Booted

by Pam Godwin

“Hello?” A smile curls her demon lips. “Yeah, it’s me.” She tilts her head, listening, then releases a husky laugh. “You, too, honey. Now don’t forget to tell your boys to keep an eye out—”

  I yank the phone from her hand and press it to my ear. “You’re dead, motherfucker.”

  The silence on the other end yanks my attention to the car fifty yards away.

  “Who is this?” Ford’s voice wobbles.

  “Lorne Cassidy.”

  “Oh, shit…” He gasps, and something thumps on the other end. “Fuck!”

  Of course, he knows me. My trial was the biggest news story in Sandbank history.

  He disconnects the call. A second later, he flicks on his headlights and races out of the lot, fishtailing as he swerves onto the road and out of sight.

  “He can run.” I drop the phone and flex my hands. “But I’ll catch that dumbass son of a bitch.”

  “Yeah, you do that. Right after I rip off your dumbass balls and slap your dumbass face with them.” She stomps her foot. “Dammit, Lorne. He was going to help us.”

  I stab a finger in the direction of the car. “You let him grope you!”

  “They’re just boobs.” She throws her arms in the air and lets them drop. “I don’t get you.”

  Christ, her fucking mouth… I want to shove my cock between those shameless, taunting lips and shut her the fuck up.

  I twist toward her, giving her the full force of my eyes. “Don’t ever do that again.”

  “Let me get this straight.” She sits taller. “You don’t want to touch me, and no one else can touch me, either.”

  “Sounds like you get me just fine.”

  “You don’t own me.”

  “No, but while you’re living under my roof, you’ll abide by my rules.”

  “Okay, Dad.”

  My hand flies to her throat, and I wrench her face to mine. “I assure you there isn’t a fatherly thought going through my head.”

  She swallows against my palm, and fear blazes in her eyes. She trembles with it, but instead of pulling back or clawing at my grip, she leans closer. Not in submission, but in brazen contempt.

  “Do it.” She bares her teeth and digs her nails into the denim on my thigh. “Choke me, if it makes you feel like a man.”

  Fucking hell, she turns me on. I can make a homicidal inmate walk the other way with just a look. But this wisp of a woman seems to welcome my fury. I know she fears me, yet she never cowers.

  I release her. Her fingers fly to her neck, and her eyes… If looks could kill, I’d be laid out in a pile of eviscerated organs.

  We make a toxic pair, she and I. The sooner I get her trained and out of my life, the better. Because if she stays around much longer, I will fuck her, and it won’t be decent or reconcilable. I’ll punish her with every feral breath in my body while destroying every orifice in hers. I don’t think either of us would survive it.

  She crosses her arms. “You’re such a—”

  “Find something to listen to.” I toss my phone at her and shove the truck into drive.

  If I know her as well as I think I do, she’s burning to tell me all the ways I’m a miserable fuck. Hell knows, I don’t need the reminder.

  She scowls at the phone in her hand, her thumb slapping angrily against the screen. After a few more swipes, a snappy beat stomps through the speakers of the truck.

  She’s playing Cowboy Casanova by Carrie Underwood, and given the smirk on her face, she selected the man-bashing song for me.

  As I veer onto the road, she sets the phone on the seat and angles toward the passenger window.

  Our last stop sits on the outer edge of town, nestled in a long one-story group of buildings. I park in front of one of several adjacent retail shops and shut off the engine.

  The lot is empty, all the stores closed for the evening. After spending the day running errands and dealing with people, my patience is shot.

  Society is a steaming pile of self-centered fucks. I couldn’t help but laugh at their common miseries as they huffed in the long line at the drivers license bureau, honked and road raged at other drivers, and sneered at crying children.

  When I saw a baby in the phone store today, I couldn’t stop staring. I don’t care if I looked like a pedophile. She was just so damn beautiful and innocent with those big tears in her eyes. Meanwhile, the assholes in line glared and winced.

  I can’t stomach the thought of being around more assholes.

  So here I am, sitting in front of a glass door with a sign that scrawls Cora’s Clothier in curly letters.

  In high school, Cora said she would open her own shop in this very location. I’m not surprised she made it happen.

  When I called her a couple of hours ago, she was more than happy to let me in after-hours.

  I scrutinize the shadows beneath the awnings, the residential homes along the street, and the unlit windows of the closed shops. If John hired someone to collect Raina, now would be the time to attack.

  I’m not packing a gun, but I always carry a hunting knife in my boot. It’s the same knife that cut Jarret and I out of our restraints the night Conor was brutalized. It saved our lives, and I trust it to save me again.

  Raina stirs beside me, her eyes sweeping over the sign on the door. “Who’s Cora?”

  The last girl I fucked. I took her to prom. Then I drove her to a field and took her in the bed of my truck. I ripped her fancy dress in my urgency, but she didn’t care. She’s a seamstress, after all, and by the dreamy look on her face that night, she was fixing to chase me for a lifetime of more.

  I liked her well enough. Hell, she could’ve been the one I married. But life had different plans for me.

  “She’s an old friend.” I exit the truck and pocket the phone. “Slide out on my side.”

  Raina’s chest hitches, and her gaze darts over the pitch-black surroundings.

  “Don’t rush on my account.” I drop my hands to my hips.

  After another moment of indecision, she scoots across the seat and climbs out.

  “Do not leave my side.” With a hand on her stiff elbow, I lead her into the shop and lock the bolt behind me.

  A bell rings overhead, followed by the pad of soft footsteps. A tall, willowy blonde emerges from the back, and my breath snags. Lord help me over the fence, she’s even prettier than I remember.

  My hand falls from Raina’s arm, my skin tight and hot.

  Cora’s huge smile spirals through the space between us, and she squeals with delight. Weaving around circular racks of clothing, she hurries toward me and tackles me in a hug.

  “Welcome home, baby.” She leans back, her guileless gray eyes full of sweetness and laughter. “I’m so glad you called.”

  “Thanks for seeing me after hours.”

  “Anytime.” She cups my face and slides her hands down my neck and over my shoulders. “My stars and garters, look at you! I mean… Wow. You’re quite the looker, Lorne Cassidy. You always were, but the years have been very, very kind.”

  The years have been lonely and cruel, but I don’t bother correcting her.

  “And who’s this lovely lady?” She turns toward the simmering woman at my side.

  “Raina Benally.” Raina gives her a stiff wave and an even stiffer smile.

  “Raina’s a friend of the family,” I say. “She’s staying with us for a while and needs some clothes fit for the ranch.”

  “Excellent.” Cora claps her hands together. “I’ll hook you both up.”

  “How’s business?” I stroll through the shop, keeping an eye on Raina while searching for exterior doors.

  “It’s been a tough eight years,” she says. “My passion is tailoring and shopping for new clothing lines, but most of my time goes to building my brand and bringing in dedicated clientele. Self-employment means long hours and no personal life.” She holds up her ringless left hand. “Still not married. Guess I haven’t found a man willing to put up with my ambitions.” Her gaze lowers to a garment rack,
and she fidgets with the hangers, mumbling, “Or maybe I’ve been waiting for the right one to come home.”

  I catch her meaning loud and clear and wouldn’t mind giving it a go with her again. At a minimum, I’d enjoy sinking into her soft cunt. As the idea settles through me, I brace for a roaring fire to spark in my belly.

  Nothing ignites, and my gaze shoots to Raina.

  She stands off to the side, a hand on her cocked hip, and her expression pinched as if she swallowed a lemon. Just the sight of her dries my mouth. She’s an addictive drink of legs and attitude, with a kick of heat and vinegar.

  That’s when I feel it, low and angry beneath my belt. A twisting, thrashing, burning inferno of frustration.

  I roll back my shoulders and turn to Cora. “You keep the back door locked?”

  “When I remember.” She laughs. “It’s quiet around here.”

  “Mind if I check it? I don’t want someone slipping in and catching you unaware while you’re here alone at night.”

  “Oh.” Her cheeks flush. “Yes. Please, do. It’s right through there.”

  I follow the point of her finger through the cramped space and spot the door beyond a row of shelving units. Heading that way, I mark Raina’s location.

  The bolt on the door looks old and easy to kick in. There’s no overhead bell like the front entrance. Nothing to alert me if someone breaks in.

  I glance at Raina’s bristling posture and search the space around the door, honing in on the trashcan. Empty cans of energy drinks fill it to the rim. No wonder Cora’s so bubbly and energetic. She’s hyped up on caffeine.

  As I line up the cans in front of the door to create a makeshift alarm, my thoughts descend to the swelling hunger between my legs.

  I’ve only been out of prison for a few days, but I can’t ignore this restless ache much longer.

  I need to get laid.

  I lean against a display table of western apparel, wishing I was anywhere but here. I don’t need a degree in human sexuality to tune into the leg-humping vibes between Lorne and Cora. Their lingering eye contact, the ease in which she touches him, and the undercurrent of intimate history is enough to make my stomach collapse.

  The beautiful, bouncy, animated seamstress is everything I’m not. She glows with sheltered innocence and passes out Disney smiles like it’s her only mission in life. She’s blonde and fair and bursting with musical light.

  Meanwhile, I’m tempted to retreat into the shadows with my black cloud of fuck this.

  I have a mission, too. It’s to kill the man who tortured me and let my sister die. I guess that makes me the bitter, vindictive villain. Hopefully, not the kind that perishes in the flames of her own stupidity.

  In the back of the store, Lorne lumbers around the door, setting up some kind of booby trap. At least he’s dependable. I can rely on him to keep me alive and insult me every time he opens his mouth.

  “Look at him, being all protective.” Cora rests a hand against her breastbone. “I always knew he had a heart made of honey.”

  Oh, his heart is honey, all right. Honey that crystallized and hardened in a cold dark corner for eight years.

  “Should we get started?” I gesture at the racks of clothes.

  “For sure!” She flutters around, gathering denim and cotton while carrying on about this season’s fashion.

  When Lorne emerges from the back, she directs him to the dressing room.

  “Remove your shirt and…” She sweeps her gaze down his torso. “Whatever else. I’m gonna grab a tape measure.”

  Does she really need to measure him? Just ask his size.

  I release a breath, irked by my dreadful mood.

  The measuring and flirting and half-naked touching—this is happening. I just need to deal with it.

  Lorne snaps his fingers, drawing my attention to his wide stance in the dressing room.

  “Stay where I can see you,” he growls, too low for Cora to hear.

  I give him a middle-finger salute and a saccharine smile. Then I step as far away as I can while remaining in his line of sight. There, I focus on the front door, because that’s a safer view than the asshole stripping in my periphery.

  Footsteps sound behind me and stumble to a stop.

  “Oh sweet lord baby Jesus,” Cora whispers over my shoulder. “That’s more man than I have ever… Well, I have seen him. All of him, if you know what I mean.”

  On the other side of the store, Lorne folds up his clothes, his mouthwatering body clad in tight-fitting briefs.

  My pulse responds with a punch of eagerness, as if this were the first time I ogled his obscenely perfect physique.

  Evidently, this isn’t a first for Cora, either.

  I give her a narrowed look, which she interprets as a question.

  “Prom night.” She sighs blissfully, her voice achingly quiet. “God, he looked downright lickable in a tux. And out of it. I thought he was the one, you know. Then he got arrested.”

  I’ve never been to prom. Never been with a guy who didn’t pay by the hour. I’ve certainly never referred to anyone as the one. But if I did, I wouldn’t have let him go.

  “Did you visit him in prison?” I glance at Lorne, confirming he’s out of hearing range.

  “No, I…” She swallows. “It was too hard.”

  Too hard for her? If she loved him, she would’ve carried her fragile little heart to the Big Mac and supported him every grueling day he was imprisoned there.

  I’m all for Lorne finding a nice girl, but this one isn’t right for him.

  I also might be a tad bit jealous.

  So I do the responsible thing and unleash my inner bitch. “It’s too bad what happened to him.”

  “What?”

  “You didn’t hear?” I edge close and whisper at her ear, “He contracted a sexually-transmitted illness in prison. The debilitating kind.”

  The blood drains from her cheeks. “How debilitating?”

  “It made him sterile.” I scrunch my face in horror. “I feel terrible for him.”

  “What is it? Like HIV or something?”

  Can HIV cause male infertility? I’m not sure, but I roll with it. “Yeah.”

  “How did he get that in pris…?” Her eyes widen. “Lord love a duck, that stuff really happens in there?”

  Not as often as people think.

  I nod. “All the time.”

  “That’s awful.” She touches her throat and stares at him wistfully. “He would’ve made such pretty babies.”

  Ain’t that the God’s honest truth.

  “Well…” She straightens. “Since I chose my career over childbearing, I’m beginning to think he was returned to me for a reason.” Her gaze wanders to the half-naked cowboy across the room. “He can put his shoes under my bed any day of the week and twice on Sunday.”

  I chew the inside of my cheek. “He’s contagious.”

  She waves a hand between us, brushing away my words. “That’s what condoms are for, sweetie.”

  A fist clenches in my gut as she strides away with her tape measure, swinging hips, and no doubt a beautiful, genuine smile decorating her pretty face.

  Lorne lifts off his hat and sets it aside as she approaches. His green eyes find mine briefly before settling on her.

  “Arms up.” She turns him toward the mirror with his back to me. “I’m just gonna take some measurements.”

  His arms lift, flexing the tendons along his sides. Then the touching begins.

  Her hands glide up and down the length of his torso, measuring, caressing, and lingering on the rounded line of his tight ass.

  I can’t see his groin, but I know he’s responding. The layers of muscle in his back heave and squeeze with his breaths. His eyes capture mine in the mirror, and his nostrils pulse to accommodate the force of air from his lungs.

  My chest clamps, and everything inside me coils to lash out. He doesn’t want anyone to touch me, yet he’s basking in his double standard with his reflection staring righ
t at me.

  Maybe he’s trying to hurt me? Because of what I did with the security guard?

  I really didn’t mean to upset him. I didn’t know he cared.

  Does he care? It sure as hell doesn’t seem that way.

  Cora shifts behind him, lifting on tiptoes to whisper at his ear. At his nod, she drops the tape measure and roams her hands around his hips to his abs. And lower.

  His eyes close, breaking our connection, and his palm lands on the mirror to support the lean of his body. He groans at whatever she does to his dick, and that’s my cue to walk away.

  I wrap my arms around my midsection, shaking with the effort to hold in my emotions. I shouldn’t feel anything. I’m not here to be coddled or adored. That sort of thing was never in the cards for me.

  When I reach the front door, I realize I’m trapped. I might not be thinking clearly, but I’m not stupid enough to go out there alone.

  “Raina?” Cora strides toward me, her eyebrows squishing together. “He, uh… He sent me to get you.”

  Ever the protector. Even when he’s getting a hand job.

  I suck in a burning breath. “I’ll be right there.”

  “He seems kind of angry. I wouldn’t make him wait.” She scrutinizes me with suspicion. “Is there something between you two?”

  Poison. Acid. Volcanic animosity. It festers and fizzes and spews in every direction whenever we’re together.

  “Not at all.” I brush past her and storm back to the dressing room.

  He waits in the doorway, hands on his hips and feet braced apart. How a man can look threatening in underwear is beyond me.

  It’s the devil in his eyes, blazing at an intensity that evaporates the oxygen from the air.

  “I told you not to leave my sight.” His harsh whisper booms through me, rattling my teeth.

  “I don’t want to be the cockblock—”

  “Sit.” He stabs a finger at the stool in the dressing room.

  “Please, don’t make me watch—”

  He grabs my arm and yanks me into the small room. Closing the door behind him, he brings his mouth to my ear. “You will sit, because the alternative is chains and whips, busted eyes and broken bones, John Holsten raping you, sodomizing you, and Tiana’s death going unpunished.”