or SEAL?” she blurted.

  Need for Speed

  The ‘Cuda Confessions Book 4-The Secret Book

  Eden Connor

  Chapter One

  I don’t remember much about the decades between the rip-roaring pity party I threw myself at nineteen and sobering up to stare forty in the eyes. I remember being shocked that so much time had passed, but so goddamn little had changed.

  I doubted there was much worth remembering anyway, but the mirror threw back a road map of all those rutted dead-ends I’d wandered, a beer in one hand and a shot of Jack in the other, so I avoid mirrors whenever possible.

  I hated myself for giving a damn what my makeup looked like when Dale motherfuckin’ Hannah deigned to drop by for first time in that same two-decade span. I stood frozen on the front porch, a bag of groceries in one hand and my granddaughter’s hand in the other, when he rolled up on chrome rims so shiny, I could see every wrinkle booze had printed on my face. Each of those fancy rims cost more than I’d paid for my Dodge Neon.

  He pulled in and made a three-point-turn before he cut the engine, so he’d be ready to run like a scalded dog.

  Again.

  “Can you take the groceries inside for Grandma?” I asked Shelby. Eager to please, the four-year-old grabbed the handles. I winced when the bag hit the threshold with a thump. The dozen eggs wouldn’t survive being dragged to the kitchen, but I let her go. She was too young to hear anything I had to say to this man.

  Damn him. How could a heavy dollop of frosting in his hair make him look better? My gray made me look like a hag, but I was too worn out with men to waste a buck on hair coloring.

  “I thought about coming to see you in the hospital when Caroline said you were on life support.” Goddamn it, that’s not ‘fuck you and get outta my yard’.

  He shoved a boot onto the top step, tucked his hands into his back pockets, and grinned. “Too much temptation, huh?”

  Man always did know me better than anyone. “Too easy. One yank and done?” No, Hannah, you ain’t gettin’ off that light. You need to bleed. My eyes strayed over his shoulder. This time of day, the setting sun lit the wing on the granite angel in the cemetery across the way. Three spots down lay the young woman who’d been Dale’s excuse for making the wreckage I called a life.

  Anger finally caught in my chest, shrieking like fresh tires on hot asphalt, but Dale threw me right into the wall before my outrage got up to cruising speed.

  “Laid eyes on Jonny Jet yet?”

  Jet was the hot shot NASCAR driver my daughter was seeing. I huffed. “Nah. He’s just playin’ a hard round of gas or ass while he waits for some California beauty pageant queen.”

  Dammit. That dagger was meant for Jesse Hancock, the other NASCAR driver who’d fucked me over after Dale got done with me. But nothing Jesse had done hurt half as bad as what Dale did. Get your shit together. He almost died and now he’s seen Jesus. He’s gonna make everything right. I won’t get a better shot at putting him on his knees.

  Don’t go down too easy. He won’t buy it if I do.

  “Wrong.” Oh, the arrogance in Dale’s tone almost made me mess this up before it got goin’ good, but I kept my expression blank and let him run his mouth. “He’s lookin’ at Caroline like she’s the garage he could call home. He’ll be at my house tonight. Come on by and I’ll introduce you.”

  Ain’t it a good thing that booze rots brain cells instead of teeth? If mine had been the least bit loose, every last molar in my head would’ve tumbled to the porch.

  Say no. Tell him to go to Hell.

  “Go to Hell.”

  “What about Colt?”

  Our son had taken nearly every step of his life at Dale’s side. Just one more thing I’d fucked up—letting Dale take Colt while I got my GED and tried to mend my broken heart with Jesse.

  Dale swept the hat off his head. In every photo of the man I’d seen in the last decades he’d been clean-shaven and wearing a Ridenhour Racing cap. The hat he wore today said something else. Hannah-Built. Were the rumors true, then? Dale was leaving that nest of vipers at long last?

  “I was wrong, Robyn. I was wrong, okay? I fucked up. I see that now. If it’s the last thing I do, I’m gonna make it up t
o you. Colt’s damn near a man.”

  Our son was twenty-fucking-six, although it sure didn’t seem possible. Dale had been a man for two years by the time he turned sixteen. The man who’d saved me, only to break me and throw me out right here on my daddy’s porch. So, what was the problem with Colt? I doubted Dale pampered him, even if he did rip down this road in a Mustang with about fifty grand in aftermarket parts.

  “Won’t be much longer till he’ll need us to stand up at his weddin’. You want to be there for that, don’t’cha? He needs to see us together. He’s a man divided, Robyn, and that’s my fuckin’ fault, for shuttin’ you out. I’m gonna fix that.”

  Not ‘let me fix that’. Not ‘I want to make things right’. And sure as hell not ‘can you find it in your heart to forgive me’? But, ‘I’m gonna fix every little hurt, bump, and bruise’.

  Or that’s what my stupid, stupid heart heard, anyhow. I tasted the tang of Budweiser and heard the sweet, crooning lullaby that only Jack Daniels could sing.

  Get thee behind me, Satan.

  “Harlot! Is that the bastard that killed my baby? Get his ass off my property before I shoot him dead.”

  I had to laugh at the fool screaming from the far side of the hedge between my house and the parsonage for the church across the road.

  “I think the preacher’s been tokin’ on some good shit, Hannah.” If there was one thing I figured me and Dale could still do together, it was hate The Reverend Robert Shalvis. I flipped the old man my middle finger.

  “Oh, hello, Bobby,” Dale drawled. The danger simmering underneath the molasses tone made the hair stand up on my arms. “Damn, it’s been a coon’s age since I laid eyes on you. C’mon over here.” Dale turned to face the parsonage and spread his legs wide, in the cocky way that still made my heart jump a beat. Holding out his hands, he flashed the grin that had cost me my virginity.

  “I got your fuckin’ salvation right here. Let me lay hands on you, Brother Shalvis. I am done livin’ with this boulder inside me. I crave salvation! C’mon, old man. I’ll spot you the shotgun and still rip your fuckin’ heart right outta your chest. Step through that hedge. I wanna be bathed in the blood of the Lamb.”