Booted

by Pam Godwin

  I only need to look at her to know John Holsten covets her above all else.

  “He wouldn’t have surrendered you.” I turn back to the road and slowly hit the gas. “Not under any threat.”

  “Maybe you’re right.” She straightens in the seat and clears her voice. “He openly discussed his dealings in front of me—the manipulations with the land, his efforts to keep you and Conor away, his shady partnerships with creditors and local law enforcement. I heard it all, because he had no intention of ever letting me go.”

  “What happened when you moved to Texas?”

  “My mom started using drugs again and stopped taking Tiana to her dialysis appointments. No one was there to hold her accountable. I wasn’t there.” She yanks a hand through her hair. “I fucking left Tiana with that worthless fucking whore and… My baby sister died.” Her voice deadens to a hollow whisper. “She died eight months ago, and I didn’t find out until two months after she was cremated.”

  I approach the ranch and slow the truck to a crawl, my limbs stiff, my insides sick with shock.

  “I kept asking him about her.” She stares out the side window, trembling. “When he wouldn’t tell me, I threatened to leave, to find a phone, to do whatever I needed to check on her. She was the only reason I was with him. The only reason I let him…in my body.” She makes a pained noise. “He finally told me she passed. That’s the night he chained me in the spare room.”

  He lost his leverage and locked her up to keep her from fleeing. That was six months ago? She was chained up for that long?

  My fingers clench, creaking the leather steering wheel.

  I spent eight years in prison, mourning my sister’s assault. But this is worse. She was shackled in a room like an animal, alone, beaten, and raped while mourning her sister’s death.

  “Christ.” I rub a hand down my face. “No wonder you want to kill him. How did you manage to call Maybe?”

  “He locked me in the bathroom every night so I could shower. That night, he’d been drinking, and I was able to swipe his phone from his pocket.” She leans her head back and closes her eyes. “The moment I was alone in the bathroom, I called the only number I’d memorized. When Maybe answered, I checked the door and realized he forgot to lock it. Through the crack, I saw his pistol sitting on the coffee table in the living room, and he was nowhere in sight.”

  “So you changed your mind and told her not to come.” My head pounds as everything clicks in place. “That’s why you told her not to call the cops. You hung up on her and went after the gun, intending to shoot him.”

  “Yeah. I cleared the call history and dropped the phone on his recliner. Just in case. I didn’t want him going after Maybe. Then I grabbed the gun and figured out how to turn off the safety. When he walked around the corner, I aimed and squeezed the trigger.”

  Maybe Quinn saw him the next day and never mentioned a gunshot wound. Raina either missed or…

  “The pistol wasn’t loaded.” Her breath slips out with a shudder. “I can still feel that hollow click. I was stunned, frozen, and knew my time was up.” She touches the bruise around her eye. “When he punched me, it was like a hammer. Knocked me out cold. I woke in that room, chained to the wall, with him rutting on top of me and beating my face into… Well, you’re looking at it. I don’t remember much after that. Until Maybe showed up.”

  John was smart enough to remove his bullets before he started drinking. He’s a dirty dealing bastard, but when it comes to gun safety, he’s a fucking saint. He drilled that shit into my head growing up.

  Thank Christ Raina had the foresight to clear his phone logs. Otherwise, he would’ve known she made a call and dealt with Maybe when she showed up. I wonder if Raina knows she saved Maybe’s life.

  The moon’s rays kiss Raina’s marred cheeks and illuminate the torment in her eyes.

  My hands burn to cradle the fine bones of her face and feel her silky hair fall against my touch. At the same time, every muscle in my body flexes to destroy the man who hurt her. The existence of such strong and contradictory feelings leaves me breathless and off balance.

  I wish she would’ve succeeded in killing him. Not just to save my family the trouble. She deserves restitution as much as we do.

  The fucker’s out there somewhere, gathering resources and waiting for the moment to snatch her back. He must be dealt with.

  I pull the truck under the archway for Julep Ranch and park beside Jake’s pickup in the lot.

  She glances at the estate, then the door handle beside her hand, but doesn’t move to step out. “Why am I here?”

  We weren’t followed, and I haven’t seen another car since I hit the dirt road. John won’t come here, but he could hire or blackmail someone else to come. Nowhere is safe for her.

  I turn off the engine and tilt my head, watching her from beneath the brim of my hat. “Have you ever fired a loaded gun?”

  “No.”

  “Ever killed anyone?”

  Her head gives a slight shake. “No.”

  “Do you know how to defend yourself against a man twice your size?”

  She looks down at the bruises on her arm and blows out a sharp breath. Then she finds my eyes. “Where are you going with this?”

  “I’m going to help you.”

  “You want to help me?” My heart gallops into a thundering sprint. “How?”

  “I’ll keep you safe here.” Lorne nods at the estate, his face hidden in the shadow of his hat. “And I’ll teach you how to shoot a gun and fight with your hands.”

  A spark of life ripples beneath my skin. He could give me a wealth of knowledge. Hunting was part of his upbringing on the ranch, and he probably learned how to scrap in prison. Although, as intimidating as he is, I imagine he only needs to stand tall, look a man in the eye, and growl.

  I’m dying to accept his offer, except… “You’re a felon. Pretty sure that means you can’t be around firearms.”

  “I cannot possess a firearm. If it’s attached to you and you’re in control of it, I won’t be breaking the law.”

  “But you were advised to not be in the vicinity of a gun, right?”

  “I don’t give a fuck. I live on ten-thousand acres. No one’s around to witness what I’m doing.”

  It’s a risk, but a small one in the scheme of things.

  “Shit.” He pushes his hat down his forehead and slumps in the seat.

  I follow his gaze to the front door, where Conor explodes out of the house and charges toward us, her eyes blazing in the moonlight and red hair whipping behind her.

  My stomach sinks. She has every right to be pissed at me for stealing from her family.

  “This should be fun.” He rolls down the window and rests an elbow on the frame. “She’s fixing to chew me up and spit me out.”

  Him? What did he do?

  “Evening, darlin’,” he drawls as she reaches the truck.

  “Speak of the devil and he shall appear.” She sets her fists on her hips and scowls at him. “You better give your heart to Jesus, because your ass is mine.”

  “Conor—”

  “You think you could’ve bought a cell phone and called your sister while you were missing for twenty-four hours?” She stomps a boot. “I oughta jerk you bald for making me worry.”

  He’s been gone since yesterday? Looking for me? He sure as hell didn’t spend twenty-four hours at the strip club. He didn’t even go inside.

  “I’ll get a phone tomorrow.” A muscle flexes in his cheek.

  Her frown deepens, and she crosses her arms.

  Seeing them side by side, I realize beauty isn’t in the eye of the beholder. It’s in perfectly designed genetics. The Cassidy genes should be bottled and cloned.

  They share the same vibrant green eyes, except his are darker, harder. She has the feminine version of his nose. Same oval-shaped face, pouty lips, and alabaster complexion. Her hair is every shade of fire, and his is as black as mine. She’s soft and petite where he’s solid and angu
lar. They’re proportionate, symmetrical, unlawfully easy on the eyes.

  Sleeves of ink paint beautiful murals of color from her wrists to her shoulders, and I wonder if he has tattoos. A lot of inmates get them in prison, but it’s rare to see ink in Sandbank.

  “I’m sorry.” His lips flatten. “I should’ve called.”

  Her expression softens. “Don’t do that to me again.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  My eyebrows lift. His heart might be a thumping gizzard, but it sure loosens up for his sister.

  “And while you’re shopping for a phone, get yourself some clothes. Or I’ll do it for you.” She hooks a thumb under the strap of her yellow tank top. “Pastels are in. You’d look as cute as a bug’s ear in pink.”

  “I’ll take care of it.” He shifts in the seat, adjusting the denim on his thighs.

  His shirt and jeans fit him better than the ones he wore two nights ago. He probably borrowed clothes from Jake or Jarret.

  She turns her attention to me. “I’m surprised to see you again, Raina.”

  “About that…” I grimace. “I might be the reason he disappeared. I’m sorry.”

  “Did you hold a gun to his head and prevent him from calling me?”

  “No.”

  “Then don’t apologize for him.” She cocks her head, studying me. “You sticking around this time?”

  “No, I’m—”

  “Conor.” He flicks a dismissive finger at her. “Give us a minute.”

  “You’re not going to abandon me again.” Her jaw sets.

  Abandon? I don’t think she’s referring to last night. When Lorne went to prison, he refused contact with her for six years. John made comments about how well that worked at keeping her away from Sandbank. But Lorne didn’t have a choice. Shutting her out of the family was the only way he could protect her while locked up.

  “Never again.” He reaches through the window and cups her cheek. “I promise.”

  “Okay.” She holds his palm against her face, her eyes glistening as she lowers their hands. “We’re out back on the porch.”

  She pivots away and strides toward the house, peeking over her shoulder a few times, as if she doesn’t quite believe he’s not going anywhere.

  He releases a long breath. “I really fucked things up with her.”

  “You did what you had to do.”

  His mysterious eyes shift to mine. “Where’s your mom?”

  The change of subject gives me whiplash, and I take a moment to gather my thoughts.

  “She died from a Fentanyl overdose the day after Tiana passed.” I never felt sadness about that. Hard to feel anything but anger for a woman who chose drugs over her three-year-old daughter.

  “Do you have proof of death? Or is this just what John told you?”

  “John was all too happy to provide police reports and death certificates.”

  Hospital workers contacted the sheriff’s offices when they were unable to find anyone to take custody of the remains. No one located me as the next-of-kin. I was technically missing, but my mom never reported it. So she and Tiana were cremated without a funeral service.

  There’s no grave. No ashes. I have nothing to visit or hold onto.

  I have nothing.

  Lorne watches me, his expression frosty. But there’s something gentle behind the shadows in his eyes. A flicker of understanding? I peer deeper, and he looks away.

  “Why would you help me?” I ask.

  “I want him dead, but if I do it myself, I risk returning to prison.”

  “Better to let me kill him and take the fall?”

  “You’re going after him, with or without my help.”

  He has a point.

  I can go to the cops, kill John Holsten, or wait for him to snatch me. Involving the police would launch this family into a hairy investigation, one that could uncover a trail of murders. Jake and Jarret murdered every hitman and creditor who threatened Conor’s life. I won’t be responsible for sending them to prison.

  Going after John is my only option.

  “I’m your only chance at succeeding.” Lorne opens the door and unfolds his muscled frame from the truck.

  Without waiting, he ambles to the front porch, his boots falling heavily on the gravel path.

  The chiseled definition in his back and shoulders flexes beneath the shirt. Broad on top and narrow around the hips, his dark silhouette cuts a powerful outline against the backdrop of the porch light. Every movement radiates virility, his bearing confident and deadly.

  He’s the kind of handsome that leaves a profound, unprecedented impact. Doesn’t matter how mean and unfeeling he is. Most people would revere him anyway, just because he’s so damn pleasing to look at.

  If he’d accepted my offer for sex, I might’ve liked the job for the first time in my life. There would’ve been no love in it. There never is. But I wouldn’t have minded running my hands all over that sculpted physique and pretending, just for a little while, that he wasn’t a job, that we were together because it felt right. What would that level of intimacy be like?

  My heartbeat flutters as I imagine his arms around me, our tongues tangled, eyes connected, skin on skin, hips rocking in a maddening rhythm. Ten minutes with him and I’d blow his fucking mind.

  It’s better this way. Lorne Cassidy might be insanely attractive, but his insides are razor blades and dry ice. I’m under no illusion that he’s the one who could change my attitude about sex.

  Besides, fucking him would complicate an already complicated situation.

  I grab the backpack, slide out of the truck, and jog to catch up with him. “I don’t think John’s sons will be happy to see me again.”

  “No.” He steps into the house and holds the door open for me. “They won’t.”

  My insides pinch. Would it hurt him to sugarcoat the truth a little?

  I pause on the porch and stare down at my stolen boots. “Maybe I should just—”

  He releases the screen door and turns away, letting the heavy frame whack my bruised shoulder.

  I bounce out of the way and rub the hurt, glaring at his back.

  The door clicks shut, leaving me outside as his hulking frame moves deeper into the house and vanishes around the corner.

  My throat closes. It’s not like I expected him to hold my hand or anything. He doesn’t like me or want me here. But damn, if he’s going to help me, he could make an effort to remove his head from his clenched ass.

  Now I have to go in there by myself. Where I’m not welcome. Dread knots in my stomach, and my ears burn.

  The family’s probably talking about me.

  Let them.

  I refuse to walk around with my head hanging.

  The only thing I own is my body, and I sold it to survive. I promised myself that the better would come after the worse, and through the years, that hope burned stronger inside me than the hell around me.

  I don’t think anything burns in me now. Hope died with Tiana. The worse happened. I’m due for a little dose of better, but the odds aren’t in my favor. Not with John aiming to put me back in chains.

  Nightfall squeezes around the house, the dark depths stirring with shadows and skittering noises. Lorne doesn’t think John will return to the ranch, but I’m not so sure. John could be watching me right now.

  Being his whore again is less enticing than being dead.

  If I stay here, I’ll be surrounded by three lethal cowboys who would put John in the grave before allowing him on their land. I’m safer on the ranch than out there on my own. And if I learn how to shoot a gun, my chance of survival greatly improves.

  With a resigned breath, I head inside and lock the door behind me. Creeping through the house, I follow the muffled sounds of voices on the porch.

  At the back door, I set down the backpack and peer through glass.

  Outside, Lorne leans his butt against the railing, fingertips in his front pockets, and boots crossed at the ankles, epitomizing the casual
cowboy pose. But there’s nothing casual about his expression.

  His gaze locks onto mine, jaw squared with sharp angles and mouth pressed in a tight line. He lifts a hand and crooks a finger at me through the glass.

  Jake paces beside him, all tense and scowly. Conor perches on the small outdoor sofa, and across from her, Jarret sprawls in a cushioned chair with Maybe on his lap.

  Expressions are strained, postures stiff and voices heated.

  I open the door and step out. When all eyes turn in my direction, I focus on Maybe’s.

  “I’m sorry for stealing your clothes.” I brush a hand down the sundress. “And boots. I’ll clean them and return them tomorrow.”

  “That’s okay. Just ask me next time.” She nods at my feet. “Keep the boots. I don’t know why I bought them. Jarret’s are the only ones I wear.”

  “I can’t—”

  “I insist.”

  “Thank you.” My shoulders relax a fraction, and I glance at the others. “I rifled through your pantry and took some of your food. I’m sorry—”

  “I don’t care about the food.” Jake folds his arms across his chest, staring down at me from a few feet away. “Lorne says you intend to kill John Holsten.”

  “That’s right.” I raise my chin.

  “Did you consider how that might affect my family?”

  My ribs squeeze. “I thought you’d approve.”

  “You also thought it would be a good idea to fuck my worthless cunt of a father.” His nostrils flare. “Keep thinking, Raina. Someday, you might come up with something intelligent.”

  “Jake,” Lorne says in warning tone.

  “It’s fine.” I stand taller despite the hurt in my chest. “Jake can be an asshole all he wants in his own house.”

  “I ‘preciate your permission,” Jake says in the coldest drawl I’ve ever heard.

  “I agree with Jake on this.” Jarret sets Maybe on the chair and rises to stand beside his brother, his gaze on Lorne. “You brought her here—”

  “Actually, you and I brought her here,” Maybe says.