Convicted (Entangled Ignite) (9 page)

She held onto his shirt, almost pulling it from his under his belt. “Don’t leave like this.”

“Like what?” he asked, backing away so he didn’t make a bigger fool of himself by grabbing her and forcing her to feel the same gut-wrenching need that he did. As if he could.

“You’re mad.”

She had no idea. “Do me a favor,
Katy
,” he added. The look on her face said the name stung. Good. It felt like shit in his mouth, knowing there was nothing personal in it. Katy was who she was to everyone else. To the people who judged her without knowing her.

There
couldn’t
be anything personal in it. Not as long as she stayed with a group like that. Not until she was willing to cross to his side of the line, something he could see was never going to happen. “Don’t come back to me again.”

“Cade—”

But he couldn’t listen. Not if he wanted to keep it together. Not if he wanted to keep her out of harm’s way. So he walked. And hated himself a little bit more every step of the way.

…

Katrina leaned back into the uncomfortable leather booth seat, one booted foot stacked over the other. She crossed her arms snugly over her body as she relaxed.

She finally had a few minutes to rest and for the first time in a long, long while, the bar was something close to quiet. She had her room in the back to sleep in, but she’d found scratch marks on the locks and she didn’t trust any of these bastards farther than she could kick them.

She never thought she’d find herself missing the guys from the crew she’d grown up around. Those men were hard, yes, but they’d had a code. Not of honor, exactly, but trust. Not one of those men would have tempted Red Dog’s wrath by violating the bar or his niece.

These men now…Like a pack of rabid wolves, they were bound together only because they had a similar goal—money. They’d do anything for it and screw anyone over to get more. The rapid growth of the crew under Frank’s control had only made a bad thing worse. She was far safer out here in the open where the exits were only a few feet away. Trapped in a small room with four walls and a deadbolt? Like hell.

She couldn’t wait to get her hands on enough real evidence to put each and every one of them in prison for the rest of their lives. She’d spent two years around these fuckers with precious little to show for it. Who would have thought it would be easier to nail Red Dog? When she’d come home, pretending to be little more than a street scrapper who’d run out of road, he’d eventually slipped up where she could find it. Frank wasn’t so complacent.

Wired recordings from the meeting room only gave hints but nothing she could prove or prevent. Random violence and the petty shit, she had to leave to Rick and Cade. Even the local corruption wasn’t enough. She needed to get evidence on his source, but Frank kept her too leashed to know where the cocaine was coming from or even where it was headed. She needed more. The way she was going, though, who knew when—or even if—she’d ever get it.

She’d just about fallen into a much-needed doze when someone shoved her feet off and dropped into the booth with her. Someone with the unpleasantly familiar smell of mud mixed with shit, his expansive body nearly knocking her out of her seat. The charitable part of her wanted to give the benefit of the doubt that this guy had just gotten splattered with some accidental manure on the road, but she unfortunately knew better.

“Hawkings, if you want to keep your balls, you’d best get your ass out of my booth.”

Instead, a meaty hand gripped down on her thigh.

Katrina slit open her eyes.

Eric Hawkings smiled at her. He kept the top of his head shaved, so everyone could see the tattoo of a snake coiled around his skull. His thick beard was somehow still orange despite the grime covering him from head to toe. She had never seen him clean. Worse, he had a death wish to get between her legs.

“Move that hand before I cut it off.” She already had her switchblade open and in hand, tucked under her biceps.

He stroked upward, his grin turning into a leer. “Hey, I just figured, since you’re already fuckin’ that cop—”

Her blade slashed out, slicing through the top of his hand and halfway up his forearm before he managed to yank it back, swearing. Taking advantage of his preoccupation with catching his own blood, she lifted both feet and planted them on his body, kicking him unceremoniously to the floor.

Hawkings continued his swearing, looking for something to wrap over his wound. She grabbed a napkin from the dispenser on the table to clean the knife. There wasn’t much blood on it, since the cut was only a surface one, but dammit, she shouldn’t have to slice a guy to keep him off her.

If only that was what had her hand shaking slightly.

There’d been a time when Hawkings wouldn’t have come anywhere near her.

You’re in the shit now, ain’t you, Katy?
She could almost hear her uncle’s smug rumble. He hadn’t cared much when she’d gotten into trouble as a kid, but he had seen it as her responsibility to get herself out of it.

She still found it bitterly ironic that it was never her father’s gentle voice she heard when she was in trouble. It was always Red Dog, deep and graveling, taunting her into action. Something about his heartless approach to everything made the gears of her mind work when nothing else could. Practical. Ruthless. Effective.

No one here cares enough ‘bout your skinny ass to save it for you. So what are you gonna do?

When she was eight years old, terrified of the life she’d been thrust into, she’d done a lot of crying. But Red Dog had no patience for tears and, she’d figured out fast they wouldn’t do her any good. If she was hungry, she made herself food. If she was bleeding, she patched herself up. And if someone wanted to hurt her, she either hurt them first or hurt them worse. He didn’t accept anything less and if she meant to survive, neither could she. It wasn’t what her father had wanted for her, but she still hoped he was proud of what she’d managed to become in spite of it. In spite of him…

Katrina ground her teeth against the memories. Coming home to find the ambulance and police officers waiting for her. Realizing that her greatest fear had happened. That the sadness and the nightmares in her father’s eyes had finally taken what was left of him. Leaving her alone…

Damn Cade for dragging it all back up.

She didn’t feel responsible for him because of David Killian’s suicide. She refused to. Her responsibilities were to her agency and to this godforsaken piece of shit town. To those little kids Cade was so damn interested in keeping safe. She didn’t feel a goddamned thing about the man who couldn’t even let her give him an apology for running out on him.

She didn’t care what he thought of her at all.

Now that’s pretty good bullshitting, Katy…

She squeezed her eyes shut tighter, forcing her temper to cool. Anger wouldn’t do anything but keep her awake. Same with guilt. Guilt for lying. Guilt for running. Guilt for pushing Cade into a relationship she couldn’t handle.

For weeks after they’d had sex, she’d avoided him. Refused to let herself think about him. Pushed away the emotions he’d brought into what should have been simple, stress-relieving fucking. Then, eventually, she’d had to admit he wasn’t the only one who’d brought feelings into the mix. She just hadn’t counted on what those feelings could mean. What they might make her crave.

Commitment.

Honesty.

Vulnerability.

None of those things were part of her world anymore. Or his. Any one of them could get either of them killed. Or worse. She’d seen before what these bastards did to the women they discarded. It was worse for the ones they felt had betrayed them. She thought once again of Brynn Collins. Unbelievably worse.

And yet, she’d tried over and over to explain.

Cade refused to listen.

Do you really blame him, Katy-girl? When all you’re gonna do is get that poor bastard ripped apart?

She folded her arms again stubbornly, as they’d been before, the only difference that she kept her grip tighter on the knife.

It didn’t matter now. Cade wasn’t going to give her the time of day and she needed to be happy about that. They were both safer apart.

“Damn it, Katy, he’s gonna need stitches this time,” someone complained. Wolf Hubrick. Young, stupid enough to think the bikers who controlled the town were heroes, Wolf was the bar’s busboy and part-time janitor.

“Maybe he’ll remember to keep his hands to himself next time,” she said around a yawn. If they could sense her fear, she was as good as fucked. As long as she held her own, no one would bother her. She held onto that knowledge with a desperation she didn’t want to feel. Couldn’t afford.

“Can’t you just kick him in the face or something? Damn!”

“Shut up, dogboy,” Hawkings snapped. “Gimme that rag.”

“Take it,” Wolf groused back. “Mop up your own blood while you’re at it.”

Katrina opened her eyes at the genuine disgust in the kid’s voice, to say nothing of the solid thump and a grunt from Hawkings before Wolf stomped off. “What’d you do to the kid?”

Wolf’s worship was practically a given for anyone wearing the cut, a source of open ridicule from all the members.

“Nothin’,” Hawkings answered, wrapping the wet towel gingerly over his hand and wrist. He didn’t look up and his usual arrogance was definitely missing. The last time she’d sliced him, a slash to his shoulder, he’d bragged she gave him a love tap.

Her exhaustion fled in a heartbeat, replaced by adrenaline. The bar was quiet, something she hadn’t given enough thought to earlier. Anyone who hadn’t been arrested would be here waiting for orders. Especially with Frank in the town lockup. None of these morons knew what to do with themselves without him. But now…only her, Wolf, and Hawkings?

“What’s going on, Hawk? Where is everyone?”

“You should know since you’re in so good with that bat-shit crazy sheriff.”

Katrina rolled her eyes. Cade wasn’t crazy. He might not be completely stable, but he wasn’t crazy. And he didn’t want to see her anymore…

Concentrate on Hawkings. He’s concentrating on you.

“I’ve had no sleep and no food since before yesterday. Rode out to Corcoran and back before I had to spend all goddamn day sorting out idiots who got into a fight with cops for no damn reason. Do not screw with me right now or that cut really will be a love tap.”

Hawkings’s lip curled. “Everyone who wasn’t busted by the war hero and your boyfriend is guarding Shana.”

“He’s not my—” She bit off the tirade. English was wasted on Hawkings. “Why are they protecting
Shana
?” Everyone knew Frank was the one she needed protection from and she was safe whenever he was in the lockup.

When the idiot shrugged, she kicked him none too lightly.

“She’s in the hospital, okay? When he found out about it, the fuckin’ undersheriff went insane. Frank doesn’t want the bastard to hustle her out of town so he sent the boys out there to keep an eye on her.”

Shit. Shit, shit, shit!
It sounded more like an excuse for Frank to get rid of Rick—and his partner. Katrina licked her lips, forcing herself to pretend a shaft of sheer terror hadn’t hit her right in the gut. “Shana all right?”

Hawkings’s pout was nothing good. “She’ll live. It’s just a couple broken bones. I’ve gotten worse fallin’ off my bike.”

It took all her will not to kick him in the face this time, like Wolf said. She could smash his nose and cheekbone before he even realized what was happening. God, she wanted to. At least now she knew what had set Wolf off. The kid liked Shana.
Everyone
liked her.

But no one was interested in helping her.

“A couple of bones.” It wasn’t a question.

“Arm. Maybe some fingers, I don’t know. I’ve been
here
, waiting for
your
cranky ass.”

Why, she quickly wondered, but there were more important questions. “What about the kid?”

“Probably with her. What do you think I am, the fuckin’ internet?”

“You’re a pig, Hawkings.”

Katrina almost reached for her phone to see if there had been a call from Jimmy but she couldn’t do that in front of present company.

She grumbled to herself as she slid out of the opposite end of the curved seat. Rick Trelane, single-handedly fucking up her situation yet again. Well, not
single
-handed.

Katrina was up and on her way to the door, trying not to register the worry attempting to bubble inside her. If the men were at the hospital, Rick would walk right into it, no matter the consequences to himself, his friends, or the innocent people he wanted to save. Asshole would let the world fall apart if it would save Shana.

“Wait, Frank said to keep you here.”

She practically skidded to a stop, hand already on the front door. Had Frank figured out the truth? Was he testing her loyalty? She looked back at Hawkings, who apparently was meant to be her jailer. “Why?”

Hawkings only shook his head, shuffling toward the men’s bathroom. “He said he wants you here when he calls.” He slammed the door behind him, leaving her alone, but she wasn’t an idiot. He wouldn’t take his eyes off her if Frank didn’t want him to, even if she’d cut off his hand. This was a fucking trap.

You’ve helped her too many times, princess. Who’s in the crosshairs now?

Her eyes closed, dread filling her. She might hate the voice in her head, but it was never wrong. Frank wasn’t going to call. He was holding her here to make sure she didn’t interfere with Shana. One more mind game. One more example of his control over her. He was wrong, of course, but she couldn’t let him know that.

Unfortunately, this wasn’t the time to tip her hand.

She stared at the door, her fingers gripping tighter around the brass handle. Guilt tore at her conscience. How she still had one, she didn’t know. It felt torn into smaller and smaller pieces every time she had to sacrifice doing what was right in order to serve the greater good. It would cost another shred of her psyche if she stayed, if she didn’t warn Cade to steer clear of Shana’s hospital room. If she kept up this game of cat and mouse.