Broken Rules: Book 3 in The Broken Road Series

by Huie,Melissa

  After my shower, I put on a pair of hot pink gym shorts and a black tank top, pulled my medium-length brown hair into a messy knot and slipped on my sneakers, and threw my clothes into the duffle bag. After ensuring that everything I needed was packed, I left the apartment keys on the counter for the next occupant and took the two gun cases and the rest of the bags down to the car.

  I surveyed the garage as I walked to my spot, close to the elevators. At six in the morning on a Sunday, my only companion was a lizard on the wall. I chirped the car, dropped the bags into the packed trunk and backseat. But I made sure I left enough room in the trunk for the roof. I got inside the luxurious cabin and pressed the ignition button, then lowered the roof. Seeing as how it would be my last drive in Florida and all, I might as well do it up right.

  I slid on my cute-as-hell-but-fake-as-sin Gucci sunglasses and pulled onto the street, headed north. It was time to leave this version of ‘Kate Parker’ and Florida behind, and to go back to being myself. Problem being, I didn’t know who she was anymore.

  Chapter 1

  October 2016

  I’M NEVER DRINKING again.

  Sunlight streamed through the wooden shutters, right into my eyes. I grimaced at the onslaught of nausea, and drew the blanket back over my head. At twenty-seven years old, I’d had my fair share of hangovers. But today’s punishment seemed to take the cake. Ha, make that wedding cake. I chuckled softly at my own joke, only to wince at the slight movement.

  A deep groan echoed my pain, and my heart jumped into my throat. Evidently, I wasn’t alone, and a quick check under the blanket confirmed I was completely dressed in a tank top and my black boy shorts. I quickly retraced what happened the night before, and sighed with relief. Thankfully, this random hook up wasn’t with a complete and total stranger. I shouldn’t have been surprised to see Justin McGill at Shane and Megan’s wedding. We met once I returned to Maryland this year, when everyone was hanging out at their favorite pub, The Double J. And since then, we’d hooked up occasionally, normally when the stress was too much, and my vibrator wasn’t cutting it. The sex was okay—not mind-blowing—but enough to take the edge off.

  “Shit, Kate. What the hell did we drink last night?” he grumbled, his voice thick with sleep.

  “I blame Cheryl’s moonshine cherries. We were popping them like candy,” I replied, and rubbed the sleep from my eyes.

  “That cousin of Shane’s needs to bottle that shit. She’d make a mint.” He tossed the thick blue blanket off his legs, revealing his morning wood hidden underneath a pair a boxer briefs. Justin glanced down, then over to me. “Is there any chance you’d want to help me out with this?”

  I smirked. “Yeah, because that gets me real wet. Sorry, Justin.” I sat up slowly to avoid any lingering dizziness, and managed to roll out of bed. “I’m going to jump in the shower, alone,” I stressed at his raised eyebrows, “so I’ll see you around.” I hid my grin at his forlorn look and walked into the attached bathroom. I was no stranger to the walk of shame, but I’d be damned if I was going to do it in front of my whole family.

  According to the smells wafting up from the main level of Megan and Shane’s farmhouse, the post-wedding brunch was almost ready, so after my shower, I threw on a pair of yoga pants, sports tank, and a hoodie, then headed down the stairs.

  The clanging of pots and pans mingled with adult laughter in the kitchen, and the smell of bacon permeated the air. I followed the scent of cinnamon rolls into the kitchen where Megan’s mom, Norah, manned the stove while my mom, Cathy, pulled a quiche out of the oven. My stomach, despite its earlier rolling, growled at the sight of the smorgasbord laid out on the antique sideboard. I pinched a piece of sausage and made my way through the dining room. The house was about to burst at the seams with friends and family who spent the night, following the festivities of the day before. Hell, I don’t think the bride and groom went to bed until after three in the morning.

  “About time your ass got out of bed,” quipped my stepbrother, Cole. I took in his dreary brown eyes and pale face, and knew right away he felt the same way I did.

  “It’s only ten in the morning, jerk.” I grabbed a mug and poured myself some coffee from the carafe. “Do you want some more?”

  He nodded, then groaned at the movement. “Rough night?” I teased. I handed him his mug, and sat down beside him.

  “Kyle’s home brew is no joke. How are you so happy? The last I saw, you, Jennifer, and Charlie were downing those moonshine cherries. There’s no way in hell you’re not feeling it this morning,” he grumbled, his head down on the table.

  “I’m just a better actor than you are.” Better actor my ass. I knew better than to come to the table with a hangover. My mom had no sympathy for hangovers, and would make the nastiest runny eggs and diluted coffee for breakfast, all while playing Frank Sinatra at maximum volume, any time Cole or I would come down to the table from a night of drinking too much. I learned my lesson quickly, and that lesson was to never let Cathy Parker see you hungover.

  “She’ll see through your act. You aren’t that slick,” he mumbled, and took a sip of the strong brew. I stuck my tongue out at him. Juvenile, I know, but hell, my brother brought the best out of me. A loud cheer rang out, announcing the presence of Shane and Megan.

  “What are they cheering for? Consummating their marriage?” Cole quipped, his eyes somewhat clearer now that he had half a cup of coffee in his system.

  I smacked his arm. “Don’t be a jackass. Give them their weekend. They sure as hell earned it.”

  “Yeah, well, I sure earned those cinnamon rolls Mom just pulled out. Back away, they’re mine!” The caffeine must have finally kicked in because he shot out of his chair like a rocket over to Mom and her famous breakfast treats. I rolled my eyes, confident that Mom made more than one batch, and waited my turn. Plus, the fact that she was a stickler for manners, Cole wouldn’t get away with cutting in line.

  My patience was justified as I watched Mom smack Cole on the hand with the spatula. He’d never learn.

  “Watching your brother get in trouble with your mom is not what I expected to be doing on the morning after my wedding,” Megan laughed behind me. I twirled around and grabbed the new wife, and my best friend, in a tight hug.

  “You’re part of the Turner-Parker family now. All get-togethers are like this,” I replied, helping her into the chair next to me. Ever since the bullet from Tommy’s gun damaged her hip, Megan had had difficulty walking, so she used a cane for support—a cane we decked out with paint and polka dots, specifically for the wedding.

  “That’s for damn sure,” my stepsister Charlie piped in, settling down in the seat next to Megan, with two plates piled high with cinnamon rolls, blueberry scones, bacon, quiche, and fruit. She passed around some forks and small plates, and we all dug in.

  “I can’t wait for the holidays. That’s all Shane has talked about this summer. Apparently, Thanksgiving is a sight to behold,” Megan said with a smile.

  “Oh, it is. Dad’s family is huge, and they all come over to our tiny little house. Shane’s parents, Shane, and sometimes his grandparents, would join us, and we’d get packed like sardines in the living room.” Charlie’s bright green eyes danced brightly at the memories.

  Shane and Cole, and by extension, Charlie and I, grew up together in Essex, a blue-collar community outside Baltimore, Maryland. Shane and Cole were joined at the hip from the time they were in diapers, to the day Shane moved away after his parents died in a horrible car accident. After they passed, our Thanksgiving dinners weren’t the same. Sure, we had the massive amounts of food and people, but not having Simon and Amelia Turner there didn’t feel right. They were our second set of parents. Both sets of parents looked out for us, as if we were all one big family. They nursed our skinned knees, refereed our fights, and made sure we had plenty of s’more fixings and popsicles to keep our weekends full.

  When Shane moved away after his parents died, we tried to stay in touch with him, but h
is world turned upside down. Shane withdrew from everyone he loved, and it was only when he reached the depths of Hell did he finally ask for help. He was in deep with the Cruz Cartel, a dangerous group with international drug and gun running ties, that help came from Megan’s Uncle Bob, a federal attorney. Bob assisted him with the deposition and, with some insistence and deal making, Shane became a narc for the FBI. By then, I had already been through Quantico, and had just wrapped up my first case when I was approached to be on Shane’s.

  “I know he hates the fact that he missed so much with you guys,” Megan said wistfully.

  I nodded. “I’m sure he does. So do we, but you know what? We’re a family again, and now we have you and Katie. You’re stuck with us, kid.” I rubbed her hand and smiled. The journey Megan and Shane took was a long and tortuous one. To think, that four months ago, we weren’t sure we would see the day they would finally say ‘I do,’ because we didn’t know if Megan would be alive to see it. She was collateral damage in a shoot-out with the Cruz Cartel, led by Tommy Greene, ex-FBI agent, my former partner, and crazy enough, Megan’s ex-fiancé. Tommy had everyone fooled. Even though I ‘d figured out the truth at the last minute, the truth was a smack in the face, that Tommy was the ghost son of the head of one of the most dangerous international cartels. That he gave the order to kill two of Shane’s close friends, and tried to kill Megan’s brother, Kyle. And once Tommy found out that Shane was the narc, he used Megan as bait to lure Shane into thinking he was safe.

  After he shot Megan and dropped her into the ocean in Miami, he managed to get away on his father’s boat. Despite my best efforts, I wasn’t able to get a good shot. I kick myself every day for not taking down that asshole. And more so, because I couldn’t get top brass at the FBI to listen to me. Now that Tommy’s double-crossing was exposed, the higher-ups finally realized that I wasn’t full of shit. That my detective work was sound, and that I was fucking right. So now, my team and I were on the hunt for the elusive bastard. A man that’s been one step ahead of us, who knew all our plays and moves, and had more connections than the phone company, which has made hunting him very difficult.

  “So, ladies, how are we feeling?” My train of thought was interrupted by Megan’s smug smirk. Charlie groaned, and put her head in her hands; her caramel, blonde hair shielding her.

  “I’m okay, I guess. Not feeling the greatest, but then again, I don’t know who would be after a night like that. I remember changing into sweats with you and Sarah, and coming out to the bonfire by the barn, and dancing with a couple guys from Adrian’s shop. Eating those damn cherries and drinking. Definitely, a lot of drinking. Enough to end up in bed with Justin McGill,” I quipped, sipping my coffee.

  “Justin? He’s pretty cute. Where is he, anyway?” Megan peered around the twenty or so people milling around.

  “He rolled out. We did our thing last night, and I shut him down this morning.” I drained the last bit of my coffee. “He’s good looking and all, and we have a good time, but it’s just a casual thing. He’s not really my type.”

  “Kate, no one is your type,” retorted Charlie, brushing a strand of hair of her face.

  True enough. “Well, if they have a big cock…”

  “Kate Parker, you hussy!” Megan shrieked, and swiped my arm. I laughed and got out of my chair.

  “What can I say? I know what I want, and when I want it. And right now, I want more coffee. Anyone want more?” Charlie held out her cup, but Megan stood up slowly, using her cane for minimal support.

  “I have to make my rounds. I haven’t seen everyone in forever, and I feel that I didn’t get a chance to see everyone yesterday.” She kissed my cheek. “I’m so glad you’re back, Kate.”

  I grinned. “Me too.” Which wasn’t a total lie. I loved being back with my family, Shane and Megan included. But despite bouncing around Florida and New York City over the past five months, the case was at a lull, and I was itching for some action. I rolled my shoulders and cracked my neck. Maybe a little time at the gym would make me feel better.

  I ate my weight in cinnamon rolls and quiche, then socialized with family before sliding on my sneakers, and said my good-byes. I lingered over baby Katie, my namesake, my goddaughter, and Shane and Megan’s baby girl. At nine months old, the little girl had had so much chaos in her life, and I was thankful that it hadn’t affected her little world, the way it had ours. But I was damn sure that I wouldn’t let it affect our lives anymore.

  Thankfully, the sun was warm enough for me to take the windows out of my Jeep Wrangler. I drove to Tactical Redemption with the wind in my hair and Breaking Benjamin in my ears. I missed my Lexus convertible, but the payments were putting a hurt on my wallet. I pulled into the empty parking lot. Normally, the center was busy as hell during the summer months with police and military training, and then again, right after the New Year, with all the resolution-making dummies. MMA had really become mainstream, and everyone and their mother wanted to be the next Chuck Liddell. But nearly everyone dropped out within the first month. As Sketch, Cole’s co-owner of Tactical Redemption once told me, “It’s all about separating the dicks from the pussies.”

  The 10,000 square foot warehouse was divided into three main sections, with one area for mat classes like wrestling, Muay Thai, and Krav Maga. The area on the left was for boxing and strength training, while showers, lockers, and bathrooms were in the back. Weapons and tactical training were done either on-site for the various federal and military teams, or on the five-acre field behind the warehouse.

  Heavy metal blared through the speakers, and the smell of bleach permeated the air, telling me that Sketch had already done one of the twice daily mat bleaches. I threw my hoodie into my locker and wandered upstairs to the office, to say hi to Sketch.

  If a random stranger walked into his office, they’d run away without saying a word. Especially since Murray, Sketch’s huge gray Mastiff, was always the first to greet you. To say Sketch was a formidable looking man was putting it lightly. At six-foot-four and two-fifty, the man was pure muscle. With broad shoulders, narrow waist, and fully covered in tattoos, you would take one look into his almost black eyes and pee your pants. But if someone took the time to get to know him, they’d learn that despite his piercings and tattoos, Sketch was a good man. Quiet and calculating, he didn’t need to talk much to get his point across, and he didn’t allow many in his inner circle. But whoever broke through, he trusted completely. If anyone knew what that was like, it would be me.

  “What’s up, Sketch?” I leaned against the doorframe to the bare office. Not much for the pretty things, when Sketch built the center, the office area was an afterthought, preferring to spend his money and creative design on the center itself. He was fine with the bare minimum—a long folding table for his desk, a filing cabinet, and a chair for himself. He didn’t even have chairs for visitors, because in his words, “If people wanted to sit in your office, they don’t belong in the center to begin with. All talking can be done in the ring.”

  He looked up, his eyes penetrating mine. “Nothing much, Tink.” I sighed at the nickname he bestowed on me last Halloween. You go as a slutty Tinkerbell to one stupid costume party, and the nickname sticks with you forever. “How was brunch this morning?” Never one to purposely miss a meal, Sketch had to roll out before the festivities to open up the gym. Of course, once my mom and Norah heard I was going to the center, they made sure to pack a bag for him.

  “Awesome, as usual. The moms packed you some leftovers.” I handed him the thermal cooler, which he opened with gusto.

  “Thank God for mothers,” he muttered, pulling out a container of quiche, and going over to the microwave on top of the filing cabinet. “Are you looking to spar today?” he asked, as the quiche heated up.

  “That depends. Are you looking to get your ass kicked?” I asked with a smile.

  He snorted. “Yeah, okay, Tink. Sorry to burst your bubble, but I wasn’t offering. I have my buddy coming in later to check the place ou
t. I’d take him on, but I have to get this accounting done before the end of the quarter.”

  I sighed. A new recruit could mean one of two things. Either he’d be completely green and jumping on the MMA bandwagon, or he’d done enough training to think he was the next big thing. Whatever hole he fit in, it wasn’t worth my time. “What do you want me to do, Sketch?”

  The microwave dinged, and he pulled out the piping hot quiche. “Show him around, answer any questions. Maybe spar a little. You know this place like the back of your hand, so it’s not gonna be a big deal. He’s a good dude. I used to roll with him back in high school, and he knows his shit.”

  I shrugged. “Sure, why the hell not.” Of course, he was going to owe me big time for it.

  “You rock. He’ll be here in about an hour, so you have time to hit the bags,” he said with a wicked grin. “Now, get out of here, and let me eat in peace.”

  I gave him the one-finger salute and headed to my locker to get started. After stretching and going through my warm-up routine, I wrapped my hands with the pink tape from my locker, grabbed my water bottle, and headed to the heavy bags. In the zone, I focused all my energy on the hits, picturing Tommy’s body and face at the receiving end of my punches. Fury flowed through me as I remembered the low and terrifying angst in Shane’s voice when he called me from Ocean City in May. The rage when I saw the picture he sent to Shane of Megan gagged, bound, and knocked out from the drugs he’d used to kidnap her. The dangerous smile he gave, holding the gun to her head as Cole, I, and the rest of our team barreled down the pier. The cry of agony from Shane when Megan was shot in her side during her struggle with Tommy. The frustration at not being able to take his ass down yet. Every pent-up emotion poured through each of my hits. Argh!