Convicted (Entangled Ignite) (14 page)

“Tell me where you sent that bitch.”

Katrina lifted her head slowly, letting the blood spill from her mouth. “I’m not telling you shit.”

A ripping sound. He’d cut through the fabric, yanking upward. Her jeans gaped, the threat beyond clear.

“Oh, you’ll talk.” His hand found her throat again, this time squeezing and pushing her flat to the wall. “Maybe not for me, but after every sumbitch in this place has had a turn on you? Oh yeah. You’ll do just about anything to make them stop.”

“No, I won’t.” Because this motherfucker wasn’t about to lay another hand on her. Slamming her head into his, there was the satisfying crunch of his nose beneath her forehead. Frank stumbled back, just as she brought her boot up as hard as she could manage, right into his groin. He dropped and his men threw her back into the wall again. It hurt, but at least they had to let her go to do it.

Big hands tried to get a hold of her, but Katrina wasn’t about to let that happen again. Kicking hard, she heard Shithead’s knee crack, sending the man to the ground screaming while she elbowed the other one in the gut. She got a step forward before Fuckface came at her from behind. The weight of him crashed them underneath the desk. Kicking and wriggling, she fought to reach behind the drawer, her fingers skating over the grip while she tried to get free. She swiped again for it, sending the drawer forward and into his head. Yelling, he got to his knees and dragged her out, despite her thrashing for a final grab for her gun.

Blood and brain sprayed across the wall behind him and Fuckface flew backward, slumping against his own spatter.

Katrina took a breath. Just one. There were easily fifty people in the next room who all knew the sound of a revolver. There was no time. Not if she wanted to stay alive. Not if she wanted to make sure Cade was, too.

She struggled to get her legs free of the corpse and crawl out of the small space between him and the desk. She got loose, tripping over Shithead, who was trying to get out of her way. Or maybe to another weapon, she wasn’t sure. She didn’t bother asking, stomping him in the face until he stopped moving.

For a ten-square-foot room, it had never felt so far to escape. Frank managed to get himself to his feet, planting himself in the way of the door. Sweating, huffing his breath while blood dripped off his chin and wouldn’t you know it, still holding that goddamn knife.

She raised the gun.

He smiled gruesomely. “Can you hear ‘em comin’, Katy?”

Like thunder in the hall. When they came through that door, there weren’t enough bullets to save her and they both knew it.

“Tell me where she is and I’ll kill you quick.”

Like hell he would. “What’s the matter, Frank? Shocked Shana finally got you by the balls? Or don’t any of your lackeys know she’s got them, too?”

His lips twisted into something uglier than she’d ever seen. He jerked forward, as if to charge. Just to make her flinch.

“Drop the knife, asshole.” She didn’t dare let her hand shake.

“Suck my dick.”

“Not even if you had one.” She pulled back the hammer. “Do it. Now.”

He stared at her, not cowed by any means. The pounding on the door behind him began. A second later, the wood around the lock began to splinter.

She fired.

Frank fell into the door to the chorus of angry yells. Blood formed a dark stain along his flank, turning his blue T-shirt sticky wet. She grabbed his hair and put the gun to his head, pulling him to his feet and spinning him in front of her as a shield while he swore. He screamed when she let go of his hair to shove her fingers into the exit wound.

“Oh, you
bitch
! I’m gonna carve your tits off—”

“Shut up and open the door.” It took some maneuvering, but her swearing little puppet managed to do what he was told. The crowd beyond already had their weapons drawn. “Back off or I’ll blow his head off.”

No one responded until she dug her fingers in again. Frank hopped to. “Move, damn you.”

Step by slow step, she made them give her a berth into the hallway, but instead of pushing forward, she headed toward the back door. Her bike was in that lot while everyone else was parked in front. Precious seconds to get a lead, if she could pull it off.

Someone could have gone around from the front, waiting to ambush her. But luck was with her. Nothing waited in the cold night air but her bike. Tense moments later, they were next to it. Now or never.

Frank seemed to figure out the same thing. “You’ll never get out of here alive, you know that, right?”

Of course she did. “Ask me if I give a fuck.”

If she died right now, she at least had the knowledge that she’d made this rat bastard bleed. Climbing onto the seat, she gave him one last dig into his wound, forcing him to his knees before she thumbed the starter. The bike rumbled to life and she kicked Frank toward his men. Then she fired into the crowd rushing toward her.

Whipping the bike around, ducking as low to the frame as she could, she peeled out of the lot as fast as the wheels would take her. Bullets whizzed past, searing where they brushed her skin but she hung on.

He’s not dead.

He’s not dead.

She held tightest to that.

Chapter Eleven

The pounding on the door damn near knocked Cade out of bed. He must have been more run down than he thought, because he had completely slept through the first few bangs. The clock next to his bed glowed an obscene time at him, especially considering he’d only gotten to sleep a little over an hour ago. He dragged his hand down half his face, acknowledging the knock with some obscenities of his own.

“Someone better be fucking
dead
,” he snarled as he dragged on a pair of sweats, then headed for the front door of his cabin. He threw open the heavy wooden door and stopped his mental bitching in its tracks.

“Not quite dead,” said the woman who should never have been on his porch. Despite the beginnings of a hell of a shiner and a smeared bloody lip, she managed a crooked grin. Katrina’s ebony crown usually fit perfectly under his chin. Tonight, the top of her head barely made it to the middle of his chest. She wasn’t so much leaning on the lintel as she was slipping down it, leaving a streak of blood as she went. “For a minute, though, it
was
kinda close.”

Cade caught her before she landed ass-first in his doorway. He lifted her, kicking the front door shut before gingerly setting her on his couch. She groaned as she settled on the rough but serviceable cushions.

“How bad are you busted up this time?” Old training kicked in and he went straight to the zipper on the chest of her white and blue leather jacket, pulling it down quickly but carefully. He checked her for broken bones and any serious injuries. All the while, his gaze kept coming back to the ripped white blouse and the dark red stain spreading under her breast and across her belly. He swallowed back the bile trying so hard to rise. “Any trouble breathing?”

“No. Can’t be too bad if I made it here, right? I left the bike at that truck stop a few miles back at the highway junction. Didn’t want to lead anyone back to you. Hoofed it the rest of the way up your mountain so I’m pretty sure I’m gonna live.” Her arms sank to her sides, one dangling off the edge of the couch, while she let him run his hands over her body.

His mind cut away to the last time he’d done this. The situation had been completely different. His hands were shaking then, too, because she’d been smiling, waiting for him to take what she was offering…

“I’m most concerned about the cut Frank gave me. It might need stitches.” She groaned, oblivious to his memories. “Asshole shredded my favorite jacket.”

He peeled back the torn fabric of her shirt, trying to be careful where the blood had dried it to her body, baring a four-inch slice in her perfect, golden skin. Skin that should never have been abused like this. Given the arc, she must have just barely gotten out of the way of Carter’s blade.

He kept the cabin stocked for just about any emergency. He’d know if she needed the suture kit once he got the wound clean.

Trina’s hand clasped his, dragging his attention from her body and back to those deep blue eyes. “I’m so glad you were here, Cade.” Her voice had dropped to that husky, raspy tone. The one that reminded him of whispered conversations in the dark, of an intimacy they never should have had. “When you weren’t at your house, I wracked my brain trying to figure out where you could be. This place was my last hope.”

Just like that, she had him tied up in knots all over again.

Cade grunted. It’s what she’d expect from him. Inwardly, he was having a hell of a time not jumping up to get a gun and hunt down the son of a bitch who’d done this to her. She clearly wasn’t telling him everything. The bruises on her throat, the way her shirt had been torn. He didn’t miss that her pants were cut open, either. They were barely hanging on, baring the blue silk of her underwear. And he remembered Hawkings. Had Frank been
corrected
tonight…or had it been her?

Tamping down the gurgling rage, Cade pulled his hand free and went to gather his supplies. First he grabbed his T-shirt from the chair and dragged it on. Being half dressed around Trina was an invitation to trouble, no matter how hurt she was. Next, the kit was easy to get. As big as a fishing tackle box, he kept it under the bottom shelf in the pantry.

He stopped at the cabinet beside the spartan dinner table and pulled out a bottle of whiskey. Catching his own reflection in the mirror over the cabinet, he took another precious second to pour himself a shot. Shaking hands and a roiling stomach weren’t going to help her. He threw the liquid back, the fire spreading down his throat for long seconds before finally fading into a warm, smooth aftertaste. He grabbed the bottle by the neck and went back to the couch.

“Tell me I get a swig of that.” Trina sighed. She raised a hand for the bottle.

“I have something else here for the pain, but I need to see your injuries so I know how much to give you.”

“No,” she replied quickly. “I hate being out of it. It’s not that bad, mostly bruises.”

“Deep bruises,” he corrected, looking at the purple swellings on her face. “Possibly even a concussion.”

“Then the last thing you want to give me is something to knock me out.”

“Liquor probably isn’t a good idea in that case, either.”

“I grew up in a bar. I’d need three of those bottles to even get a buzz.”

He didn’t like how true that probably was, but he handed her the bottle. Kneeling down, he lifted the heavy-duty latches on the case and flipped open the lid “How about you tell me what happened
this
time while I fix you up?”

“You say that like I’m always bleeding around you.”

“You are a woman who likes attention.”

“I like
your
attention,” she groused. “There’s a difference.”

His hands stilled, but when he looked at her face, her eyes were closed, her brow furrowed into deep, shuddering grooves. “Whose attention did you have today?”

“Everyone’s.” Trina’s thick lashes rose, her mouth quirking as she brushed unwanted moisture from the corner of her eye.

Would she slap his hand away if he tried to do it for her?

Without question.

Didn’t stop him from wanting to, though.

“Tell me something,” she demanded, clearing her throat and shifting restlessly against the couch. Moment of weakness over, apparently. “You ever pull a train in a dirty bar?”

That raised his eyebrows. “Not that I remember, no.”

“Well today wasn’t going to be my first time.” Her body went taut beneath the swipes of the towelette he used to clean the blood, before relaxing with decided effort. “Frank doesn’t kill people that piss him off, not right away. He’s a big believer in making them pay three times over first. His plans for me involved ambushing the shit out of me and throwing me like a chew toy to his men.”

He daubed the wound with gauze, forcing himself to keep his hands steady. Strangely enough, being so angry he could strangle someone went a long way toward derailing his usual reaction to the smell of blood and antiseptic. “How’d you get out of it?”

“Well, it turns out that when two guys are holding you in place by your arms, your legs are free to kick other people in the balls.”

He wouldn’t have thought it possible, but she managed to draw a grudging grin from him. Something about her always seemed to pull the humor out of him, even when he’d thought it long gone. “I’m guessing you’ve known that for a while.”

Her answering smile was tinged with exhaustion. “It’s come in handy every now and then.”

She hissed as he irrigated the shallow—thank God—wound. “Shit, Cade, why don’t you just pour the whiskey in? Might hurt less.”

“You wouldn’t have come here if you didn’t want it done right.”

“Maybe I came for the company.”

He grunted again. “We both know I’m not fit for that.”

She sighed, the way she always did when he said things that irritated her. “You’re about the only one in this town worth spending time with.”

“There’s good people in Marketta. The ability to take a stand is hard when someone keeps cutting you off at the knees.”
Her
gang. Even if he didn’t say it, he knew she heard the accusation. “Why’d he ambush you? Does he know about Shana?”

Her face turned toward him, her usual cocky grin nowhere to be seen. Instead a seriousness drew lines around her mouth and made shadows in her eyes. Didn’t seem right. He was the one who did the brooding. She was the one who dragged him into using the side of himself he’d forgotten. Worse, if he didn’t know better, he’d think the shade of those shadows was guilt.

“My uncle is dead.”

He frowned at the flat tone of her voice. Red Dog wasn’t her favorite human being on the planet, but he was still her family. “You all right?”

She shrugged. “I’m not even sure it’s true, but I can’t see Frank being willing to kill me if he wasn’t.”

“What would killing you do for him?” He couldn’t imagine Carter expending the energy without a good reason.

“You mean besides giving him access to Red Dog’s finances?” She seemed to gather from his raised brow that this would need explanation. “I’m my uncle’s benefactor—that’s why I’m handling his business while he’s locked up. With me out of the way, Frank can take over everything Red Dog owned.”

“Your uncle didn’t think that would put you in any danger?”

“He never said. He didn’t believe in much, but Red Dog did believe in loyalty. Blood loyalty.” There it was again, that hint of guilt. Like everything else, she shrugged it off. “Killing me also shows the rest of the club that Frank’s in complete command. My presence was always a sign that Red Dog still controlled.”

Reasons enough, Cade figured. But she wasn’t looking him in the eye. “That’s not all of it.” He knew it in his bones. She was still hiding something.

Slowly, dread in every centimeter of motion, she faced him. “He found out I’m not who he thought I was.”

Cade let his hands fall to this lap. This couldn’t be good. “Who are you then?”

She pushed out a breath. “Special Agent Katrina Killian, GS-13, DEA.”

For an entire three seconds, elation filled him. Pure, excited relief that he hadn’t gone off the deep end for a criminal who may or may not kill him in his sleep. A blur of possibilities opened to him.

No more secrets.

No more holding back.

They could be together.

She could stop fucking lying to him.

He could stop fucking
letting
her.

It would be safe to be honest with her. To be able to believe her without question. To love—

But then he remembered who he was dealing with.

It wasn’t like he had a hell of a lot of restraint when it came to Trina and she knew it. Used his weakness whenever it served her. Every time he thought he could trust her, trust in how she felt about him, she screwed him over. Chasing him until she got what she wanted, then disappearing until her next emotional drive-by. He’d be a fool to take her at her word again. Getting used wasn’t on his agenda anymore.

He studied her, wishing he could take her at face value. A lot about her would make sense if it this were the truth, but he was too burned to jump in blindly on her say-so. “You don’t need to lie to get my help.”

“I’m not lying. I came home two years ago as part of an operation to infiltrate various California motorcycle clubs and take out their drug smuggling avenues. Someone got the idea of accessing agents with an already established history that could be embellished and they found me. They gave me a chance to come back here and take Red Dog and Wheels of Pain out. And I did it. I got that man for the murder of three federal agents and he was going to spend the rest of his miserable fucking life in a ten-foot cell. But now he’s dead, you don’t believe me, and everything I’ve done is for fuck all now that Frank knows the truth.”

He opened the packet of butterfly bindings, his temper ramping up to match hers. “Why the hell
should
I believe you? After everything else you’ve lied about?”

“I’ve given you more truth than anyone else in my life.” Her quiet words felt like an accusation.

He shook off the sting. She didn’t get to pick and choose which sides of herself did or didn’t hurt him. Right now especially, she didn’t get to play the woman who had charmed her way into his life, who had seemed as if she actually cared about him. As if she might even lo—

He didn’t let himself finish that thought.

It didn’t matter.

If it were true that she were undercover, she could have said something before they’d found themselves denting the shit out of his car hood, knowing nothing else could ever come of it. Before she’d ripped out what was left of his heart.

Martially, he knew that didn’t make sense but it was what he felt and damn it, she was the one who made him feel in the first place. What he felt most was fucking confused and messed with, just like all the other times she was after something.

No, this had to be another game. He was sure of it.

Absolutely sure, until she opened her mouth again.

“Someone in your department sold me out.”

…

Trina didn’t expect Cade to believe her. He had every right to be hurt and angry. She’d been lying to him for so long. All the same, a twinge of disappointment panged deep within at his prolonged silence. He didn’t even say anything about her accusation of a rat.

“There was more than you and me on the line. It wasn’t about trusting you. It was about keeping us both safe. Don’t you understand that?”

Still nothing.

The silence dragged until she felt like twitching. “Would you have told me, if you were in my place?”

“I wouldn’t have
been
in your place,” he finally answered quietly. When he lifted his gaze to hers, the blazing anger within it seared like red-hot steel. “I wouldn’t have come to you. I wouldn’t have insinuated myself into your life. I wouldn’t have made you feel something for me I wasn’t willing or able to reciprocate. I wouldn’t have fucked with your head for a case.”

She flinched. All of it was true. And so very wrong. “I wasn’t fucking with your head. Not on purpose. I was… I—”

“You were
what?
” He leaned forward, until they were almost nose to nose.