Hard Ride (7 page)

Chapter Sixteen

Katie settled into the plush seats of the big SUV. The heat outside left a thin sheen of sweat on her skin, and she flipped the switch to cool the leather.

“Can we turn on the AC, Uncle James? It’s typical Arkansas weather,” she smiled.

Her brain ran in overdrive, using all the skills she learned as a kid how to let people see one thing, while thinking another. She was well aware her uncle signed her out of the hospital too early. The wheelchair ride alone was agonizing and exhausting. Her head hurt, stars swam in her vision, every joint and muscle screamed in pain. She fought a fever, and no hospital, no doctor would have discharged her under those circumstances.

“Of course, sweet pea.” He flipped a few switches, and cold air blasted through the vents.

“At least you are treating me civilly,” she glanced at him through half closed lids. She noted his look of concentration, and furtive glances in her direction.

“I
’m taking you to the cabin. You love going to Petit Jean this time of year.” He turned and gave her a big smile.

She returned the smile, “
Better to get rid of me outside of civilization.”

Anger flashed across his aging features, and disappeared behind a blank expression
.

She relaxed against the cooling leather, eyes half closed. Her strengt
h gone, leaving it almost impossible to fight off an attack. But her purse was clutched close in her lap, and it would serve as a distraction to at least
try
to get away if necessary.

He was taking her away from home. Closing her eyes, she tried to think of a way out. But the drugs were still cycling through her system, and thoughts remained fuzzy at best.

Half of her mourned the betrayal. Her memories of James Parker was filled with treats, laughs, hugs, all those things missing from her father. The other half was boiling.

She frowned, thinking she heard the sound of a horn. Glancing in the side mirror, she saw a beat up truck, a nice 1967 Chevy, with a rusted hood, speeding in their direction. It was the bulldog hood ornament that made her smile. He rarely drove it, but they’d just put in a sweet new engine into it a few months ago.

Houston found her.

“Who is that?” her uncle mumbled, watching the rearview mirror.

Katie glanced in the side mirror, and saw Houston do a seatbelt motion across his chest. His five point was in place. She stretched one hand up, giving a high five signal, and putting her arm down. She tossed the purse on the floor, and settled into the seat.

“Uncle?”

“Yes, Katydid?” he had the gall to smile at her.

“I’d suggest you hang on tight.” She laughed at his look of confusion.

The beat up Chevy jumped forward, slamming into the back of her uncle’s SUV. His reaction time wasn’t as fast as it used to be, and the SUV swung back and forth. Car horns blared, and they nicked a few cars on either side.

Houston backed off, pulling into the left lane, and Katie watched the truck jump forward again, clipping the rear panel, and sending the SUV into a spin.

Closing her eyes, the SUV rolled.

Chapter Seventeen

Houston knew he was going to force the SUV into a roll. Knowing and watching were two separate things. It flipped three times, rolling off the highway and into a stand of trees. The crunch of metal against wood deafening.
The vehicle rested on the passenger side, making it harder to get Katie out.

He stopped the truck behind the hissing and steaming mass of twisted black metal, jumping onto the driver’s side door and looking in. James had not been belted in, and his body lay thirty feet back. But Katie was covered in deflating air bags, her body
pinned to the seat by metal, plastic and leather.

He lay on the door, one foot hooked under
a bent panel, and let his upper half in slowly. “Katie!” She didn’t move. “Damn it, Katie! Come out of it, honey, talk to me.”
Yell at me, scream at me, just show me your eyes.

She remained motionless.

Someone grabbed him, and jerked him hard to the ground. He looked up and saw the bastard behind it all, the main driving force. Hastings Green. Behind him, stood the man who’d attacked him by the river with a two by four, and one Carter Jones. Houston recognized him from the limited office functions. He finally linked the familiar voice from the ambush.

“Just can’t stay away, or are you really stupid?”
Jones forward, as Green reached through windshield to grab handfuls of paper.

“You really should know the people you intend to kill,” Houston smiled, glad he’d landed with a hand behind his back. The feel of the plastic grip, the cold metal, gave him comfort. He still had a chance to save his Hellcat.

The man, stocky, and about six foot, with balding gray hair, smiled. “I only need to know how much it’s going to cost.” He moved forward, carrying a small black handle. With a quick movement of his wrist, it extended, showing a heavy asp.

Houston laughed. He’d brought an asp to a gunfight. Rolling his hips a little to the right, he pulled out the Sig, and flipped of the safety in one smooth motion. “One should always know what the enemy uses.” The man stopped, asp raised, his eyes wide.

Houston stood, keeping the man in the gun’s sights. Left foot back a little, and he grabbed the surprise. It was a newer weapon, used when handling insurgents in crowded areas. One little flip of the switch, and the grenade was ready. Unlike the old ones, seen in movies, Houston loved the new technology. It sent out metal shards, instead of a huge explosion. It could be carried in pockets, and even if the victim lived, getting out all of the shards meant they’d die a slow death. It was a weapon to be used in close and intimate situations, with a small damage radius.

“Unbuckle your pants.”

The man dropped the asp, and followed orders. Houston moved close, putting the gun’s barrel to his heart and shoved the grenade into his pants. Counting in his head, he moved back as the man tried to grasp the weapon.

By the time Houston counted to one, he was close enough to dive behind the totaled SUV.

The sound left his ears ringing, and the man’s screaming gave him a smile. He’d never threaten to rape a woman again. If he lived.

Green turned around, and stared, horror written across his heavy features.
Houston stared for a moment, seeing all the signs of alcoholism. The red nose, bloodshot eyes, once handsome features lost to folds of skin. He looked unkempt, desperate.

“What have you done?” Green screamed, the words slurred.

Houston glanced at the man on the ground, bleeding from multiple wounds, holding his crotch and crying. “It seems I stopped the man from attacking me, and possibly raping Katie.” He raised the Sig. “On your knees, ankles crossed, hands behind your head.”

Green fell to his knees, screaming obscenities, as the sounds of sirens overrode everything.

Houston felt relief. Katie would be rescued. He might go to prison, but Hellcat would be okay. Eventually. He dropped to his knees, mimicking Green’s position as multiple police cruisers came to a stop and officers pointed guns.

Chapter Eighteen

The friggin’ hospital.
Again
. Katie plucked at the thin, worn hospital blanket, cursing and trying to find anything close she could throw.

Houston’s face was plastered across every local channel, having caused a few explosions. The first reports were terrorists, and then into a madman on a rampage, followed by a few smart reporters digging to find out the truth. Houston’s arrest had been caught by someone’s cell phone. The grainy footage failed to make him look bad. He looked wild, pissed. His strong features, the chiseled jawline, the almost too full lips,
dark blue eyes, the too long thick brunette hair, all looked good on TV.

She was stuck in the hospital, barely able to move. The past week had been hell on her body. She was going to leave with a massive amount of scars, and months of rehab.

She owed her life to the man on the screen, which didn’t amount to a hill of beans.

The hours passed, and the newscasts stopped vilifying Houston, started hailing him as a hero. She frowned, trying to hear.

“Sometimes it’s good to have contacts,” Houston’s deep baritone overpowered the volume of the TV.

“You’re okay? How’d you get out? What did you do? Who do you know? What happened?” the words fell
rapid-fire.

He chuckled, pulling the green pleather covered chair close to the bed. “I can’t tell you a lot, really. Let’s just say I know people.” He gingerly picked up her hand, staring at the bruises, cuts, and swollen fingers. “What about you? Did I cause this?” He leaned forward, leaving the barest of kisses on the knuckles. “I’m sorry. I wish I’d thought of something else.” He raised worried blue eyes.

“You saved me. I’ll take the broken bones to the death my uncle had in mind.”

“Yell at me, cuss me out, something.”

“I want to kiss you. Come here. Gently, please.” She tugged on his hand.

He stood, leaning close, putting both hands next to her shoulders. She smelled his breath,
laced with a mix of cinnamon and coffee. The skin around his eyes were tight, and he searched her gaze for something. He kissed her bottom lip, once, twice, three times before straightening. “I’m not leaving until you get out of here.”

“Well, I kind of need you to handle the shop until I get out. Mike is back, he called earlier asking what happened,” she giggled, moaning at the pain it caused her cracked ribs. “I bet he’s terrified to go on vacation again.”

“I can’t leave you, Hellcat,” his gaze intense.

“You have to. I have a long road to travel. Both legs are broken, several ribs cracked, all the lacerations, bruises, torn ligaments. It’ll be at least year before I can even get under the hood of a car.” She looked away, not
wanting him to see her piece of sanity, the one thing she truly loved, taken away until fully healed. Or that the doctors told her she’d likely limp for the rest of her life, the pelvic break a severe one.

“And that is why you are stuck with me.” He kissed her forehead. “I have to go, but I will be back. I promise.”

She nodded, watched as he left. He limped slightly, and she hadn’t failed to notice all of his bruises, the stitches on his head, the stiff way he moved. She’d have to get him to confess.

*

The days blurred together, Houston as good as his word. He brought books to read, newspapers, magazines, even snuck in a laptop filled with movies to watch. He called her from the shop every hour, slept in the uncomfortable recliner every night. They argued, they laughed, they sat in silence watching movies.

Katie resisted
the charm, the feeling of contentment when he was with her. He was nothing more than a friend with benefits. Anything more was out of the question. She would never subject him to the abuse she and her mother tolerated at the hands of her father.

He walked in, carrying a paperbag. Closing the door, he leaned into the door, and opened the paperbag. Rustling inside, he pulled out a double cheeseburger from McDonalds, and waved it, wagging his eyebrows.

She laughed and held a hand out. “We are so in trouble for this kind of contraband, Houston. Are you trying to get me in trouble?” She tugged his hand, kissing him. “Please say you brought fries with plenty of horrific salt.”

Chuckling, “Of course I did. Thursday I’m sneaking in Ramone’s Menudo, homemade tortillas, and possibly one of those dark ales from the brewery downtown.”

“I don’t deserve this,” she took a large bite of the grease on a bun, and closed her eyes, moaning at the taste. It was awful, it was oily, loaded with fat and all kinds of bad things. She loved Houston snuck it into the room for her.

“You deserve the world, and one day you’ll understand that.” He ran a finger down the scar on her left cheek. “Meantime, eat the bad stuff. Can’t be worse than the food they are shoving down your throat three times a day.”

They enjoyed the bad meal, and he sat on the bag when the nurse with the green eyes and graying hair walked in. She shut the door, locked it, and glared, “McDonalds? Really? Couldn’t sneak in something better than those formed grease blobs?” She crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. “Hand over the bag so I can act all mean and toss it out.” She put her hand out, palm up, wiggling her fingers, “Hurry up.”

Katie and Houston giggled like children caught in the act by a doting grandparent. He gave her the bag, and sat. “Tomorrow I’m bringing in homemade stuff. What time should I sneak it past the nurses?”

“What is it?” the nurse asked with a head tilt.

“Her cook’s Menudo, with homemade tortillas.”

“I see. Bring an extra bowl, and around six o’clock.” She nodded once, leaving.

Katie giggled, enjoying the lighthearted banter, and the nurses ability to be slightly lenient. She had the feeling Houston had charmed the entire floor, and used it to his advantage.

“What movie?” he asked, pulling out his laptop. “Action? RomCom? Drama? Pixar?” Setting the laptop on the rolling desk, he showed her the movies he’d loaded for the night. She pointed one out, and he got it started, handing her Milk Duds and a water, while he took the Red Vines.

Settling into the bed, she grabbed his hand, feeling the connection, the need he’d stoked, the idea that maybe, just maybe, she could be a good person, and not hurt the man she desperately wanted to keep close.