by Rya Stone
As Jase rose to his knees, Clint stepped in front of him, using his bleeding body as a shield. Neely, his last ounce of fight gone, scuttled toward the far side of the bed. Oscar merely held his ground, still smiling that evil smile. Only a man who truly enjoyed pain and fear could wear the expression of amusement she saw on Oscar’s face as he watched Jase struggle to his feet.
Jase pushed Clint toward Neely and faced Oscar, breathing hard.
“Your woman’s a screamer, Crotalo.” Oscar crouched low and wove his knife through the air, attempting to circle Jase. “I would have had all her screams if you hadn’t come here.”
Jase grunted and advanced. Oscar went for his face. His knife sliced through the air as if in slow motion, and Cassie recoiled in horror as Jase’s skull crashed into Oscar’s.
Oscar stumbled backward and Jase, bleeding from his face, charged. He hooked his right leg behind Oscar’s calf, taking him to the ground. The knife clattered to the floor, and Jase kicked it across the room, in the opposite direction of Neely, who Clint had beaten nearly unconscious.
Her head snapped back to Jase in time to see him receive a brutal kick from Oscar—right on his wounded shin. How he remained standing this time, she had no idea, but he stepped back and raised a hand. Clint tossed him the retrieved shotgun, and in one fluid movement, Jase had it shouldered and aimed at Oscar.
“Adjoining bathroom,” he said, sneering down at the coyote responsible for so much human suffering.
“Que?”
“How I got in here.”
Oscar laughed. “Crotalo, I got you,” he said. “And I marked you. Your woman can remember that every time she looks at you.”
“My woman likes my scars, motherfucker.” And with another sinuous motion, Jase swung the butt of the shotgun from his shoulder and smashed it into Oscar’s face.
Oscar hit the floor and rolled onto his back. He smiled up at Jase through bloody teeth. “How’s my boy?”
Jase slammed the butt of his gun into Oscar’s face again.
“Jase!” Clint yelled. “Stop!”
But Jase didn’t look to his brother; he looked up, over an immobile Oscar, and right at her. The right side of his face was sliced open, beginning above his right eyebrow and ending near his cheekbone. Her eyes watered as he attempted to come over the end of the bed. He couldn’t. In fact, he had to use the side of the bed for support. Her heart hurt for him, for this man who’d just had several wounds re-opened—painful wounds both physical and emotional.
She surged toward him, straining against the cuffs. Jase collapsed onto the bed, cupped her face, hooked his thumbs under the top of the gag, and ripped it down. She took the deepest breath she’d ever taken. His hands twisted into her ruined hair, and he pressed his lips savagely to hers.
“Jase…” she rasped, tasting the blood on his lips, the salt on his skin. “Your face…can you see?”
He stilled, breathing her in. “I can see you. That’s all that matters. I’ve got you, baby. You hear me? You’re safe now. I’ve got you and I’m never letting go.”
“Jase…” She hiccupped. Though her wrists were still bound to the bed, she clawed at his shirt with her fingers, pulling him closer. “I’ve got you, too.” And she wasn’t letting go, either. Never again.
His next words hit her cheek, soft as a breeze, comforting and warm. “You’ve always had me.” He pressed his forehead to hers, and their ragged breaths found a rhythm in the silence. Cassie thought she could have stayed like that forever, with his big hard body wrapped around hers. Finally, he pulled back, but his intense gaze never left hers. “Clint, the keys. Find them.”
“Got it,” she heard, somewhere behind Jase.
“What does crotalo mean?” she whispered.
“Rattlesnake.”
Clint spoke from the end of the bed. “Whatever you are, we’ve got an unconscious asshole over here, and if you hit that one again we’re gonna have a dead Mexican, too.”
Neely struggled to his knees. “I ain’t unconscious.”
Clint abandoned his key search. “Shut up,” he commanded, raising the pistol responsible for Neely’s face, which swelled grotesquely.
And thank God she couldn’t see Oscar’s face.
Neely spit blood. “You said if I told you where—”
“I told you I wouldn’t cut your dick off like my daddy should’ve done to yours.”
“Your aunt got what she wanted. It’s what they want, especially when they say they don’t.”
“Sick fucker,” Clint spat. “Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it? I saw you looking at that boy downstairs, no wonder you were looking for him so hard.”
At that, Cassie felt no remorse for Neely’s face.
“Coy said I could have him when he was done with her.”
“His name’s Oscar Martinez. And you opened the door to the devil,” Clint said to Neely. “We inherited him. Big difference.”
“He tied up my mama!”
“Are you shitting me?” Jase roared, as much in frustration as in pain. He limped over to Oscar, and she cringed, wondering if the man was dead. When Jase stepped over him a few seconds later, holding the handcuff keys, Oscar’s head lolled in their direction. Blood frothed from his mouth.
Oh, shit. She turned her head and girded a very queasy belly.
“We need to make a move here,” Jase said, working at her wrists.
“You,” Clint said, standing in front of Neely. “Same deal your daddy got, only you’re not coming back because there won’t be anything to come back to. All of it.”
“No way!” Neely lunged up.
Clint eased him back down with a gun to his head, just as her restraints fell away.
“I ain’t givin’ you my land.”
“No, you’re selling it,” Jase said, pulling her against his side. “At fair market value.”
“I can’t—”
“Can’t what?” Clint asked. “Take your money and disappear? You’d rather stay here and explain this?” Clint tilted his chin at Oscar. “As well as your role in your father’s murder?”
“He…he cheated on Mama! And Oscar said he’d fix it. That he’d fix everything.”
“Christ, you have some screwed-up priorities,” Clint said. “Take the money, and we’ll take care of this.”
Neely slumped to his knees. “Mama’s gonna be so pissed about this mess.”
“For fuck’s sake,” Clint said. “Let’s get Oscar cuffed and Cassie out of here.”
Jase tossed the cuffs to his brother.
“What are you going to do with him?” she asked.
Clint and Jase exchanged a look. Clint answered. “I’ll take care of it,” he said, “Later. Let’s head downstairs. I’m sick of breathing this air.”
Cassie stepped over Oscar and goose bumps prickled her skin. It was like walking over a grave. “Won’t somebody miss him?”
“I’ll take care of it,” Clint repeated.
Okay then.
Clint motioned for Neely. “You first. Go check on your Mama.”
Mrs. Neely sat in her dining room next to Kyle, her hands clutching a coffee mug. The woman’s eyes narrowed in disgust when Clint shoved her son into an empty chair at the opposite end of the table. At least the man had sense enough to look ashamed of himself.
“Cassie!” Kyle’s embrace nearly knocked her down. “I swear I thought we were both going to die,” he hissed in her ear. “God, you look like shit.”
She met Jase’s eyes over Kyle’s shoulder. “We need to get you to a hospital,” he said.
She smiled up at him, unaware of the pain until now. She’d been on a Jase high since the moment she’d seen him in the bathroom. However, it was quickly wearing off. “You don’t look so great yourself.”
“I’ll live,” he said.
“Me, too.” And they had some loose ends to tie up, despite her splitting headache and wobbly knees.
Over the next hour, she pounded out a quitclaim land deed on t
he Neely’s desktop computer while a concerned Jase hovered and an overcaffeinated Kyle corrected all her mistakes. The attorneys could prepare a warranty deed later. The quitclaim would more than suffice for now. She made more coffee and washed Jase and Clint’s injuries as best she could while Oscar yelled from upstairs and Neely blubbered to his mama. And all the time she wondered how exactly Clint planned on taking care of Oscar and if Kyle would need to see a doctor about the thorns in his hands. Some of them were so deep she couldn’t get them out. And Jase was right, she needed a doctor, too. The head wound was minor but would need stitches, and damn, her chest hurt. She wouldn’t be surprised if she’d cracked a rib.
At some point, Jase appeared with a legal description for the Neely property, which he’d tracked down in their office file cabinet thanks to some help from the widow. He set the paper beside her. Then he set something on top of it. She glanced over, still typing, and her eyes began to water.
“You can pay me back after your override comes in. Or not. I don’t care.”
She looked up at him and nodded, blinking the tears away. He’d just presented her with a receipt from Mariposa, Houston’s top-rated assisted living residence. And the suite reserved in her mother’s name had been paid in full for the next twelve months.
“You didn’t listen to any of my messages, did you?”
She shook her head, still unable to respond to the beautiful, bloody man with the heart of gold staring down at her.
“Despite the circumstances, I’m glad I got to tell you in person. And not a moment too soon. She moves in next week.”
“Thank you,” she managed. And when she could form more than two syllables, she’d tell him how full her heart was, how she planned to pay him back, and exactly how she planned on thanking him—she’d tell him every detail about that.
Jase nodded and stroked her hair. Or what was left of it. That part sucked. But the way he smoothed her ravaged hair, the way he dipped his head to kiss the top of hers…it was exactly what she needed at that moment. Drawing a shaky breath, she turned back to the deed.
“You’ll be getting a lease on this tract, too,” he said.
But she didn’t care anymore.
By the time they’d cleaned up their little mess, so to speak, she didn’t care about much, so badly did she hurt. She didn’t care what happened to Oscar Martinez. She didn’t care about her damaged car or that Kyle was worried about his nonexistent future career as a hand model. And she certainly didn’t care that Mrs. Neely planned on moving to Arizona to be near her daughter and was no longer speaking to her son.
All she cared about was Jase, warm and solid, and very, very shaky beside her as they made their way to his truck.
“I’m done pushing you away, Cassie.”
“And I’m done letting you,” she replied, pulling him tighter.
Slipping out of her embrace, he dropped to his knees.
Concerned he’d finally collapsed, she hit the ground in front of him. Her outcry died in her throat when his big hands curled gently over hers. “I’ll never hurt you again,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “Not intentionally. I’ll go to my grave regretting what I said and how I handled things, but I’ll also spend every last one of those days loving you so thoroughly you won’t have a doubt in your mind that I was only trying to protect you. And I’ll always protect you. My life for yours, remember?”
Oh, she remembered. She remembered the way he’d loved her then, even as he’d spoken words she hadn’t wanted to hear. She couldn’t wait to exhaust him with joy this time.
“I want you by my side forever,” he continued. “No matter what comes our way. If…if you can forgive me—”
“I forgave you the second I saw you standing in the middle of the highway.”
“You did notice,” he chuckled.
“I’ll never forget it.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Darkness.
The heavy presence at Cassie’s back pinned her down, pressing her breasts and belly and thighs into the bed.
Warm breath tickled her ear, and her heart kicked it into high gear.
She couldn’t move. She couldn’t see.
And she couldn’t scream because a huge, rough hand clamped over her mouth as soon as she turned her head.
She screamed. She screamed and kicked and bit.
“Whoa there.”
Relief flooded her every fiber when Jase ran his big, warm hands down her in his arms.
“You,” she whispered.
His voice was unmistakable, his scent all too familiar, and the weight of his body against hers prompted the same, undeniable response it always had. For a second though…
His breath rasped against her ear again, raising the hairs along her neck and spine. “We’ve been back from the hospital for two days and you still haven’t come to my bed.”
“I…” she stuttered, distracted at the ache building in her loins. “I’ve been in your bed every night.”
“That’s not what I mean. I’ve been waiting for you to come to me with all this pent-up shit I can feel every time you look at me.”
“Oh.” And he had. He’d loved her and babied her and touched her everywhere. She thought he’d been the one holding back.
“Oh,” he said, grinding into her backside. “And I’m tired of waiting.” He nuzzled into her neck, just behind her ear, and the heat of arousal flared white-hot. “You have anything you need to say to me before we do this?”
She had no idea what he meant. And she wanted to touch him. He had her caged, and it was much too like… No! She wasn’t going to think about that. Except that if she was being truly honest, the things Oscar had said to her, the way he’d touched her…it had come between them. Angry that she’d let it, she gritted her teeth. “If you want to talk, you don’t have to pin me to the bed to do it,” she ground out.
“Oh no, baby,” Jase chuckled. The bastard chuckled! “This isn’t about talking.” He twisted her neck, and she saw the look of hunger on his face.
“This is crazy,” she whispered as a new wave of heat enveloped her. “We’re all beat up and sore and you look like you’re about to ravish me.”
He chuckled again. “You know what I’ve realized? We’re all fucking crazy. You know what else? Life is too damn short. What happened, happened. But it’s over now.”
He was right. It was madness, all of it. Love was mad and didn’t make sense, and people were just people, needy and messed up and looking to be loved.
He kissed down her neck and shoulder and slid his body against hers. It felt so damn good, and she began moving against him, only to be cut off and wrenched to her knees. She found herself painfully aroused by the dominant display. Wondering how far it would go, she planted her elbows on the bed and bowed her back, offering her body—and herself. That’s what he wanted. That’s what he’d come for. And she wanted him to have it all.
He buried his face between her legs, and she swayed into him. Her nipples grazed the sheets, bringing heightened sensation to the rasp of whiskers against her thighs. Jase was hungry, he was angry, and his tongue felt so damn hot, she melted in his mouth. When he pulled away to position himself, she lifted her head, worried about his leg. She saw it cocked out, his foot planted on the bed by her hip. His other thigh slapped against hers as he sheathed himself with a hard, driving thrust. They cried out as one, and she clamped down as he pulled out, creating a delirious friction that had him hissing and her moaning in absolute abandon.
He plowed into her, again and again, loosening her, priming her for the lesson she knew had only just begun. “Oh God…” Wow. This wasn’t make-up sex, sweet and slow and tender. That’s not what this was at all.
He put all his weight behind his next thrust and leaned over her back. His chest lay hot and slick against her skin, and when he fisted the hair at her nape, twisting her face to his, she flamed down to her toes. “Tell me you don’t feel my heart pounding,” he whispered, a breath from her lips. “
That’s how it felt when I saw you tied to that bed.” He pushed deeper, seating himself completely, his mouth on hers, her hands twisting in the sheets. “That’s never going to happen again. No one else is ever going to tie you to a bed but me,” he said roughly. “So get it out now, any fear you might have. Give it to me,” he whispered. “Give it to me, baby.”
“Always.”
“Good, because I’m going to give you everything I have, too.” Finally.
He wrapped a hand around her throat a second before his tongue invaded her mouth, before he filled every part of her so full she exploded. She must have nearly bitten his tongue off, because he growled deeply and grasped her hips, pounding deep, extending her orgasm beyond anything she thought possible.
His hand cracked against her ass cheek.
“That’s for not answering my calls. You understand?” he demanded, as if it were possible for her to form words. She didn’t answer so he did it again—a spike of heat, intense and lingering. “There’s something else you need to understand, something you might have been confused about when you left, so I’m going to ask very slowly.” But before he did, he bent down to kiss her ass, right where he’d smacked her. “Who do I belong to?” he whispered, nipping at her tingling flesh.
What escaped her lips kind of sounded like a response, but in truth, it came out more like a guttural groan.
“You like this don’t you?”
“Y-yes.”
“Should’ve done it before.” He popped her ass again.
“Yes.”
That’s when he spanked her. With his palm, with the back of his hand. He peppered her with shockwaves of pain-tinged pleasure, all the while driving his point home, again and again. Light in the aftermath of her orgasm, her body resisted none of it. She rode atop a pure, obscene sensation, one she’d never known existed. He’d warned her, but she hadn’t quite expected this level of dominance, nor how much she’d like it there, on the knife’s edge between pleasure and pain.
He panted behind her, each breath edged with a need he hadn’t yet quenched. Sweat-slicked, their bodies slapped and slid against each other. It was so deliciously dirty, every bit of it—her reaching up to cling to the headboard, Jase’s hand grasping tight to her breast, that same hand delving between her legs to tease and torment. But it was his rough palm, hard and demanding, that brought her to the edge again.
