Hard Love (Guns & Ink Book 2)

by Shana Vanterpool

  The woman was an illusion, a mirage in the distance I wanted so badly to make a reality. But tragedy turned my heart inside out. It made me believe I’d never know love again. It hardened a soul that wanted hers.

  I stood and wrenched the back door to my Charger open. “Get in,” I ordered, watching her perfect pale ass as she crawled into my car. I sank down in the back seat and closed the door.

  She immediately started working on my zipper. But I wanted her mouth. “Kiss me,” I demanded, devouring her mouth the moment she gave it to me. “I love you,” I promised, tasting her every inch.

  “Uh-huh,” she mumbled drunkenly, still fighting with my zipper. She freed it and pulled it down. “Love you too.” She whimpered against my lips.

  I loved how high she looked, how the glimmer in her eyes looked like insanity. I freed my cock and then grabbed her waist, lifting her body onto my lap. I lined my cock up with her tight heat, and then Catherine sank onto me slowly, taking me inch by inch into her. We didn’t move once she’d taken me all. Her tight, wet pussy trembled around me, and a shudder traveled over her. Her eyes rolled into the back of her skull and her fingers dug into my jaw where she held my face.

  I wrapped an arm around her lower back and used my other hand to move her head close. I guided her head until her beautiful face was nestled in my neck. I settled that hand on her ass, and then I pulled out and then thrusted back into her. She cried out, a senseless magical scream. I fucked her as hard as I could. She held me tightly, not even trying to keep up this time.

  I thrusted into her roughly, taking out my anger, taking out my loss. I’d lost so much, and for so long that’s all I was. A human body empty of emotion and full of loss. Until Catherine. My loss started to dissipate. And in its place, was this.

  Passion.

  Her entire body tightened when she orgasmed. Her inner muscles clamped down on my cock, keeping me in place as she trembled. She shouted in my ear, clutching the back of my head for dear life. I wanted her to rip my hair out at the roots. I drove into her deeper, growling when my scalp burned. Harder, deeper, filling her as much as I could.

  She rose up and put her hands in her hair, riding my cock unabashedly. I cupped her breasts through her shirt, pinching her tight little nipples. Our thighs slapped together and the fog of our heat clouded the back windows. Our eyes locked. I didn’t hide what I felt. I let her see it.

  Her eyes widened and then she closed them. A tear streamed down her cheek a moment before her second orgasm ripped through her. She contorted on my lap, pink lips open in a soundless gasp. I followed her into my own end, falling head over fucking heels in love with her. She collapsed onto my chest. I hugged her to me, our hearts pounding. The scent of her shampoo smelled like mine. She must’ve used my soap before she left to save me.

  Something about that made me hug her harder.

  “Turn your evidence over to the police. Let them do their job. And let yourself heal.” She kissed my neck tenderly. “Demons be damned. I’m keeping you.” Her lips skimmed my jaw and found my lips, making love to my mouth, this slow, tender kind of love.

  I rubbed the globes of her ass, her smooth flesh heating my palms. “I think I’ll keep you, too. If for no other reason than this ass.” I spanked her, chuckling when she giggled.

  “I’m torn. I love your beard, but I love your clean-shaven jaw too.” She moved on my lap, putting her head on my left. She kissed my scar tenderly. “Don’t hide your scar. It’s a battle wound. Shows how strong you are.”

  A tidal wave of emotion crashed into my chest. I cleared my throat. “I hate looking at it. People see it and ask questions. Hiding it saves me the trouble of reliving that night all over again.”

  She rose on my lap and sat back, her eyes bright. “Can I put a tattoo over it?”

  “I can’t exactly be a functioning member of society with a neck tat, babe.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You’re not a member of society anymore. You’re in love with me. Queen of the outcasts. I’ll sketch you something. Think about it?”

  For her, I’d think about anything. “You can tattoo over it.”

  She traced my ugly scar. “Something soft, but dark.” I watched her brain churn. “Maybe your family’s initials wrapped around a rose thorn? Work their letters into each thorn? Wrap the vine in agony, this dark swath of shadows. Turn the agony into light, rich purple, have that be the backdrop. I’ll always know the scar is there. You too. But covering it will give you a chance to breathe.”

  I stared at her talented, beautiful face. “I love you, Catherine. So fucking much.”

  She pressed her forehead against mine. Her smile this close was the best kind of magic. “I love you too, Brando. So fucking much.”

  I didn’t see the two men lurking outside my hotel room until it was too late.

  Because revenge clouded the mind. I hadn’t minded if Angus Joel and Monty Unger found me. Hell, I’d wanted them to, spending the last couple hours before Cat showed up laying down a trail of ash for them to follow right to me. I’d blow them away and then turn myself in.

  But that was before Cat.

  Before I changed my mind.

  Before the bomb between us exploded and took everything with it.

  Chapter Twenty

  Catherine

  My body was spent.

  My head was in the clouds, picking apart the stars and stuffing them in my pockets for later. Brando’s body stilled beneath mine, and even that wasn’t strong enough of a reason to come down. I never wanted to come down.

  “Cat,” he said stiffly. “Don’t move.” He grabbed my hips and stilled me. His fearful eyes met mine.

  I did what he asked, falling from the clouds recklessly. “What’s wrong?” I whispered, but somehow, I already knew. What would Brando fear but the men who were supposed to fear him?

  His eyes closed in regret for half a second. “My Glock’s in the room.”

  “And your tires are popped,” I added, my tone just as regretful.

  “Lie down. Slowly,” he hissed, when I fell to my side. He followed me, lying on his back awkwardly. He started working on his jeans. “Put these on.” He kicked them off, leaving him in a pair of loose black boxers as I struggled into his pants. “Do what I say. Don’t argue with me,” he warned when I blinked. “Get out of the car slowly, and then run. Do you hear me?” He grabbed my face between his hands and peered deeply into my eyes. “Run, Catherine, until you know you’re safe.”

  I could do a number of things. One of course being listening to him. But if I ran, that left him alone, and there was nothing in me that would allow that. I grabbed his hand defiantly over my face. “Let’s wait for them to leave.”

  “Damn it, Cat. Is there any chance you’ll ever learn to do what you’re told?”

  I blinked.

  “Yeah, probably not,” he grunted. “I hate feeling helpless. I want to go out there and break their necks.”

  “But you can’t, because I’m here,” I whispered, but there was an edge of unease in my tone I hoped he didn’t pick up on. He had a wild edge to his eyes. The two men he’d spent his adulthood chasing were right outside his car and I could feel the need in him for revenge. I realized in dismay that he’d done this on purpose. He’d led them to his hotel room, had his family’s urns all spread out, and had intended on ending his torment once and for all.

  My blood chilled, and I wondered if that was what my demons had been excited for. Not losing Brando. But losing … me. Demons were, after all, the worst kind of self-destructive.

  He hadn’t calculated me into his plans. “My cell is in my jeans pocket. If I open the door carefully and pull it through, we can call for help.” A minute ago, I was high, now I felt like I was careening for the ground.

  Please catch me, Brando.

  His cold eyes met mine. “On three?”

  On three what? I nodded. “On three.”

  He carefully opened the back passenger door to his Charger. The fresh air pulled
in, mixing with the scent of our lovemaking. It broke up the sweat and lust, leaving behind a chill that seeped its way into my bones.

  I poked my head between the seats to find the two men, both wearing black, peeking through the curtain on his room. One was talking, the other was watching. They were probably in their late thirties. There were lines etched in the man’s face who was quiet, and a frightening amount of dark energy rolled off his body. He was the scary one. The one behind him was sloppy, talking, walking, not a care in the world.

  “I can’t see inside,” I heard him say. Brando managed to nab my jeans on the floor and began pulling them inside.

  The quiet man’s jaw set and his eyes continued on. “Close the door,” I whispered, my heart pounding.

  A second before his eyes landed on the car, Brando managed to close the door with a barely audible click. He lay down slowly. I remained unmoving, watching the man who hadn’t made a sound. His eyes continued past the Charger. And I knew it in my bones that that was the man who’d killed his family. The talkative one had tried to kill Brando. That’s why he was still alive.

  I heard the emergency operator’s voice on the other end and Brando’s hushed whisper. “There are two men trying to break into my hotel room. I’m inside. They have guns.” He spat out the address, his eyes never leaving the space between the seats to peer outside. He didn’t even sound afraid. He sounded hungry. “My girlfriend’s outside, hiding in my car. I’m going to get her. I have to,” he insisted, and I looked at him suspiciously.

  What was he doing?

  He hung up. “Stay in the fucking car,” he said. He reached between the front seats and opened his glove box. He pulled out a sleek silver handgun. I watched in a trance as he undid the safety, checked the clip, and then leaned down and kissed me roughly on the mouth. “Don’t get out. Do you hear me?”

  I had transported into a horror-filled space in my mind. I couldn’t comprehend what he was telling me. What he was going to do. “Brando, no.”

  The room to his door clicked open and the talkative man grinned in triumph. The moment he pushed the door open, his face paled. “Monty, you have to see this. This fucking pig’s got our souls in that safe.”

  The quiet man’s eyes never stopped moving. He could feel us the same way we could feel him. And then he opened his mouth and worked his jaw. I gagged. He had no tongue.

  “Hard Rider’s signature punishment for a snitch or a disloyal member. Cut out his tongue, burn his vest—his cut, and brand his right arm with a skeleton with his mouth gaping open. My father ordered the ruling two nights before my family was killed. He won’t stop until I’m as quiet as he is. And I won’t stop until he’s as gone as my family is. Monty ordered Angus to cut my tongue out that night. But I fought back and he slit my throat instead. For thirteen years I’ve wondered what it would feel like to return the favor.”

  If I let that happen, I wouldn’t only lose him. I’d lose his beautiful soul. “If you do what I think you’re about to do, I will never forgive you.” I grabbed his shoulder and dug my fingers into his flesh. “I’m not playing around, Brando. Wait for the cops.”

  “I am a cop.” He pushed the door open and a silent sob escaped my lips.

  Everything happened in slow motion. The darkness in his soul took over. He wore his long sleeved black shirt and his loose black boxers. Black hair mussed, scar on display. Gun pointed at Monty and Angus like a dark angel of revenge.

  “Get in the fucking room,” he ordered, and both men turned around from the inside of his hotel room. “Ah ah ah,” he tsked, when Angus reached for his gun. “Hands on the back of your heads. Move once and I put a bullet in your skull.”

  Monty didn’t move. He stared at Brando and Brando stared at him. Two hunters closing in on their kill. The storm I thought was simply us turned into a storm I thought was purely his.

  My demons showed me the empty slot of life awaiting me without Brando. My heart showed me the atrocious depth of emptiness, too.

  I bolted from the car and ran to put myself in front of Brando.

  “Cat, no!” he bellowed, trying to shove me aside, his gun moving from his target.

  I didn’t realize why listening to my heart and demons was bad until I felt the burn of bullets tear into my back. I’ll probably never forget Brando’s scream, one so soul deep I knew he loved me more than he loved his revenge, and the sound of gunfire intensified.

  I hit the asphalt like a brick, the pain in my back blistering. I managed to lift my head, finding two men crumpled in the open doorway to his hotel. His family’s urns seemed to glow. I felt oddly satisfied. Brando got his revenge and he didn’t even have to lose his soul.

  He’d been protecting me.

  My eyes closed and my head hit the ground a moment before I heard his gut-wrenching sob and the sounds of sirens wailing in the distance.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Brando

  Blood caked my fingernails.

  My hands shook as I held them out in front of me. Cat’s blood. I heard my lungs struggling to breathe, the memories of her crumpled broken body biting into the asphalt, the smell of her blood in the air mixing with the tang of gunpowder. Her tattooed arm slung around her head, the moon shining directly on her face. Her beautiful face.

  I buried my face in my hands in the ICU waiting room. Two hours. She’d been rushed to emergency surgery. Four bullets in her back. The poetic justice falling down on me turned my stomach. I did that to her. She begged me. She warned me. But the desire for revenge had been too strong.

  It amazed me that I’d spent thirteen years wanting to make those two men pay, and the moment Cat was in danger, I hated putting them down. Her life in danger shifted my desires in a split second. What I had wanted no longer mattered, and what I needed did. I needed her.

  And she was fighting for her life. I rocked, back and forth, mumbling her name for what felt like hours. I got up ten times to ask for an update, and each time they told me the same thing. There was no news.

  I didn’t call anyone. Catherine was mine.

  Although I was sure I never deserved her, I knew it now. But where I agreed before, I denied it now. She was mine. And I failed her.

  At ten the next morning, after almost nine hours of being on an endless loop of torture, the San Antonio Police Department came to talk to me.

  “Detective,” they greeted, shaking my hand. “We need an hour, if you’re up for it?”

  I nodded numbly.

  They both sank down on either side of me. If they knew I was a detective, they’d already looked into me. They grilled me, writing down in their notepads. I didn’t bother lying. I told them everything. From thirteen to now. I came back to my hometown to kill them. I lured them to my hotel, but I hadn’t equated Cat showing up. I shot them because they shot her. But I would have shot them anyway.

  “Are charges being pressed?” I asked after everything was laid out, my tone empty. “First degree murder? Second degree?”

  The younger cop snorted. “Yeah right. We ran Catherine’s name for next of kin. Her father’s one of the largest banking investors in the world. He threatened the entire department if we drug her name, or his, into this. His daughter’s shot and two murderers are gone. That’s the story we have to tell.”

  I frowned. Cat didn’t talk to her family. And all her father cared about was protecting his name? “But that’s a lie.”

  “Not entirely. You called in a robbery. That’s what it was.” They both stood up. “My old man led your case back in the day.” He met my eyes. “He quit the force the day it turned cold. Could never get the image of your brother’s body out of his head. No one’s going to miss the bastards who killed your brother and your family. My old man can sleep easy tonight.” They both patted my back and walked away, leaving me there.

  Free. I didn’t deserve to be free.

  The moment they left, the doctor came out of the ICU, eyes tired. He looked around the room. “Mr. Hawkins?”

  I
bolted up. “How is she?” I braced myself, praying with all my heart and soul that my magical girl was still creating spells and wonder.

  “She’s stable, but she isn’t in the clear,” he warned, when I put my face in my hands in relief. “We’ve put her in an induced coma to give her body a chance to heal without the stress. She’ll need to rest. The bullets missed her organs, but they ripped through her ribcage and pieces of bones tore through her lungs, causing her left lung to collapse. We repaired the damage …”

  I tried to listen to him, but all I heard was that she was stable. I looked up to the sky and sent a silent thanks to the same force Cat pointed to in the parking lot. We’re allowed this. We had to have this.

  Please don’t let me kill this like I let my family down.

  “When can I see her?”

  He thought about it, staring into my eyes. “Are you her husband?”

  “Yes,” I answered, no hesitation, no thinking. “We haven’t had a chance to change her name yet,” I lied.

  He nodded, relieved. “You can see her now. I’ll have a nurse bring you back. Go have a seat.”

  I waited. And I waited. I paced, and I paced. I didn’t blink, didn’t dare doubt; I held on to the word stable. Even when the nurse brought me back and the sight of her shredded what was left of my soul. Was that how she felt? Staring at me? Wanting to touch me, to heal me. My chest hummed with my emotions. Regret, anger, and helplessness. The difference was stark though. She had been by my side because she’d wanted to be. I was by her side because I put her where she lay.