Hell Hath No Fury

by RC Boldt

  “No.” Tears fill my eyes. “It turns out I kinda have a thing for dangerous men.”

  “Dangerous men?” His eyes search my features. “Or one in particular?”

  My voice cracks. “Only you,” I whisper. Dragging in a fortifying breath, I press on. “But I want forever.”

  “Then forever’s what you’ll get.”

  Dropping the towel, I close the distance between us, throwing my arms around his neck and fitting my mouth to his. Our kiss is unrelenting in its heat, filled with passion and promises.

  He lifts me, holding me tight, and I wrap my legs around his waist. His mouth works over mine feverishly, as if he’s as desperate and as starved for my touch as I’ve been for him.

  When we finally draw apart, both breathless, his eyes meet mine. “I love you.”

  “Hunter,” I whisper raggedly, dusting my lips to his. “I love you so much.”

  “John.”

  My eyes snap to his, and the edges of his mouth turn up slightly at my confusion.

  “My name’s John Wilson.”

  With a soft smile, I murmur, “Nice to meet you, John. I’m Kathryn, but you can call me Kat.”

  At hearing mention of my nickname, the light in his eyes is everything. And I know he recalls comparing me to Katniss from The Hunger Games.

  “There’s only one other thing.” He winces, but there’s a hint of mischief behind it.

  “What?”

  “I’m kind of a package deal these days.”

  I frown. A package deal?

  He turns his head and whistles. A moment later, Kujo bounds up to us. Hunter—John—sets me on my feet, and I bend down, holding out my arms to Kujo, who doesn’t disappoint in his greeting. He smothers me with doggy kisses, letting out little happy-sounding grunts. I pet him and tell him how much I’ve missed him, and when I slowly rise, he ambles off to inspect his new surroundings.

  John’s eyes collide with mine, and his voice is thick with emotion. “Ready to get started on forever?”

  It might take time to get used to his new name, but one thing’s for certain: he’s the man I love, and I don’t care what his name is as long as I get to spend the rest of my days with him.

  My eyes sting with unshed tears of relief and happiness. “Hell yes.”

  I press my mouth to his, and he takes control of the kiss, threading his fingers in my hair. This kiss is more than an emotional reunion. It’s one filled with promise. With hope. It’s our souls coming together as we silently vow to forge a new future.

  I believe him coming back to me is proof that two lost and wounded people can find redemption and start fresh after all. And I know we’ll live a great story because we both learned a crucial lesson.

  Life is far too short to give up before The End.

  63

  John

  Playa Cocles, Costa Rica

  One Year Later

  Sitting on the warm sand and watching the sky change colors while the sun sinks lower along the horizon, I can’t help but appreciate the ever-present peace that surrounds me. The kind that seeps down, soul-deep, at the life I have with the woman in my arms. The woman who smiles at me with so much love etched in her features that it has my heart skipping a beat each time.

  It’s been a year since I left it all behind for her. Once she was gone, it hadn’t taken me long to realize how hollow inside I was without her. Hell, even Kujo moped around.

  After I did my part to see that those connected to the Dixie Mafia—including my former co-workers at the FBI—received their due punishment, I set out to eradicate all traces of my existence. To ensure that nothing could connect The Hunter with my new identity, I underwent minor cosmetic surgery. In no way could I afford to be careless because it meant putting the woman I love in danger.

  I knew it was a risk to seek her out after more than a year and a half had passed, but I had to. I was a shell of a man, hoping the woman who owned my heart would forgive me for letting her go—hoping selfishly that she hadn’t found someone else. Hoping she understood there were things I had to do to ensure we could create a life together, away from the vicious evil I’d been entrenched in for so long.

  Kat is the sole reason I fought to dredge myself out of the darkness. The memory of her face, of her touch and her kiss, served as motivation to leave behind the shadows and join her in the warmth of the sun.

  With her back against my chest, she lets out a contented sigh, and a few stray strands of her golden-brown hair get tousled by the slight breeze. I smooth them back gently when her eyes go wide, and she gasps with a little smile.

  She turns from where she sits between my legs on the large beach blanket and faces me before grabbing my palm to splay it over the side of her round stomach. The instant our eyes meet, when I feel the strong thump beneath my hand, my smile mirrors her own.

  “He’s feisty. Just like his father.” Her brown eyes gleam with happiness and affection, and I strive every day to keep those emotions there. But never could I have imagined receiving a gift like this.

  A son. One I know will be just as strong and loving and as incredible as his mother.

  Carefully, I lift the hem of her shirt, baring her stomach, and smooth a hand over it in awe. Lowering my head, I press a soft kiss to her skin before straightening to find her watching me with slightly glistening eyes. Then she whispers the words that soothe my soul every time she says them.

  “I love you.”

  Dusting a kiss over her lips, I whisper back, “I love you. Always,” before guiding her to lean against me again. Holding her tight, I have my whole world in my arms. And I send up a silent thanks to whatever led our paths to cross.

  She’s my light. My love. The only one who could make the years I spent in hell worth it.

  Because in the end, I got her.

  My Katniss.

  Twelve Years Later

  Dear Grim,

  This is the last letter I guess I’ll get to send you since Doc’s decided to head south for his retirement. Not sure how he’s been getting my letters to you, but it doesn’t matter. He just tells me you’re getting them, and it makes you happy to hear from me. He said you can’t contact me, and I guess I get it, but it still sucks.

  Anyway, I wanted you to know how thankful I am for you. Wherever you are, I need you to know that. You helped my mom and me when no one else could or would. You made me believe in the good in people, even if they looked intimidating as hell.

  Well, I have awesome news. I graduated from the Naval Academy last weekend (here’s a pic of me in uniform as photographic proof I’m not totally BS’ing you) and I really don’t think I could’ve done it without you or Doc. I hope you’re proud of what I’ve achieved. I’ll never forget you, your kindness, and your words. I still remember to always be aware of my surroundings, just like you said.

  Thanks, Grim, for everything. I mean it. I hope whatever life you’re living is one that treats you well.

  Sincerely,

  Javoris Gasden

  Chapter 64

  Playa Cocles, Costa Rica

  YEARS LATER…

  “Do you ever have any regrets?”

  It’s just the two of us setting the table for dinner. I appreciate these moments with her since I’ve been away for longer than I’d prefer, but it’s a part of my job. When it’s not commandeering much of my time or when it’s a special occasion—like today, since it’s Christmas—I always make it a point to be here.

  Home.

  When she turns her head to look at me, her eyes shine with affection.

  “Not one. Because it led me here. It brought me all this.” She gestures to our surroundings, to the beachfront home adorned with framed photos on the walls. She’s still as beautiful, her smile radiant, even now that she’s in her upper sixties. “And it brought me you.”

  She frames my face with her hands like she has for as far back as I can remember. Then she presses a kiss to my cheek, along the right side she always says is her favorite beca
use of my slightly crooked smile. One similar to my father’s.

  “How could I possibly regret any of it?” she whispers, her eyes brimming with emotion. “That would mean I regret meeting your father and having the most amazing son.”

  My throat grows tight because this woman went through hell and back; similarly, so did my father. It’s made me more grateful for every day that I get on this earth and time spent with both of them.

  I glance out the window at where Dad ventures toward the house alongside Doc, who helped him pick the maracuya fruit Mom requested. The old man is stubborn and might be slowing down some now that he’s in his mid-eighties, but he’s sharp as ever and remains one of my favorite people. He bought me my first bow and arrow, and I’ve been hooked on archery ever since.

  Dad looks much different from how Mom described him when they first met years ago: deadly somber. Both of them have laugh lines and free-flowing smiles, and I’ve never gone a day questioning whether I was safe or loved.

  Although we may look like the average family to everyone else, we’re not. We don’t trust easily. We know that evil is out there, constantly lurking. We understand how crucial it is to remain vigilant and strong, not only in body but in mind and spirit, too. We know how to protect ourselves and others by any means necessary.

  Most of all, though, we recognize the importance of not taking our lives or the people we love for granted.

  “I love you, Mom.”

  “Oh, Will,” she says softly, eyes crinkling at the corners, her smile filled with warmth. “I love you, too, sweetheart.” Continuing with her task, she lays the silverware on each napkin. “Now, tell me more about this girl you’ve been seeing. How did you two meet?”

  “Well,” I start. “We met at the archery range.”

  Mom’s eyes snap up to mine, and though they hold a slight sheen, her expression is filled with joy. “I like her already.”

  THE END

  Coming October 20, 2020…

  A new romantic suspense standalone!

  TRUTH IN PIECES

  Ruthless. Cunning. Deadly. That’s Nico Alcanzar, Miami’s biggest drug cartel leader.

  And I’ve found myself directly in his crosshairs. He plans to use me to eliminate his number one competitor.

  I become embedded in his life where he watches my every move. Then, I find myself doing the unthinkable: I fall for the glimpses of the man beneath the dark, menacing exterior.

  He ensnares me in his tangled web of lies, masking the truth beneath.

  Because when it comes to the art of deception, nothing is as it seems.

  Want a sneak peek? Read on for more!

  Truth in Pieces Copyright © 2020 by RC Boldt

  In my usual work wardrobe—an off-white blouse paired with a gray pencil skirt—I take a step in the direction of my dining room, intent on depositing my laptop briefcase and purse on one of the chairs before heading to the kitchen for a glass of much-needed wine.

  This is the exact moment my life changes.

  A man sits with his hip propped on the edge of my dining room table.

  As if on autopilot, I scan him from head to toe. His short black hair is a breath away from being a buzz-cut; his skin is a deep bronze. Tattoos peek out from beneath the collar of his expensive-looking dark gray button-down shirt, the two top buttons opened to reveal the hollow of his throat.

  More inked designs spill past the cuffs of his long sleeves, curving along the tops of his hands and fingers. My eyes travel the length of him, over the holstered gun at the waist of black pinstriped pants that mold his powerful thighs before dropping to shoes I’d bet cost more than my monthly paycheck.

  There’s no denying the man is handsome as hell, but his granite-hard expression and the dangerous air about him detracts from it. This particular brand of man unequivocally exudes menace.

  With the front door at my back, it’s my closest exit. My eyes never veer from the man as my grip on my laptop briefcase and purse goes slack, dropping to the floor. Spinning around to make a run for it, I slam into the hard wall of someone’s chest with such force that it sends me tottering backward. My arms windmill, but the beast of a man I’ve collided with grasps my shoulders and steadies me.

  I raise my eyes up, up, up… Holy shit. The man’s built like a brick house. Tall and stocky, he greatly outweighs me. His build and darker skin tone remind me of Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson. The man’s palms are so utterly enormous they span my shoulders and much of my upper arms.

  “Easy, Professor. Bossman just needs to talk.” His simple tone belies stern features that indicate he’ll restrain me if necessary—and that’ll likely be with one hand.

  What in the fresh hell is going on?

  With much more gentleness that I expect, Goliath turns me around to face the man still casually perched on the polished surface of my dining room table.

  “I ain’t here to hurt you, Professor.” The deep timbre of his voice catches me off guard.

  I eye him warily while simultaneously gauging how quickly I can get past him to the knife block in my kitchen.

  “Don’t.” His tone is commanding and steely. “Just said, I ain’t gonna hurt you. Don’t do somethin’ stupid.”

  “Right.” I lift my chin, attempting to channel some semblance of bravery. “You show up uninvited, in my house with a man the size of a giant, and I’m supposed to believe you’re not here to hurt me?”

  “You’re gonna have to come with me.”

  I swallow hard and channel my firm tone useful when dealing with asshole frat boys in my intro level classes. “I’ll take a rain check.”

  His expression hardens. “Wasn’t givin’ you a choice.”

  I turn my head slightly, holding Goliath’s gaze while I edge aside a few steps, keeping both men in my line of sight. The beast of a man grunts, but allows me to move.

  “Who are you? And what are you”—I gesture between him and Goliath—“both doing in my house?”

  “Name’s Nico.”

  When it becomes evident he doesn’t intend to provide a last name, I raise a haughty brow. “Nico…? What, are you like Cher and only have one name?”

  His eyes narrow and I get the impression he doesn’t appreciate my defensive sarcasm.

  Well, too damn bad.

  “Name’s Nico. Nico Alcanzar.”

  Inwardly, I battle against my body’s instinctive urge to shudder. Nico Alcanzar. The name sends ice cold prickles of unease dancing along my skin. In my line of work, it pays to be aware of names like his.

  A tiny part of me had suspected it simply because Nico isn’t a name you come across on a daily basis…let alone someone who carries himself the way he does.

  Shock rises to the surface, reverberating through me as I take in the sight of him once again. This is the man who rose up the ranks—rumored to have done so by means of violence and murder—to control one of the most notorious drug cartels in Miami.

  The man who single-handedly revived this city’s drug trade to surpass its notoriety back in the seventies and eighties.

  Though I’ve heard rumors about Nico Alcanzar, there were never any circulating photographs leaked by the press. I always assumed he was much older.

  And far less…attractive.

  He straightens from his perch on the table and I instantly wish I were still wearing my heels. At least then I’d be at less of a height disadvantage. He approaches, proving that intimidating air he possesses is ingrained in every movement. His lithe, muscled body gives me the impression he’s not one to sit back and let others do all his dirty work for him.

  Each step he takes strikes me as carefully calculated, his eyes never leaving mine. Once he draws to a stop a foot away, I lift my chin, attempting to hold my ground and meet his gaze, refusing to let him shake me.

  What I don’t expect is for his hands to reach for where my blouse is tucked beneath the waist of my skirt and tug the fabric upward.

  I bat away his hands, taking a quick step backwar
d only to collide with the wall. His large fingers, undeterred from my struggles, unbutton my blouse.

  My chest rises and falls. “Don’t you dare!” I hiss angrily, my movements still protesting. I dart a quick glance at Goliath, but he merely stands in place, his gaze everywhere except on us.

  Nico’s eyes lift to mine. “Told you I ain’t gonna hurt you.” His gaze drops as he parts my blouse. “Just checkin’ for a wire.”

  “For a what?”

  Sharp eyes drill into mine while his fingers graze my sides before drifting around my back to dip beneath the clasp of my bra. My body is tense, and while I can’t pinpoint what exactly makes me believe he’s not planning to hurt me, I do.

  Once he’s satisfied with the search, he reaches down, palms lightly gripping my thighs beneath my skirt before skating upward. I hate how the simple touch of his hands sends goose bumps rising to the surface of my skin and has my nipples pebbling.

  I clench my jaw, forcing moisture into my bone-dry throat, and attempt bravado. “You won’t find anything, so hurry up and get it over with.” Gripping the fabric of my blouse, my fingers tremble as I fasten each button.

  His eyes gleam with something I can’t quite decipher and I know he’s purposely taking his time. His touch shifts to feel more like a caress, and it’s sadly more action than I’ve experienced in a while.

  “Gotta be thorough.”

  The instant his callused fingertips graze over the five small scars just above my right hip, his touch stutters and a hint of curiosity flits across his features. Stupid keloid scars. They’re raised and rigid and I hate them for various reasons. While I could’ve had a procedure done to flatten them, I haven’t. They’re a double-edged sword for me.

  A useful reminder of my painful past.