by Cat Mason
“This isn’t real,” I chant, shaking my head. “This isn’t happening.”
“It feels real though, doesn’t it, Henley, darling?” Daniel’s voice turns my blood to ice. Releasing his hold, he moves my way. Each step he makes is calm and confident. Straightening his tie, he clicks his tongue in disapproval. “You think you’ve found some sort of strength since you left me. That, because you sleep in his bed, you no longer belong to me.”
“I never belonged to you, Daniel,” I ground out, grabbing Colt’s gun. Jumping to my feet, I aim, ready to empty the damn thing into his skull.
“Wrong.” Stopping in front of me, his smile spreads. I press the barrel to his chest, my finger itching to pull the trigger. Bringing up his hand, he covers the top of the gun. “I own every fear you have about the future. Every hesitation you have about repeating the past. Every single time you second guess your steps is because of me. Because of the mark I’ve left on you.”
“No.” Closing my eyes tightly, I shake my head.
Knocking the gun from my hand, Daniel fists my hair, yanking so hard my eyes fly open. “He may have gotten in here,” he growls, pressing a finger to my chest. “But, I’m here.” His fingers move to my temple. “Nothing will ever fix the ways I’ve broken you.”
“No!” I scream, bolting upright in bed. Leaping to my feet, I quickly crumple to my knees, frantically trying to catch my breath. Pressing a hand to my chest, I stare at the flashing alarm clock on the nightstand while I internally count each time I inhale and exhale.
The panic attacks I hadn’t had since shortly after leaving Daniel, have come back with a vengeance in the days since Huck died. Nightmares make it impossible to sleep. I can’t shake the worry and dread that seems to consume my every thought. I feel like, at any moment, the wrecking ball will arrive to demolish what is left of my life.
The world I thought I had built on a foundation that could withstand the strongest storm, feels more like it is on sinking sand.
The bathroom door flies open. “Fuckin’ hell.” Colt’s large frame bolts into the room like a charging bull. Lifting me into his arms, he sits on the bed, settling me in his lap. “You’re not ready for this,” he blurts, pressing a kiss to my temple.
“The courthouse or the hospital?” I sigh, knowing that not only is Donovan’s bail hearing today, but tomorrow will be my first shift back at work since I was nearly killed in the parking lot.
“Both,” he answers confidently.
“That’s not how life works,” I tell him, huffing out a laugh. “I can’t hit pause every time I get overwhelmed.”
“Not tellin’ you to hit pause,” he fires back, knitting his brows together. “Hit stop.”
“No stop needed.” Taking his face in my hands, I press a kiss to his lips. Dropping his hands to my hips, he growls possessively against my mouth, his cock hardening against my ass. Pulling back, I smile. “I wouldn’t mind a slow-motion button.” Pushing to my feet, I head for the bathroom to get ready for the day, knowing good and well it is going to kick my ass.
Just like I knew it would be, the Knox County Courthouse is filled to max capacity. Press vans line the streets, cameras and reporters all gathering at the doors. “Of course, the Hammon P.R. team would turn this into a media circus shit show.”
“You ain’t kiddin’,” Colt agrees, pulling his car into a spot across the street.
“You think they’ll sell copies of his mugshot?” I ask, stepping out onto the curb. “I bet it’ll make one hell of a Christmas card.”
“Very funny,” Colt mutters, hooking an arm around my shoulders. “You sure you’re ready for this?”
“It’s just a bail hearing,” I reply, rolling my eyes. “Not like the judge will actually let him walk out of here today. Rachelle was pretty confident it would be astronomical if they did grant him bail at all.”
“Not what I meant, babe,” he says, jerking his chin toward where Daniel stands watching us from the steps while we cross the street.
Wanting to avoid the awaiting confrontation, Colt and I take the ramp up to the courthouse lawn. Not taking the hint, Daniel does an about face and heads straight for us. Cyrus and another man flank him, with two other men at their backs. “It’s like he clones those goons,” I grumble under my breath.
“Henley.” My entire body bristles at the sound of my name on his lips. What I wouldn’t give to take back the years I spent with this man. Now, all I can do is face him head on and show no weakness. Or mercy.
“Keep walkin’, Hotness,” Colt warns when I stop walking. “We’re not here for this shit.”
“No, we’re not.” Squaring my shoulders, I blow out a breath. “But here we go anyway.”
“You’re looking lovely as ever,” Daniel says, stopping in front of me.
“Daniel,” I blurt, a giggle bubbling up. “Going with the tattered and battered look I see. And here I thought this season was all about floral prints and earth tones.”
I try my hardest not to smile in satisfaction at the partially healing bruises on his face. Not that I am happy about the fact that my brother beat the brakes off my ex-husband. The last thing I want is for Donovan to serve time in prison over this piece of shit. The funny bit in this entire thing is Daniel’s constant need for maintaining his ever-perfect persona when appearing in public.
My brother took a piece of that by attacking him on his own turf and busting up his face. There will now be a flood of photos of the always flawless Daniel Hammon III looking like he was beaten bloody by an entire hockey team. There is a small part of me, the part that thinks I could rock an orange jumpsuit, that is a little jealous it wasn’t me that gave him the five-knuckle reality check.
The rest of me prefers the black dress and bright red heels I chose to wear today.
Colt chuckles, giving me a squeeze. Clearly insulted, Daniel straightens, tugging his shirt collar. I lose the battle with my smile. “Your brother seems to have gotten himself into quite the predicament.”
“Well, you know, Donnie.” I shrug one shoulder. “Besides, it’s looks like you got off pretty easy. Considering what provoked him in the first place,” I fire back, letting him know that I’m on to his bullshit.
“That’s up for judge and jury to decide, isn’t it?” he asks, his tone clipped and irritated. “From what I’ve heard, the District Attorney will be pushing for the maximum sentence. If the case moves forward.”
“If?” I ask, forcing myself to keep my voice even. “What the hell do you mean by if?”
Bait tossed. I know that was his intention the moment the slimy smile plays across his face. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, Henley, darling.” He starts to reach for me, stopping only when his eyes shift to Colt. Dropping his hand back at his side, he clears his throat, giving away his unease. “I think I’ve made that very clear.”
“Back off, motherfucker,” Colt spits angrily, his grip on me tightening almost to the point of pain. “There’s nothin’ my woman needs from you.”
“She also is perfectly capable of fighting her own battles and might just kick you in the balls if you call her ‘darling’ again,” I inform him, flashing a smile of my own.
Cyrus and the other three men at Daniel’s side step forward, their eyes all on Colt. Cyrus drops his hand to his exposed side arm, waiting for Colt to give him a reason to use it. Getting off on the power he has, Daniel holds up his hand. “That won’t be necessary. This is merely a friendly conversation.”
“Walk away, Hammon,” Colt snaps, his grip on me tightening. “You can bet your man won’t be plantin’ a gun on me when I bash those white capped teeth down your goddamn throat.”
Clearing his throat, Daniel looks to me again. “Always a pleasure, Henley.” Nodding his head, he straightens before turning his back to us and heading through the opened doors of the courthouse.
“I’d suck Satan’s flaming dick to be there when Karma comes back to bite that bastard on the ass for all the shit he’s done,” I gru
mble, looking up at Colt.
“Christ,” he grins, shaking his head. “You’re too fuckin’ much, woman.”
Making our way inside, we weave through a sea of reporters, all lined up and shooting off rapid fire questions at Daniel when he passes. He eats up the attention like a spoiled puppy. “There’s the guy’s sister!” a woman shouts, pointing to me.
“How does it feel knowing your brother attacked your husband?” an older man asks, pushing a recorder in my face.
“Ex-husband,” Colt and I fire off in unison.
“Were you aware that Mr. Wolfe was planning the attack on Mr. Hammon?”
“The invite must’ve gotten lost in the mail,” I answer sarcastically. “I’m pretty torn up about it.”
“Was this in anyway directed toward the Senator in response to his stance on the upcoming firearms reform bill?”
“Of course not,” I reply, waving them off. “It was just a little lover’s quarrel. Daniel is hellbent on working his way through the entire family. The Wolfes are like potato chips; you can’t have just one.”
“You know you don’t have to answer them, right?” Colt asks, though he doesn’t bother to hide his amusement when the reporters’ jaws all fall open at my response.
“Whatever,” I huff, yanking open the heavy wooden door to the court room. “My story is way more interesting than the truth.”
Inside the courtroom, Daniel and his entourage sit up front, right behind the DA, while Colt and I find a seat in the far corner on the opposite side of the room. It may possibly be the only way I don’t march myself over there, grab Daniel by the throat and demand he tell me what the hell he meant outside by ‘if’ this goes to trial. Or bash his head against the heavy wooden divider in front of him until he admits he set Donnie up.
Could he really be so mentally unstable that he can play God with my brother’s freedom like this? Does he really have that kind of power? Analyzing our conversation takes up the majority of my focus while we wait for the judge to enter. That and staring at the back of his head, willing it to explode like a melon.
A girl can dream, can’t she?
Proceedings begin nearly half an hour behind schedule, due to some sort of delay in the judge’s chambers. To my surprise, Donovan isn’t led out to sit with the others waiting to see the judge. “Where is he?” I ask quietly, glancing over at Colt.
“Probably keepin’ him in back,” he grumbles, giving my knee a squeeze. “Nature of the crime, and the way they’re pushin’ it, we’re damn lucky they don’t have him appear on webcam from solitary.”
Of course, being that our last name is Wolfe, we are stuck listening to all the cases of everyone from the first twenty-two letters of the alphabet before they call Donovan’s case. Standing, Rachelle steps out and makes her way to the front, carrying a blue file folder. A large door up front opens, two guards lead Donnie into the room. Orange jumpsuit and all, he moves toward where Rachelle stands, his wrists cuffed and shackled to a long chain that is attached to another set of cuffs on his ankles.
I look him over, my jaw nearly bouncing off the floor when I see his face. His right eye is nearly swollen shut. What little I can see of it is bloodshot. He has a split on his lip and a decent sized gash above his left eyebrow that has been closed up with butterfly bandages. Several of his knuckles are busted, with several tiny scrapes and cuts marring his hands. He looks like hell.
“Jesus,” I mutter under my breath, turning to Colt. “I thought you said he wasn’t hurt?”
Staring straight ahead, Colt’s jaw ticks, his other hand clenching into a tight fist. “He wasn’t,” he grounds out. “That must’ve happened in County.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I blurt, my heart squeezing at the thought of my brother not being safe.
“Keep it together, Hotness,” he says, giving my knee another quick squeeze before releasing it. “Now’s not the time.”
Looking over, I meet Donnie’s eyes. His brow furrows before shooting a look at Colt. The tell-tale of his ears turning red give away his irritation, just like it did when we were kids. Is he pissed that I’m here? Did he honestly expect I wouldn’t come today?
“Donovan Wolfe, you’ve been accused of trespassing on private property, assault, and possession of an unregistered firearm. How do you plead?”
“Your Honor,” Rachelle begins, flipping open a folder.
“Guilty,” Donnie barks, interrupting her. Rachelle’s eyes widen, her lips pressing into a hard line. She looks as shocked and angry as I feel. Looking over at me, Donnie stands tall. “I plead guilty.”
“What?” I gasp, clapping a hand over my mouth before I scream.
“You understand the District Attorney is seeking the maximum sentence in this case, Mr. Wolfe?”
Nodding his head, he turns back to the judge. “Yes, your Honor.”
“And you’re sure you wouldn’t like to discuss this with your attorney first?”
“No, your Honor,” Donnie replies confidently.
“Very well,” the judge says lifting his gavel. “Taking all aspects of your history into account, as well as your recent transgressions, I will have to rule in favor of the prosecution at this time and deny bail. It is my belief that you are a danger to the community. You will be remanded to County immediately, where you will remain until trial and sentencing.” he adds slamming down his gavel.
Donnie looks our way again, his eyes stopping on Colt. Something passes through his eyes. Something I can’t quite read. Looking at the man beside me, I see him nod in understanding. Breaking eye contact, Donnie bows his head before allowing the guards to lead him back through the same door he entered through moments ago.
“What the hell was that about?” I hiss though gritted teeth.
“Come on.” Standing, Colt grabs my elbow. “Let’s get outta here.”
Catching Rachelle storming for the doors, I stand to my feet. “Great idea.” Determined to get to the bottom of this bullshit, I take off after her.
“Hen,” Colt rumbles, reading me like a book.
“Rachelle!” I shout, taking the stairs as fast as I can in the heels I now regret wearing. Damn that woman and her long legs. Stopping at the bottom of the stairs, she blows out a breath, releases the hand rail, and slowly turns to face me. “What the hell was that?” I ask, throwing my hands up in frustration.
“Your guess is as good as mine,” she huffs, sounding annoyed. “Donovan was supposed to plead innocent. We had discussed this several times. I’d get the weapons charge dropped and the rest would’ve been pled down to a minimal sentence. He’d get six months. Hell, maybe even serve his time under house arrest.”
“Now what?” I ask, not exactly sure I want the answer. “Did you see him? He’s not safe in there.”
“I’ll do what I can.” She shakes her head. “But that guilty plea is like a nail in a coffin. Max on these charges can carry fifteen years.”
“Fifteen?” My entire body deflates. “Shit.”
“Look.” Her voice calms, sounding sincerely concerned. “I don’t know why Donovan decided to jump the gun. When we last spoke he was optimistic we would beat this. So was I. I’m not giving up, but I also don’t want to give you any false hope. It doesn’t look good.”
“Thanks,” Colt says, coming to stand beside me.
She nods. “I’ll be in touch once I’ve seen him.”
Rachelle turns, her heels clicking across the tile with every step she takes toward the door. I don’t know what to do. Losing another brother is not an option. And I know with everything in me that if days inside has him looking like he does now, Donnie getting sentence like Rachelle is talking about is as good as signing his death warrant.
The wear and tear of the last few weeks has taken its toll. My strength is wearing thin. My spirit battered and bruised. I feel like a piece of glass, cracking beneath the weight of everything around me. All that I have grinned and bared, everything I have bottled up, feels like it may explode at any time.
Who the fuck said life had to be so goddamn hard?
Not that I’ve ever had it easy…
“How about we press that pause button?” Colt offers, slipping an arm around my shoulders. “Worryin’ about shit we can’t change doesn’t help a damn thing.”
Blowing out the breath I have been holding, I lean into his side, absorbing his strength and warmth as we walk. “Is this the part where we go burn tread off your tires?”
Squeezing me tight, Colt chuckles. “Damn right.”
Eighteen
Colt
After nearly an hour of blowing through miles of winding road, and screeching up and down the abandoned runway, we head back to the clubhouse so I can bring the guys up to speed. As expected, Henley disappears downstairs the moment we step through the door. The last thing she wants to do is repeat the day’s events a dozen times to the girls.
They’ll give her a pass. For now.
“Jinks is lookin’ for ya!” Jace shouts from behind the bar. “He’s in his cave.”
“Not lookin’ very hard then, is he, kid?” I ask, giving the punk shit.
Rounding the bar, I snag the beer he is opening from his hand before he can hand it to Schrader. “Thanks.”
“Fucker,” Schrader grumbles, throwing the bottlecap at my head.
Taking a swig, I head down the hall toward Jinks’s room. “Yo!” I shout pounding on the door.
“Fuck off!” he shouts at the same time something slaps against the wall. “I’m busy.” There is a mix of grunting and groaning, followed by another whack to the wall. “That’s it. On those knees, sweetheart. I wanna hear you beg me to fuck that pretty mouth.”
“Jesus,” I grumble, yanking a hand through my hair. Downing another swallow from the bottle, I boot open the door. Jinks has Double D on her knees in front of him, his cock buried balls deep in her mouth. “She can’t beg if you’re ticklin’ her tonsils.”
