Carter, Beth D. - Lawless Hearts (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour)

by Unknown

  When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against hers. “I love you, Scharlie Thorn.”

  She broke away and looked up at him with very sad eyes.

  “Get out of here.”

  She saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. “What?”

  “I said, get out of here. I don’t want to see you again. You or Cassidy.”

  And then she turned and walked away from him, trying to ignore how her heart was breaking.

  Chapter Eleven

  Scharlie lay in bed that night, unable to sleep. She had patched up the mattress as best as she could and turned it over, since the bottom side hadn’t been damaged. Once she had heard Cassidy and Garrett leave, she had cleaned up the mess in her house, refusing to cry. She refused to let the image of some horrible, faceless man immobilize her. She may not know what Breaux Cox looked like, but did it matter? A monster was a monster.

  Now she stared at the ceiling, though she couldn’t see anything in the darkness. She hadn’t been able to watch Cassidy and Garrett ride away, to gather their belongings and disappear. Forever.

  Forever?

  Of course it had to be forever. They had desecrated her memories. They had taken Harlow away from her. She could never forgive them.

  She sighed and rolled to her side, tucking her hands under her chin and bringing her knees up. Every part of her hurt, as if she had fallen off a cliff and every bone in her body had broken.

  And now she couldn’t sleep. All she kept thinking about was Garrett’s eyes when he’d begged her to understand and the devastation she saw in them when she told him to leave. If truth be told, she really believed him in that moment.

  But still, the facts were clear. Cassidy had even admitted it. They were outlaws. Harlow was an outlaw.

  Damn them.

  * * * *

  She was awoken by the pounding on her front door. Scharlie opened her eyes and sat up, unfolding her cramped limbs that had gone stiff in the middle of the night. She still wore the same clothes as yesterday. Her hair was hanging limply on her shoulders. She rubbed a hand over her face, trying to wipe the last vestiges of sleep away. The pounding on her door came again, and Scharlie hurried from the bedroom.

  “Who is it?” she called through the wooden door.

  “Cassidy. And Garrett. Scharlie, can you open up?”

  She leaned her forehead against the door. “Why should I?”

  “Please, Scharlie, just listen to us.”

  “Why should I? For all I know, you’re still working with Cox!”

  He was silent for a moment. “Do you really think that after what we shared?” he asked in a quiet, subdued tone.

  “I don’t know what to think,” she admitted. “You’ve completely shattered my world. I was so scared last night, so angry.”

  “Did you think we wouldn’t stay around to protect you?” Garrett asked through the door. “Scharlie, please, you’re in danger.”

  “Am I really? From my point of view, you’re just as dangerous as Breaux Cox.”

  “We’d never hurt you,” Cassidy said.

  Anger rose quickly and sharply inside her. She unlocked the door and yanked it open, staring at Cassidy with every ounce of fury she felt.

  “You’ve already hurt me, Cassidy!” she yelled, poking her finger into his chest. “You made me believe in you, made me believe that I could depend on you. That somehow I managed to find not one man but two who could look past this scar on my face and see the woman under it. See the person I really am and love her. But instead you’ve ruined the one thing I had left. My brother.”

  She went to slam the door in his face, but his left hand stopped it. With his right hand, he grabbed her upper arm and forced her back so that they could enter, Garrett right behind Cassidy. He closed the door, and suddenly she found herself alone in the house with them.

  “Get out,” she ordered, trying to sound firm. But the demand came out breathless and just a tad desperate.

  “No,” he said. “We gave you space last night to calm down, but Breaux Cox is here, Scharlie. And we’re out of time. We need to leave.”

  Scharlie stared into his eyes, trying to see the truth, before turning to look at Garrett. All she saw was resolution.

  “I’m not running away from my home,” she vowed.

  Cassidy swore under his breath and turned away, running his hands through his hair. Garrett stepped past him and took Scharlie by the arms. “Nothing is more important than your safety, Scharlie. No matter what you think of us, no matter what you think of this situation, you got to understand it’s not worth your life. We’re too vulnerable here. If you’re safe, then Cassidy and I can hunt Cox and his men down.”

  “You mean you can kill them.”

  He nodded.

  She sighed and pulled out of his hands. She turned her back and wrapped her arms around her as her mind quickly raced through the past twenty-four hours. Did she have a choice but to trust Cassidy and Garrett now? Breaux Cox had invaded her sanctuary, had broken the illusion of safety and privacy. And if she was really honest with herself, she would admit that Cassidy and Garrett had made her feel secure.

  She sighed and turned to face them. “I’m not agreeing yet, but what’s your plan?”

  She saw their shoulders relax.

  “WillowCity,” Cassidy said without missing a beat.

  “Why WillowCity?”

  “Because it’s the nearest city with a train depot, and it’s large enough to make sure Cox doesn’t do anything stupid, like go after you,” Garrett said.

  “Plus it has a payroll shipment coming in on tomorrow’s train,” Cassidy added. “Cox won’t want to miss it.”

  “He and his men will be cornered, and we’ll take care of him, once and for all.”

  Scharlie didn’t ask how they knew about the payroll shipment. She didn’t like the chill that coursed over her skin at the satisfied gleam shining in Cassidy’s eyes. She had a sudden feeling that no matter how much they might want to help her, she was just the catalyst bringing forth a plan they had devised from the start.

  Chapter Twelve

  They left later in the day, once Scharlie had packed and locked the house up. WillowCity lay forty miles northwest of Rock Ridge, and the only way to get there was by horse. Scharlie didn’t complain, even though she was cramped behind Cassidy’s hard body, clinging to him tightly. It brought back memories of when he held her, possessed her, and a thrill shot through her to her core. She had missed her men in her bed last night, missed their warmth.

  Damn them for being outlaws.

  They stopped twice, and each time Scharlie switched riding behind Cassidy and Garrett, allowing the horses rest from carrying an extra person. The second time they came to a grove of tall oak trees, Scharlie excused herself, seeking privacy. She walked a ways away, finding an area to relieve herself and grabbing a moment to breathe without the scent of male invading her nostrils.

  She was honest enough to admit that she was turned on. Being behind the men, having the rhythmic motion of the horse rocking against her, had almost brought her to orgasm more than once. Glancing around to make sure she was alone, Scharlie dipped her hand under her skirts and found herself slick with cream. Her middle finger slipped inside, and she moaned at the delicious feel of her nub being teased. It didn’t take long, mainly because she was already aroused. A few flicks in and out, and Scharlie was soaring with relief. Her body quaked and arched against her hand as delicious pleasure hummed through her veins.

  After a few minutes, reality returned. Though her body was now satisfied, her emotions still seesawed. There was no denying she loved Cassidy and Garrett, but how could she ever accept their life? Or the fact that Harlow was a part of that life?

  As she made her way back, her mind worrying through the complexities her life had developed, she saw Cassidy and Garrett deep in conversation. Instinctively, she moved behind a tree to shield herself. She wanted to know what they were saying, what they talked about when she wasn
’t around to hear them. She crept closer, using the trees to hide behind.

  “Is the bank all set?” Cassidy was asking.

  “Yes,” Garrett answered. “The bank manager’s name is Dalton, and he arrives to work at eight. I have the combination codes for the safe, so we’re all set.”

  “Perfect.”

  Bitter bile rose sharply from her stomach. Scharlie turned around and flattened herself against the tree, heart racing. Dear God, they were planning to rob the bank. That’s how they knew of the payroll arrival. Yes, they wanted to kill Breaux Cox for killing Harlow, but their other agenda was taking off with the money. How could she have been so stupid?

  * * * *

  Scharlie reined in her emotions well enough to finish the ride to WillowCity. But all the while, her mind worked out a plan. Cassidy and Garrett were going to put her in a hotel, let her stay there while they “dealt” with Breaux Cox. But she planned to disrupt all their plans.

  They rode into WillowCity just as the sun was setting and headed right for the only hotel on Main Street. Cassidy went in to make the reservation, and Scharlie took the opportunity to glance around the street. She didn’t see the sheriff’s office right away, but WillowCity was a large town with many streets diverging off the main one. As she looked around in the twilight, her eyes clashed with a man who stood watching her from across the busy street. He was a tall man, lean and muscular, good looking in a cold way. His mouth was set in a hard line, and he stared at her with flat, dark eyes. As she stared at him, he brought a cigar up to his mouth.

  Scharlie’s eyes widened in fright. She went to reach for Garrett’s arm, but no sooner had she moved than a speeding carriage rumbled by. Scharlie blinked, and when she looked again, the man had disappeared.

  Had that been Breaux Cox? But if it had been, how had he known where to find them?

  Chapter Thirteen

  Scharlie paced in her room, dithering back and forth in deciding to do something about the knowledge she had about the bank. Though Cassidy and Garrett had hurt her heart, she just couldn’t seem to bring herself to think of them as bad guys. If she went to the sheriff and turned them in, they would be arrested and sent to jail.

  Images of them flashed through her brain, moments of her life alone compared to moments between them when she had been happy and fulfilled for the first time in her life.

  She closed her eyes, letting her mind examine each motion, each moment, she had spent with them. And as much as she hated to admit it, never once had she felt threatened or unsafe.

  Scharlie sighed, her shoulders slumping. She just couldn’t. She couldn’t turn them in, implicate them, and watch them be led away. If she was completely honest with herself, she couldn’t imagine a life without both men by her side. But to accept them, she had to be willing to forgive and forget. They were outlaws. Cassidy had admitted to murder. Could she, would she, look the other way?

  Even as the questions arose, Scharlie already knew her answers.

  She loved them. Loved Cassidy with his moodiness, art of evasion, and edgy movement, just as she loved Garrett’s sweet and passionate nature. Both men were as opposite as two people can be, and yet each complemented and completed what the other lacked. She loved them so much she had redefined her own level of morals.

  And with that resolution, Scharlie knew she could not turn them in.

  She opened her eyes, squared her shoulders, and made peace with her decision.

  She left the hotel by way of the staff entrance, much to the shock of the employees. They mumbled about how she shouldn’t be there, and Scharlie turned her scarred face away as she waved at them, disappearing immediately into the dark night. She made her way cautiously through the alley and around the side of the hotel, stopping to survey the still-busy Main Street. She noticed that the atmosphere was different than before, as if the fall of night had pulled a curtain on the civilized to expose the carousing of something primitive. Music poured from various saloons lining the street. Scantily clad women paraded up and down balconies, shouting at men below. She would be noticed if she left the darkness of the alley to find her way to the sheriff’s office, and currently there were three men she had to avoid at all costs.

  So she slid back into the shadows, back to the employee entrance of the hotel, and stepped up to a bellhop drinking something as he rested against the back of the building.

  “Excuse me,” she said, keeping her scarred side turned away. “Could you point out the direction of the sheriff’s office?”

  He gave her a suspicious look. “Off of Main, north, turn right onto Third. Can’t miss it.”

  “Obliged,” she muttered before hightailing it out of there.

  She kept to the shadows, moving quickly. Anytime someone came lurching by, usually a drunk, she ducked back into the darkness and waited for the person to shuffle by. There was no way to cross Main without moving into the light, but luckily the foot traffic had thinned out enough near Third to cross without too many whistles thrown her way. Scharlie couldn’t believe how wild WillowCity was once the sun went down and wondered if all cities were like this.

  As she moved down Third, using the sidewalks but hugging the shadows, she spotted the sheriff’s office and wasted no time in rushing across the street toward it.

  A man stepped in front of her, blocking her way to her destination. Scharlie halted, eyeing the man who seemed focused on her. She moved to one side, and he did the same, mimicking her motions to halt her way. Scharlie’s heart thumped painfully in her chest because she had a deep suspicion that the man in front of her was Breaux Cox. And if he was Cox, how long had he been watching her? Trailing her?

  And what did he want with her?

  All thought of the safety of the sheriff’s office fled. Scharlie turned and started running down the middle of the street until some small measure of sanity returned and she realized that she had to find cover. She dashed between two buildings, which led to an alley that smelled of rotten food and stale beer. Scharlie ran to each building, checking the back doors until one opened. Without another thought, she ran inside and slammed the door behind her.

  She stood in a kitchen that was deserted, but the food piled around in various stages of being cooked hinted that it wouldn’t be empty for long. When she heard voices coming from the door, Scharlie turned and hurried upstairs.

  The stairway was dark enough for her to stumble as she quickly ran up the steps. The door opened to a hallway dimly lit with candle sconces placed next to every door. There were five doors on the right and four on the other, where the staircase ended. Red ribbons were hung on three of the doors.

  A noise at the bottom jolted Scharlie to hurry forward, easing open a door and stepping inside. The small entrance was partitioned from the rest of the small room with a curtain of lace. Scharlie heard a moan, the crack of a whip, and curiosity edged her to peek through the lace more closely. She used a finger to brush it aside far enough to see a man lying on the bed facedown. His hands and legs were secured to the bedposts with white scarves.

  The woman standing over him was dressed in a red satin corset with a red lace skirt over it. Her hair was pulled back and her face painted heavily in dark colors. She cracked the whip, and the leather tails scraped over the man’s buttocks, causing him to moan rapturously and writhe against his bindings.

  Scharlie remembered a chapter in her lost book, one that described this very scene in which the man obtained pleasure with pain. The woman administering it wouldn’t hurt him too severely, only enough to have her client climax.

  She went to back out of the room as quietly as she came in, but as she let loose the lace curtain, Scharlie’s gaze landed on a coiled whip on the table next to the door. Before she could think things through, Scharlie took it and then left the room.

  Luckily, the hallway was clear. She checked the stairway and hurried down it, taking a chance to exit the way she had come even though the cook might have returned. Scharlie peered around the door into the kitchen a
nd discovered the cook had her back to the stairs. Quietly and quickly, Scharlie hurried through the kitchen to the back door.

  Once she was outside, she took a deep breath, willing her stuttering heart to slow down from the fear that had driven it. No one was in the alley, so she started hurrying back the way she had originally come from, trying to make it back to the hotel before Garrett or Cassidy knew she was missing.

  From out of nowhere, a hand came down and grabbed her arm. Scharlie screamed and backed away from the hand, banging into the next building. She snapped her head around and saw the glow of a cigar, smelt the acrid stench of ash. Fear rose sharply in her stomach, and she had to swallow bile back down. She wrenched her arm away and took a few steps back from Breaux Cox.

  “Pretty girl like you shouldn’t be wandering the streets of WillowCity at night,” he said in a husky voice. It sent shivers down her back.

  Scharlie couldn’t think of a thing to say to him. Fear had robbed her temporarily of speech. She backed up a few more steps.

  “Going somewhere, Scharlie?” he asked.

  “I—It’s Miss Thorn to you,” she said.

  He laughed. “I’m glad to see a little backbone from you. Your brother had spunk too.”

  At the mention of Harlow, all her fear disappeared. Scharlie’s shoulders went back, and her eyes narrowed. “You have no right to mention Harlow.”

  “I don’t? Why? Because Webb and Brooks told you I killed him? I didn’t, you know. Brooks did. Shot him in the back.”

  Everything inside of her froze. He must have seen the doubt and confusion on her face because he laughed, a nasty sound devoid of all amusement.

  “So I am vilified, and, naïve you believed him.”

  “Shut up! Are you saying you were friends with Harlow? That you knew him?”

  “No, I’m not. I wasn’t friends with Harlow Thorn, but I respected him.”