Promise Me Forever

by Paige Weaver

  Or loving a man who was trying to push me away.

  I stood up and left the bedroom, tired of feeling sorry for myself and tired of hurting from Cash.

  David looked up from the kitchen table. He was sipping on something from a metal cup. Even from my distance, it smelled suspiciously like vodka. He had been drinking since yesterday, not enough to get drunk. Just enough that I noticed. Maybe he was feeling the walls closing in on him like they were doing to me.

  I ignored his assessing, quick perusal of me and went over to a window. “Are they back yet?” I asked, peering out.

  “No. I don’t expect them back until dark, knowing Cash. The guy can’t seem to stay still for long, I noticed. Reminds me of myself back in my younger days.”

  No, he’s just antsy to get away from me, I thought with a pang of hurt. Every morning he grabbed his gun and left, not saying a word. At night he ate his meals alone and slept in the living room. But today was different. He had left before I woke and took Tate with him. They had been gone too long and I was starting to worry.

  I started pacing around the tiny cabin, fidgeting with my jacket. Picking at a broken nail. David watched me through narrowed eyes, drinking from his cup.

  “You gonna rub a hole in my rug, girl?” he drawled, pointing to my boots with the drink.

  I stopped my pacing and looked down. The rug had so many holes and thin spots in it that I didn’t think my pacing would make much difference. So I started doing it again.

  Window. Middle of room. Window. Middle of room. I was wound too tight to argue about the quickly fading quality of the man’s furnishings.

  Each time Cash left, I worried. He may want us to be over but I couldn’t stop caring. What if he was heading back to Hilltop? What if he was going after Paul or Frankie? If he went back, he would be killed. I knew it in my gut.

  I felt ill at the thought. The room started to spin and I swayed. I heard the screech of a chair’s legs as it was pushed back across the floor.

  “You okay, kiddo?” David asked, rising to his feet.

  I squeezed my eyes shut until the dizziness went away. When I reopened my eyes, I found David studying me. Concern made his face even more wrinkled and drew his gray brows together in one bushy line.

  “You’re not going to pass out on me, are you?” he asked, wariness in his voice.

  “No,” I said in a hushed tone, rubbing a hand over my brow. “I’m okay.”

  A lie. I hadn’t been okay since I woke up in bed with a bullet hole in my side. I was barely holding it together. Cash wouldn’t look at me when he was around. He avoided getting too close to me. God forbid we accidently touched. It hurt. A lot. But not as much as knowing he didn’t love me anymore.

  David eased back into the chair, wincing when he had to bend his knees. I started pacing again. I was worried about Cash and Tate. Worried about us. When I saw Paul in Hilltop, the memories came back. I could still feel every revolting touch of his hand. Every disgusting word he said to me and the promise to finish what he started.

  “Little bird, I ain’t done with you yet.”

  I shivered with fear. Cash shot Paul but I just knew he was still alive. I could almost feel him coming, searching for me. Leering at me and smiling with anticipation.

  I wrapped my arms around my middle and hoped to God he didn’t find me. Terror clawed at me, refusing to let go. I was drowning in it when the front door flew open.

  Cash.

  He was standing in the doorway, his expression hidden under the dark shadows of his cowboy hat. His gaze found me right away.

  I was suddenly aware of the roughness of my shirt against my bare breasts. The clenching between my legs. I forgot to be cold. To be ill. To be mad that he said it was over.

  I forgot to be anything but his.

  “Cash,” I whispered, his name just a hushed sound from my lips. It was a name I wanted to say in the middle of the night when he shoved my legs apart. A name I wanted to cry when he shoved his cock deep into me.

  I took an instinctive step forward. I wanted to go to him. Feed my addiction and drown in my craving. It was a natural reaction. A pull that I couldn’t resist. But I was brought up short when I saw his eyes.

  They were cold, gray, and intense. Icy reserve stared back at me. The warning on his face screamed only one thing – stay away.

  I stepped back and lowered my eyes, bowing to him in my own fucking way. I wasn’t giving up. I was giving in. If he didn’t want me near him, he would get his wish.

  Cash stalked into the house with purpose. He moved with grace and control, always in power, always with command.

  I took an instinctive step back. Not out of fear. Out of self-preservation. Something flared in his eyes. An animalistic warning to stay still. I had seen it before. I knew what it meant. I froze and he kept on walking, brushing past me.

  “Catarina,” he said in acknowledgement.

  The deep timbre of his voice sent shockwaves through me. I grew hungry, not for food but for the one thing he could fill me with.

  Him.

  I hated him for that. When he said my full name, it always sent me to a different place. One with obsession and craving and carnal desire. I wanted him to fuck me hard, fuck me fast, fuck me however he wanted, just fuck me. Love could wait. It would never leave me. But right now, I needed him to touch me and take away the ache.

  Jesus, was my grandmother right? Was I that screwed up? The world was a hellhole and we were barely surviving yet all I could think about was Cash holding me down and sliding into me.

  All because he called me Catarina.

  He didn’t pause but moved past me to the middle of the room. Tate was hot on his heels, a look of excited concentration on his face. Thank God they are both okay.

  I turned, wondering what the hell was going on. I recognized the look on my brother’s face. Something had happened.

  Cash stopped at the edge of the rug and squatted down. He laid his shotgun on the floor beside him and flipped the corner of the rug back. I was surprised to see a trapdoor, flush with the hardwood floor.

  Cash grasped the metal handle inlaid on the top and gave it a twist. The lock disengaged and he pulled it open.

  “What’s going on? Did you see anything?” David asked, rising from the kitchen chair and wandering over to where Cash kneeled.

  “I didn’t see anyone. It’s what I felt,” Cash answered, reaching down into the hidden hole, searching for something.

  A chill went through me. Cash was an expert at hunting and tracking. If he thought someone was out there, then there was.

  I wrapped my arms around my waist and took a step toward him. “Do you think it was one of them?”

  He ignored me and glanced at David and Tate instead.

  “We need to keep a lookout. We’ll take two hour shifts tonight. If there’s trouble, fire three shots in the air. Tate, you stay in here with Cat. David, you and I will take turns on watch.”

  I took a step closer and peeked over his shoulder, looking down into the compartment under the floor. Cans of food, boxes of ammunition, and a large canvas bag sat in the hole. Cash reached down and unzipped the bulky bag. At least twenty guns were in there. David had an arsenal. A powerful, deadly looking one.

  Cash grabbed a gun and pulled it out. It was long with a wooden body and black scope mounted on the top. He offered it across the hole to David. “You ready for this?”

  David looked down at the gun. He was a doctor and a preacher. He saved people in more ways than one. Killing went against everything he stood for.

  But times were different.

  He grabbed the gun and magazine of bullets Cash handed him. “Blessed be the Lord, my rock, who trains my hands for war, and my fingers for battle,” he said, sliding the mag into place.

  Cash reached into the bag again and grabbed a pistol. “Just your style, Tate.”

  Tate took the gun and weighed it in his hand. “I ain’t got a Psalm to quote, Preacher,” he said, peering up at
the older man from beneath a ball cap he had found.

  David grinned. “Well, son, you don’t need one. You just need a prayer.”

  Tate gave a short snort and turned his attention to the pistol, checking to make sure it was loaded.

  I watched it all with a mixture of panic and horror. It looked like they were preparing to go to war.

  “Why don’t we just leave?” I asked, looking from Cash to David and Tate. “Wouldn’t that be better than staying here, sitting ducks for whoever is out there?”

  Cash rested his elbow on his bent knee and pushed his hat back with his finger. His gaze traveled up my body, from my black army boots to the dark curls around my shoulders.

  He pushed to his feet and took a step toward me. His eyes drifted down to my side where the bandage still covered me under my shirt and jacket.

  “How is the wound?” he asked in a deep voice meant more for the bedroom than for a room bursting with guns and ammunition.

  I stuck my chin up and shrugged. “Good enough to run.”

  His gaze dropped down to the V in my collar then flicked back up to my eyes. “Good enough won’t do. I need you better.”

  I opened my mouth to argue but he pushed past me, careful not to touch any part of me.

  I turned, watching him walk away. Tate and David were minding their own business, messing with the guns, but I knew they were watching us. Let them. I didn’t care. I was angry.

  “I thought you didn’t need me at all,” I said, staring at Cash’s sinew muscular back. “Which is it, cowboy?”

  He stopped. His fingers clenched around the shotgun he carried. His shoulders went taut.

  Tate and David grew quiet, both of them watching us. I stood in place, staring at the back of Cash’s head and waiting for him to explode.

  He turned his head, enough that I could only see his stone-cut jaw and whiskered right cheek.

  “I don’t need you, sweetheart,” he drawled, the words rolling off his tongue and wrapping around me. “But I sure as hell could do without wanting you.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Cash

  Cat’s cheeks turned a fierce red. Fury erupted in her eyes. I’m surprised I didn’t burst into a ball of fire, as much as she was glaring at me.

  That was the girl I had met in a dusty, backwoods bar. The one who riled me up in a swanky Dallas restaurant. She was strong and sassy and took shit from no one, including me. I was afraid I would always love her come hell or high water. And that was the problem. Why we had to be over.

  I had come to the decision that she was safer if she didn’t love me. If I was nothing to her anymore. But when she stood in the kitchen a few days ago, her eyes spitting fire and her sweet mouth calling me a sonofabitch, I couldn’t resist. Kissing her, having her, being with her, were the only things I wanted.

  Now here I was – days later, trying to stay away from Cat.

  I refused to eat with her. I avoided her as much as I could. When Tate and David showed back up after I bent her over the table, I hauled my ass out of there, refusing to talk to either one of them. I needed to get as far away from Cat as possible. There were things to do. Supplies to gather. We were low on food and kerosene. Plus, our pile of wood to burn at night was growing smaller. I hunted and worked from sunup to sundown and searched for any sign of Keely and Gavin as much as I could. I burned more energy than I consumed but I did it all for Cat.

  To keep her safe.

  To keep her warm and fed.

  To make up for that bullet wound in her side.

  I wanted to prove to her that day in the kitchen how much she shouldn’t love me. Show her how loving me was wrong. Instead, I proved how much she was still in my blood.

  I pulled my hat brim low and headed for the door. What I wanted to do was take off running. Put some distance between the little Beauty Queen and me. But I set my mouth in a firm line and continued on, reminding myself that there was a difference between love and lust. I needed to destroy one and ignore the other before I lost control again and Cat paid the price.

  The smell of winter was in the air as I stepped out onto the porch. It was late in the day. The sun was low in the sky, disappearing behind the treetops. I drew in a lungful of chilled air, needing to clear my mind. I had other things to worry about than a hotheaded girl with a body meant for loving. There was someone out in the woods, biding his time. Watching us. I could feel it. Trouble was coming. I welcomed it with open arms. Let the fuckers show their faces.

  I would be ready.

  Fury burned in me when I remembered that skinny man’s gaze on Cat. He looked at her with hunger. Like a hyena with its sharp teeth showing and a deadly grin on his face. It was the undeniable possession in his eyes when he looked at Cat and the knowledge that he had hurt her that made me fire that first shot.

  I glanced around, my hand tense on my shotgun. What I wouldn’t give to have that bastard appear in front of me right now. But nothing seemed different. Dead leaves littered the ground, looking undisturbed. The small barn that was set back in the woods a few yards away still had branches and leaves on the roof, camouflaging the rusted metal. Things seemed fine but something was telling me to stay alert.

  We weren’t alone.

  I wasn’t alone.

  I glanced over my shoulder when the door of the cabin opened, the old hinges squeaking in protest. It was Cat and she looked hesitant, her teeth worrying her bottom lip. I fought the urge to grab her, force her up against the outside of the cabin, and suck on that lip. Instead, I faced forward again and started down the porch steps.

  She followed. Those heavy boots of hers made enough noise on the porch to announce her presence for miles around. I sighed but didn’t stop, striding toward the woods.

  “Cash Marshall!” she shouted as I hit the grass and started toward the line of trees, her shorter legs unable to keep up with mine.

  I didn’t bother turning around. “Go back inside, Cat,” I said in a bored tone, keeping my gaze straight ahead.

  I heard her blow out a breath in frustration and continue following me. Tall weeds swished against her jeans as she hurried to catch up. For every step I took, she took three. For every foot she got closer, the more I became aware just how thin a hold I had on my resistance to her.

  “I don’t take orders from you!” she said in a loud voice, stomping through the high grass. “How many times do I have to remind you of that?”

  I shook my head, stepping over a rabbit hole at the same time. “Sweetheart, you can remind me all you want. I’m still going to tell you what to do. Go inside before you freeze your ass off. I’m not asking. I’m telling.”

  By now she was walking beside me, huffing and puffing to match my speed. I kept my eyes locked straight ahead but I could feel Cat peering at me. Pestering me in her own, stubborn way. She should be upset, maybe even sad for breaking it off with her. Instead, she was furious.

  I held my calm in check and gritted my teeth. I wasn’t going to fight her. Not today. If I put my hands on her, pushing her down on the kitchen table and burying myself to the hilt in her from behind would look like child’s play. Neither one of us needed that. Not now. Hell, maybe not ever.

  “Why do you feel the need to tell me what to do?” she asked, skirting around a large, prickly weed. “I’m a big girl. I survived three long years after the EMP without you by my side. I ate. I found shelter and water. I didn’t lose my ability to think or make rational decisions when you showed up again.”

  I sighed but didn’t answer. My dad once said that sometimes it was best to keep quiet and not argue with a woman. I thought this was one of those times.

  I tried to ignore her as best as I could and keep my mind on my surroundings, but the longer I didn’t speak, the madder she seemed to get. The girl had always been a spitfire. Might have been why she got under my skin from the first moment I met her. But now I needed her quiet and back in the cabin. That feeling between my shoulder blades was not going away. Someone was watching. Wa
iting. Wondering if this was the time to strike.

  I squinted against the sunlight filtering in through the trees and slowed down. Switching the safety off my gun with one finger, I tried to make as little noise as possible. My muscles were taut, ready for action. My ears were alert for any sound of a gun being cocked or a bullet being chambered. I needed every ounce of awareness I had. I didn’t need it centered on the little princess beside me.

  She stepped over a large rotten log at the same time I did. Our arms touched. She leaned into me. I almost jumped out of my skin. Damn. I had it bad.

  I quickened my pace, skirting around a large oak tree. We were deeper in the woods, the cabin almost out of sight. I could hear her breathing quicker, trying to keep up with me. I should’ve slowed down. She was still weak and I was still worried about her. But there was this thing called temptation and it wouldn’t leave me alone. It chased me and teased me whenever Cat was around and I didn’t like it. That’s why I had to stay cold.

  I had just made up my mind that as long as I didn’t have to touch her, I could handle her tagging along, when suddenly she tripped over a rock. I reached out and seized her upper arm, keeping her from landing face first in the mildewed leaves and reopening her wound. My temper flared. My fingers looped around her arm tightened.

  “That’s it, Beauty Queen, I’m taking you back.”

  I swung around, pulling her with me.

  She jerked out of my grasp. “I’m not leaving. You might as well deal with it, asshole.”

  There was that word again. Asshole. Maybe I was. Maybe I had to be to get her to hate me.

  “Fine,” I snapped, staring her down and keeping my voice low in case someone was out there.

  She muttered something under her breath and started walking again, this time picking her way carefully over stones and twigs. I caught up to her in two strides. Here the trees were denser. The woods were thick, perfect for a man to hide in. I wasn’t letting her out of my sight.

  People had become desperate since the EMP and terrorist invasion. Food was worth killing over, water was worth dying for, and a woman that looked like Cat was worth stalking and taking by any means necessary.