Hellfire, Texas (Hellfire #1)

by Elle James

  A scuffling sound and a movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. Before he could react, something hard hit him in the back of the head.

  Pain shot through his skull. Becket staggered into the tack room, his knees buckling.

  Fight it. Don’t go down.

  Another blow to the back of the head sent him crashing to the hardwood floor, and the lights blinked out.

  Chapter Seven

  ‡

  Kinsey finished a long shower, disappointed Becket hadn’t joined her. She’d taken her time drying off, hoping to hear a knock on the bathroom door. In her mind, she already had a plan. She’d drop the towel, plant a hand on his chest, and back him into his bedroom across the hallway.

  No knock came to her door. With a sigh, she dressed, dragging her clothing over her sensitized skin, wishing Becket’s hands were covering her instead of clothes. She laughed at her imaginings. Kinsey realized having a relationship with someone she trusted was so much better than what she’d had with Dillon.

  The house was silent except for the sound of her footsteps as she descended the stairs and entered the kitchen. Becket had obviously stayed to perform needed chores in the barn. Or maybe he regretted making love to her in the pasture.

  Deflated and a little sad, Kinsey searched the refrigerator for sandwich ingredients. Deli meat, mustard, mayonnaise, and cheese—everything she needed to make a lunch.

  The door creaked open behind her.

  “Just in time. I was about to make sandwiches. You can help.” She turned with a smile.

  “Hello, Kinsey.”

  All the items slipped from her arms and crashed to the floor as Kinsey faced the man who’d become her living nightmare. “Dillon,” she said, her voice barely a whisper, her insides quaking.

  Dillon advanced a step. “Imagine how worried I was when I woke up to find you gone.”

  Kinsey inched backward, her gaze darting around, searching for a way out. All escape routes required passing her ex-boyfriend. Where was Becket? “I’m sorry. I sh-should have left a note.”

  He took another step, closing the distance. “You stole my keys out of my pocket.”

  Stay calm. Her heart slammed against her ribs, pumping so fast her head swam. “I only took the key to my car and put the others back.”

  “You stole them out of my pocket.” Another step and he could almost reach her.

  Kinsey stepped back and to the side, placing the kitchen island between them. If she remembered correctly, knives were kept in one of the drawers. Which one? She’d only have a single chance to find it.

  Dillon’s eyes narrowed, and he held out his hand. “You’ve had your fun, Kinsey. Time to come home.”

  Kinsey’s back stiffened, and her eyes narrowed. “I’m not going back.”

  “You belong to me.”

  To me. Not with me. Dillon considered her his property, not his partner. Anger stiffened her muscles. “I don’t belong to anyone. Especially not you.” Her voice hardened, though her knees shook. She shot a glance toward the open door behind Dillon. Where was Becket?

  “Grayson isn’t coming to save you.” Dillon’s lips curled into a sneer. “He’s not coming to save anyone ever again.”

  Her heart stopped, and she clutched the edge of the island. “What do you mean?” Then she smelled smoke coming through the open door, and her pulse leapt. “Dillon, what have you done?”

  Dillon’s lips peeled back over his teeth in a feral snarl. “Taken away temptation. You’re coming home, and you’re not ever returning to Hellfire. Now, quit wasting my time. Let’s go.”

  Rage filled her, bubbling over like a boiling cauldron. “Dillon, you’re a sick bastard. There is no way in hell I’m going anywhere with you.” She yanked open the drawer, grabbed the biggest, sharpest butcher knife she could find, and held it in front of her. “You’re never laying a hand on me again.”

  Dillon gave her his ‘public’ charming smile and raised his hands as if in surrender.

  Something he’d never do. “Baby, I promise. I won’t hurt you.”

  “You forget, I’ve been with you long enough to know you break all your promises.” She circled the island, the knife firmly in her grip. She had no question in her mind that she’d use it if he came at her. Her goal was to get the hell out of the house and find Becket. Her chest tightened as she imagined all the horrible things Dillon could have done to him. And why was smoke drifting through the kitchen door?

  “Quit stalling, Kinsey. We’re leaving now.”

  “Then leave. I’m not going with you. Ever. Again.”

  Dillon lunged for her.

  Kinsey jabbed the knife at the hands reaching for her, cutting into his forearm.

  He cradled his arm. “You fucking bitch.”

  Kinsey turned and ran for the door.

  Footsteps pounded behind her.

  Before she made it through, strong hands grabbed her around the waist and yank her back against him. She slammed the knife into his thigh.

  “Bitch, you’ll pay for that.” With one arm around her middle, Dillon knocked the knife out of her hand with a heavy blow to her wrist.

  Pain shot up her arm, but she couldn’t give up. Not now. She’d come this far, she couldn’t go back. Wouldn’t. She jabbed her elbow into his gut and stomped on his instep.

  Dillon grunted and wrapped her in a bear hug, trapping her arms to her sides and lifting her off the ground.

  Kinsey kicked and twisted, but the more she fought, the tighter he squeezed, until she could barely draw a breath. “Put me down, Dillon. You’re breaking the law. I swore out a restraining order against you.”

  “Yeah, I got the texts from my teammates. How’s that working for you?”

  Not any better than she’d predicted. The man was insane, and hope began to leach out of her. He was so much bigger, and as strong as an ox. How could a woman of five feet one inch, weighing less than half what he did, fight a man that big?

  Use your brain.

  Warm, wet blood dripped down her leg. She’d injured him. Based on the strength of his grip, the damage wasn’t enough to weaken him. But, the amount of blood on the floor would make it slippery. She let her body go limp, pretending to pass out.

  “ ’bout damn time,” Dillon grumbled, loosening his arms slightly.

  Kinsey sucked in a deep breath, clearing her head.

  Dillon started through the door, but Kinsey jerked her legs up, planted them on the frame, and pushed hard.

  He staggered backward, slipping in his own blood. Then, he crashed to the floor, taking Kinsey down.

  As soon as he hit the ground, he released her and groaned.

  Kinsey was ready. After rolling to the side, she leaped to her feet and scrambled for the exit. The hot Texas sunshine beckoned her, and the fresh air screamed freedom. All she had to do was get there.

  Two steps. That’s as far as she made it before Dillon swept out his leg. He caught her at the ankles, knocking her feet sideways.

  She fell, watching the floor as if it rose up to greet her. Her forehead hit, pain ripped through her, and blackness descended.

  Becket coughed, dragged in a breath of hot, acrid smoke, and coughed again. He forced open his eyes and they stung, making them tear. As he fought his way through the fog to consciousness, he took a moment to realize the fog was smoke, and he was awake. Pain throbbed at the back of his head. He pushed to his knees to get a bearing on his location. Stirrups hung in front of his face from saddles perched on saddletrees. Tack room.

  His first thought was of the horses. Then he remembered turning them out to pasture earlier.

  Becket staggered to his feet, pulled his T-shirt up over his nose, coughing. His eyes burned and smoke filled the air, making seeing in the small room hard. He touched his fingertips to the door and doorknob. They were hot. Which meant the fire was on the other side.

  Grabbing a saddle blanket, he wrapped it around the doorknob and twisted. The door didn’t budge. He held the knob
and threw his shoulder against the wood panel. Still, the door wouldn’t open. Something blocked it. He hit the door again with his shoulder. Again, to no avail. If he didn’t escape soon, he would be overcome by smoke, or the fire would find its way through the walls, and consume him and everything else in the tack room.

  Hunkering low, he felt his way through the cloud of smoke until he found the outside wall. He cleared an old wooden trunk and several saddletrees out of the way, and then kicked at the boards. His first blow did little to budge the nails driven into the beams over fifty years ago when the barn had been built.

  Bracing his back against the boards, he cocked his leg and threw everything he had into hitting one board, low to the floor. It moved, the nails sliding out. Kicking again and again, he loosened one board, and then the adjacent one. The smoke thickened, and he couldn’t get a clean breath of air. He hacked and coughed, but he didn’t give up.

  He suspected Dillon Massey had been the man who hit him. The thought of what Dillon might do to Kinsey made Becket kick harder until one board shot free of the brace boards, and Becket could see blue sky. Fresh air seeped in but the smoke prevailed. He worked at another board until it broke. The hole he’d created was barely big enough.

  Becket laid flat on the floor of the tack room and squeezed his big body through, sucking in air once his head cleared the barn. With renewed strength, he wiggled, scooted, and crawled inch by inch until he was free of the barn. Coughing, practically hacking up a lung, he staggered to his feet and ran for the house. He didn’t know how long he’d been unconscious.

  Dillon could be halfway across the county with Kinsey by now.

  As Becket reached the house, he saw Lily’s red truck pull into the barnyard.

  She dropped to the ground, staring at the barn. “Holy hell, Becket. What happened?” She didn’t wait for his response, but ran for the water hose.

  “I’ll explain in a minute,” he called out, barreling through the kitchen door. He slipped on something dark and wet and nearly fell. He straightened, and his heart sank to his knees. The liquid was blood, and a butcher knife lay against the baseboard with more blood streaked across the blade.

  Becket ran straight for the phone in the hallway. He knew he wouldn’t find Kinsey in the house. Dillon had her. Sweet Jesus, he prayed she was still alive as he placed a call to 9-1-1. “There’s been an attack at the Coyote Creek Ranch. Kinsey Phillips has been abducted. Send the sheriff, the National Guard, hell, call out anyone and everyone you can. Dillon Massey has her. He’s insane and will kill her if we don’t find her quickly. He’ll probably head out of the county. And send the fire department to the Coyote Creek Ranch. The barn is on fire.” He slammed the phone onto the cradle and ran back out the door.

  Lily had the water hose aimed at the roof of the house, sweeping her arm right and left. The barn was too far gone to save. The best they could hope for was to prevent the other buildings from catching fire. But at that moment, Becket didn’t give a damn about the barn or even the house.

  “Where’s Kinsey?” Lily asked.

  His jaw tight, mind going in a million directions, Becket answered, “Massey has her.”

  “Damn.” Lily redirected the hose to a burning ember that landed on a patch of dried grass. “Where would he take her?”

  That’s the question that nagged him, and he had no good answers. “He’d be a fool to take her back to his house. That’s the first place the police will look.”

  Another truck raced into the barnyard and came to a skidding, dusty stop. Chance leaped out. “Let me guess. Massey made his move. The bastard has to die.” Chance pulled his personal protective gear from the back of his truck and pulled them on. “What are you waiting for?” He jabbed at finger in Becket’s direction. “Find him. We’ll take care of this.”

  “Nash will do his best to have road blocks set up to stop Massey,” Lily assured Becket. “They’ll find her.”

  “But will they find her in time? There’s blood all over the kitchen.” He swallowed over a dry throat. “I’m afraid he’ll kill her.”

  “If he wasn’t taking her back to his place, where would he go?”

  Becket stood with his hands on his hips, trying to think like Massey. “The better question is: where would he go if he wanted to kill her?”

  “Anywhere,” Lily answered.

  “He’s mean enough to make her want to suffer,” Becket said, forcing his mind to think like Massey. “The man was jealous about everything she loved. He took those things away to keep her tied to him.”

  “Kinsey came back to Hellfire,” Lily said.

  Becket’s eyes widened. “Because it was the only home she’d ever known.”

  “But her parents are dead,” Lily pointed out.

  “He can’t take away her memories—memories tied to the place she grew up. The place where her parents lived.” Becket’s heart pounded.

  “You think he’d take her to the old Phillips’ place?” Chance asked.

  “Unless he’s found on the road, it’s the only other location he might have taken her.” Becket’s fists knotted. “He burned down this barn, he might try to destroy her house, as well.”

  Moving a few feet to her right, Lily nodded. “And she’d have nowhere to call home.”

  “Go,” Chance said. “We’re right behind you as soon as the fire trucks arrive.”

  Becket ran for his truck.

  “It’s faster by horse!” Lily cried out.

  She was right. By road, the drive would take fifteen minutes. But with all the tack burning in the barn, Becket would have to ride bareback, without a bridle.

  His black gelding, Soot, pranced along the fence, whinnying, his eyes wild as the smoke blew his way.

  Veering away from his truck, Becket vaulted the fence, snagged Soot by his halter, and swung up over his back. Then, leaning over the horse’s neck, he twisted his hand in his mane and sank his heels into the animal’s flanks.

  Thankfully, the horse responded and leaped into a gallop, headed across the open pasture toward the old Phillips’ place.

  Becket prayed he’d get there in time. Already, he’d broken a promise to Kinsey. He’d said Dillon would never get his hands on her. When Becket caught up to the man, he would never do it again.

  Chapter Eight

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  When Kinsey woke, she lifted her head and stared around at her mother’s piano and the sofa her parents had recovered for their twenty-fifth anniversary. For a moment she didn’t understand why she was seeing these things, but then memories washed over her, and tears sprang to her eyes. She was in her parents’ house. Sunshine streamed through dirty windows and dust motes spun in the air, but this was her home. The place she’d grown up. Pain throbbed in her forehead, and she tried to raise her hands to touch the spot, but they wouldn’t move.

  She sat in a dining room chair in the middle of the living room. Her wrists were secured to the arms of the chair with duct tape. A flash of movement drew her attention to the window overlooking the front yard.

  Dillon stood outside, shaking a big red fuel can, slinging liquid across the front porch.

  Then she smelled a pungent acrid scent, and her blood ran cold.

  Kinsey strained and tugged at the bindings on her wrist. The tape held firm.

  Dillon entered the house, reeking of gasoline and carrying the jug with him, splashing it across the floor.

  “Dillon. Don’t do this.” She fought to keep a quaver from her voice. “I’ll come home with you.”

  He snorted and slung more gasoline across the couch, some of it landing on his trouser legs. “I’ve tried to be reasonable.”

  Kinsey bit hard on her tongue. Now wasn’t the time to tell him he was crazy and mean. “Take the tape off my wrists, Dillon. I’ll go with you.”

  “I couldn’t keep you away from this damn place, even after your parents died.” He pulled a box of wooden matches from his pocket. “You had to come back, didn’t you?”

  “I onl
y came to visit. I’m ready to go home now,” she said, as calmly as she could, though her insides shook. With as much gasoline as he’d poured all over the room, it wouldn’t take long to burn. She had to stop him before he lit a match. “Please, Dillon. Take me home. I promise not to leave you again.”

  “I could have forgiven you for leaving, but when I saw you kissing Grayson…” Dillon pulled a match from the box and stared at the red tip. “You always were a tease. I never trusted you around my teammates. I should have known you had something going on back here. Were you fucking the neighbor cowhand every time you came home to visit your parents?” He slid the match against the box and it ignited into a bright red-and-orange flame.

  A gasp escaped. “Never, Dillon. I came home to see my parents. Only my parents.”

  “Shut up!” he yelled. “You’re nothing but a lying bitch.” Scowling, he flung the match.

  Kinsey’s breath caught as the match flew through the air and landed on the couch pushed up against the wall. The flame smoldered for a moment, then caught the gasoline and spread across the cushions.

  Dillon’s gaze followed the spread of the flame, his mouth curling into a smile. “You love this place so much…you can stay and burn with it.”

  “Don’t do this, Dillon. If you let me die in this house, you will have committed murder. Your football career will be over. You’ll go to jail.”

  “And you will still be dead, and this house will be gone.” He headed for the door. “My career is over, anyway. Coach wasn’t playing me in the next game. Says I’m too much of a loose cannon.” He kicked an end table, sending it flying across the room. “What the fuck does he know, anyway? Fuck him! Fuck you. And fuck this place. I’m done with it all.”

  Kinsey was so focused on the fire flaring in her old house, she almost didn’t hear the hooves thundering against the ground until a horse slid to a stop outside, and a rider dropped to the ground.

  “Kinsey!” A voice called out.

  “Great.” Dillon laughed. “I can take care of your lover at the same time.” He grabbed another chair and slammed it against the dining table, breaking it into pieces. With one of the legs in his hand, he squared off opposite Becket as he charged through the door.