Shattered Vows

by Kaylea Cross

  “No, I’m good.” The woman tied him into knots without even realizing it.

  He’d secretly pined for her for years and that hadn’t changed now that she was single. While he’d loved Carter like a brother, his best friend hadn’t always treated her the way he should have. He hadn’t been attentive or affectionate enough. Hadn’t fully appreciated what he had in her. And though he and Molly had been happy enough prior to the TBI, even at his best Carter had been about as romantic as a rock.

  To Jase’s knowledge Molly had never complained about any of it, but then, she hadn’t complained about anything, not even the frequent and lengthy deployments that must have worn on her.

  All he knew was, if Molly had been his, he would have shown her each and every day how much he appreciated and cherished her. How lucky he was to have her. God, how he wanted that chance, but he didn’t dare tell her.

  Packed boxes filled the entryway and hall. “You about finished packing?” he asked, leaving the male visitor and Carter issue alone for now as he followed her into the kitchen. Pushing Molly would only make her retreat more.

  “Pretty much. Just have the bare essentials to go.”

  He nodded. The counters were bare, all her knickknacks and personal items gone. The space looked strangely bare and devoid of life without the colorful splashes that matched her personality decorating it. “If I overstepped by finding the house and springing the house on you like that, I apologize.”

  She stopped in the act of scooping some casserole onto a plate, her gaze lifting to his. “No. Really. I was just taken aback, that’s all. I’m beyond touched that you would do all of that for me.”

  He shrugged. “It’s no big deal.”

  “To me it is. I hope you and the others know how much I appreciate everything you’ve done.”

  “Of course we do.” Jase was tired, he wasn’t going to lie. He went into the office a couple hours early each morning so he could get all his work done by mid-afternoon, allowing him to get over to Molly’s new place a few hours before everyone else.

  He was always the first one there and usually the last to leave. Because while Beckett, Mac and some of the other guys from the crews were hard workers and wanted to help Molly by fixing up the place for her, for Jase it was personal. It gave him a deep satisfaction to work with his hands again, and he enjoyed working on something that would give Molly a sense of security and a fresh start in a place she loved.

  But there was also a selfish reason for it. He wanted her to stay in Crimson Point rather than go home to North Carolina and raise the baby there.

  She’d moved out here for Carter, leaving her entire life and family behind. Jase was thankful she was still here, but he realized that she could change her mind at any time. Even if he couldn’t have her, losing her that way, not being able to see her, would have been too hard to bear.

  He stuffed his hands in his pockets, watched her move around the bare kitchen while she heated up her dinner in the microwave. The vibe between them seemed a little strained all of a sudden. Did she feel uncomfortable about the house?

  All he knew was, things between them were definitely not relaxed and comfortable at the moment. Actually, they hadn’t been the same since the night Carter died. Did some part of her secretly blame him for it? Or maybe she was embarrassed that he’d been the one to find her hiding in the culvert that night?

  Jase had no idea what was going on in her head, but clearly she wasn’t up for company right now. At least, not his company. He should go, except he didn’t want to, and he was still wondering about that guy who had just been here. Was she in some sort of danger? The thought made his hackles rise.

  Wanting to ease the subtle tension between them, he slid onto one of the stools at the kitchen island. “How you holding up now, Moll?” She’d been so busy in the lead up to the funeral. Now that it was over, she had to be feeling the same kind of emotional crash he was.

  She glanced at him. “I’m managing. You?”

  “Same.” He pushed out a breath. “You know, I keep meaning to talk to you about something, but there never seems to be a good time.”

  “Talk to me about what?” She sucked the tip of her thumb, and the sight of it disappearing between her lips put all kinds of X-rated ideas into his head.

  “How you feel about the baby now.”

  “Oh.” She looked away, watched her plate turn around and around in the microwave as it finished heating. “Much better. I’m even getting a little excited.”

  “That’s good.” It had been one hell of a sucker punch to get that news initially. Probably for her, too.

  She hummed in agreement.

  He waited for her to say something more. She didn’t. Her silence weighed on him.

  The Molly he used to know would sit down next to him and talk it through with him, telling him the entire story from her perspective. Or she’d start with that and change the subject so she wasn’t the topic of conversation.

  She’d never been uncomfortable talking to him about anything before, but she was now, and he didn’t like it. He never wanted her to pull back or hide anything from him, especially if she was in any trouble.

  “Will you stay and raise the baby here?” he finally asked, dreading her answer.

  She carried her plate to the island and stood on the other side of it rather than come sit beside him. “I haven’t decided yet.”

  A sinking sensation filled his gut, along with tiny tendrils of panic. “You’ve got lots of support here. People who love you.” Her family could go screw themselves as far as he was concerned. They’d done jack for her since Carter was injured. Her mother hadn’t even come out once to help her through the past few hellish months. He was surprised they’d bothered coming to the funeral, but they sure as hell hadn’t wasted time in pressuring her to move back home “for the baby’s sake”.

  She put on a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I know. That’s why I’m still here.”

  That was something, at least. “Good.”

  With the conversation over, Jase stood, his heart heavy. He was trying his best to accept that she would never be his and move on, but after so many years of wanting her it was like getting ready to amputate a limb with a dull, rusty knife. So far, he hadn’t found the guts to make the first painful but necessary cut.

  He rounded the island, sadness hitting him at the way her shoulders stiffened. It was subtle, but he saw it.

  She watched him almost warily for some reason, those gold-green eyes fixed on his.

  The part of him he was desperately trying to shut off wanted so badly to brush that tight spiral curl from her cheek, cradle the side of her face in his hand and lean in to settle his lips on hers. To comfort and reassure, chase away the shadows in her eyes. Pull her close, mold her curves to his body while he learned the taste and shape of her, find out what made her shiver and moan and melt.

  “I’m here if you need me, okay?” he murmured instead.

  She nodded, her smile grateful and a little sad. “I know. Thanks.”

  The sorrow in her eyes sliced him up inside. He wanted to make her smile, make her laugh again. God, her laugh was the sexiest thing about her, warm and sultry. She’d been so quick to smile before things had gone bad, so full of joy and confidence. Now it was as though someone had hit a dimmer switch inside her, muting her beautiful inner light.

  He couldn’t walk away like this. Not with this lingering awkwardness between them.

  Steeling himself for possible rejection, he slid his arms around her back and gathered her into a hug. Sighing, she returned it instantly, triggering a bittersweet pain beneath his ribs as she rested her cheek on his chest, leaning on him.

  She felt so damn right in his embrace. So damn perfect. Jase squeezed his eyes shut, wishing—

  Wishing for the impossible. Exactly why he had to find a way to get over her. He couldn’t keep living like this.

  Molly squeezed him and let go, stepping back, her gaze on the floor. He was
forgiven, but she was still holding back. “Well. I better eat and get out of here. I’m meeting the girls at yoga class in twenty minutes.”

  A polite but clear way of asking him to leave.

  “I love the house,” she added. “I’ll sleep on it and let you know one way or the other tomorrow. Okay?”

  “Sure. Have a good night.”

  “You too.”

  He drove back to his place deep in thought. It didn’t matter that he knew he needed to figure out a way to move on.

  No matter what logic told him, his heart wasn’t going to get over Molly Boyd anytime soon. Only a major shakeup was going to help that.

  Maybe the security contracting job he’d been contacted about and a cross country move to Virginia was the best thing for him. Although he was starting to think that nothing short of death would ever get her out of his system.

  Chapter Six

  Rafe crossed his arms and leaned against the wall as he faced his boss of the past three years, seated behind his antique desk in a private office overlooking the river in downtown Portland. Their little slice of the operation specialized in the darker side of business that other men didn’t have the stomach to touch. It was why they were in such demand.

  In his mid-forties, Mick leaned back in his leather office chair and took a sip of the bourbon he’d just poured. “You get what you were looking for at your meeting this morning?” His gray eyes gleamed with interest.

  “Yep.” A hundred-and-fifty grand from a trust fund junkie who couldn’t quit his habit of hookers and blow.

  “Did he make it interesting?”

  “He tried.” The kid had been stupid enough to try to run when Rafe had caught him a few blocks from the casino. Initial coercion during their meeting hadn’t done the trick, so Rafe had taken a hammer and methodically broken the kid’s kneecaps, then moved on to individual bones in his hands until he’d puked all over himself and agreed to hand over the money.

  Forty minutes later one of Rafe’s guys dragged the kid into his parents’ mansion in the richest neighborhood in Vegas. Five minutes after that, Rafe had walked out with twelve grand in cash from the safe and the one-fifty transferred to an offshore account. They’d left the kid bleeding on his father’s office floor, handcuffed and helpless. He had a lot of explaining to do when Daddy came home.

  A solid morning’s work, except that even with that extra twelve grand in cash, Rafe was still a long way from the total he needed. The organization had been lenient with him thus far while working to repay his debt. But that could change at any moment.

  “What about the Boyd money?” Mick asked, almost as an afterthought.

  “Insurance company hasn’t made a decision yet.” Rafe was already losing sleep because of it. The way things were going, that one-twenty could literally mean the difference between life and death for him.

  Mick huffed in annoyance. “What the hell’s taking so long? They figure a guy with that kind of training just suddenly loses control of his truck because of a rainstorm and drives over the side of a fucking cliff?”

  “You and I both know it’s bullshit. But that policy is about the only way we’ll ever see any of that money again.”

  A loaded pause followed. “You’d better hope that’s not true.”

  Rafe schooled his features, outwardly not reacting even as his abs contracted as if from an invisible blow. “I’ve got it covered.” His debt.

  “Yeah? I sure hope so, Rafe, because you’re damn good at your job. Your real job, not the one that got you into this…predicament you’re in.”

  Rafe longed to scrub the shitty-ass smirk off the bastard’s face. With an industrial sander. “Don’t worry.” But he was worried. So worried it was a constant, grinding pain in the middle of his gut.

  He’d grown up poor. So poor he knew what it was like to eat out of garbage cans just to keep from starving, and showing up to school filthy and in rags while the other kids made his school hours miserable. Years later, when he’d left the military and joined the organization, Rafe had vowed to make so much fucking money that he could buy whatever the hell he wanted for the rest of his life.

  As Mick said, he was good at what he did. So much so that the bosses had given him more latitude to make business deals on his own when he’d approached them about branching out from straight enforcement work. Everything had been going fine and building momentum. He’d made a few million within the first two months before he made a mistake and took the gamble he now regretted.

  The shipment of weapons and drugs worth three-point-eight million was caught at a port in L.A. The authorities had seized it, leaving the organization almost four million in the hole. Needless to say, the bosses were pissed and Rafe was on the hook for the full amount, plus interest.

  He had sold his house, his cars and almost everything else he owned, emptied his bank accounts and investments to pay it back, and he was still nearly a million short. He had a few more people to collect from, but he needed Boyd’s life insurance policy and everyone else he could squeeze money out of to have a prayer at covering the rest.

  “Heard they named a deadline,” Mick added casually.

  Rafe barely kept from reacting, his fingers biting into his palms. “Yeah? I didn’t.”

  Mick shot him a pointed look. “You surprised? Guy on the hook is always the last to know.”

  He hated being played with. “When is it?”

  “October ninth.”

  Shit. Just over a month from now. Cold prickled across his scalp. What if they ruled Boyd’s death a suicide? Where the fuck would Rafe get that chunk of money from then?

  “You’re a smart kid. I’m sure you’ll figure it out. Where are you off to now?” Mick asked, leaning back casually in his seat.

  “Another meeting.” This one much closer to home, and far more personal.

  “A collection meeting?”

  “Tribiani.”

  “Ah, good. That son of a bitch has gotten off easy so far. Call me when you’re done, I wanna hear all about how he pisses himself,” Mick said and dismissed him with an impatient wave.

  Rafe put Mick and the churning anxiety about the debt from his mind as he drove to his first stop, where everything was already in place. When he was on a job, he had to be totally focused, or fuckups happened.

  Sometimes Mick annoyed the ever-living fuck out of him, but most of the time they worked well together. If he ever became too much of a pain in the ass to deal with, Rafe could always snuff him and make it look like an accident, then the organization would find someone else to handle the books. That’s how this business worked.

  After he had what he needed, he drove to the meeting location. Ten minutes later he arrived at the warehouse in an industrial area just south of Portland and parked behind the nondescript building. It was one o’clock in the afternoon on a Wednesday. Busy enough that his presence wouldn’t stand out, and the borrowed vehicle ensured anyone trying to trace him would hit a dead end.

  One of his low-level guys was waiting outside the back door. “He ready?” Rafe asked, and received a curt nod as the man opened the door for him.

  It was dark inside, the noise from adjacent warehouses perfect to drown out any sounds that might occur during this “meeting”. Rafe pulled off his sunglasses and tucked them into his jacket pocket. Two armed men stood guard outside a locked office in the back. One of them knocked sharply on the door twice as Rafe approached, taking off his jacket. He handed it to the other man, waited a few seconds for the door to open. Rafe’s most valuable guy stood there, his face grim.

  “Started to wonder if you were ever gonna show,” Sam said.

  “Had some loose ends to tie up.” He rolled up his sleeves, noticing that the armpits of his shirt were damp. His heart rate was elevated too. “You got what I asked for?”

  “It’s all set up.”

  He nodded once. “Wait outside.” Without pause he stepped into the darkened office and shut the door, the only light coming from a tablet se
t up on the desk. Tied to the metal chair chained to the floor, Tribiani stared up at him through one eye, the other one already swollen shut.

  “I gave you plenty of chances,” Rafe began in a disappointed tone. He needed this money bad. “Too many, because of our history together. You knew the risks, yet you thought you could steal money from us and get away with it.” He shook his head, no longer angry, but resolved. He never did this kind of work when he was angry. Business was business, and had to be conducted with a clear head. Even the messy stuff.

  “Rafe,” the man croaked. “I swear I was gonna pay you back. I was in a tough spot, I needed the money to—”

  “I don’t care,” he said quietly. “You understand that? I. Don’t. Care.” He crossed to the tablet.

  “Please,” Tribiani said. “Please just hear me out. I can get you the money. I’ve got some stocks.”

  “We’re way past that now.” He tapped the screen, loading the video he’d sent a few minutes ago. “And you know what happens to people who cross us.”

  “No, please, man. Please listen.”

  Rafe watched Tribiani’s face as the video started. “Look familiar?” A house came on screen. Two-story American Dream kind of a house set in a cute little cul-de-sac. It even had a white picket fence out front next to where Tribiani’s young wife was parked in the driveway.

  “Oh, Christ,” Tribiani moaned, terror lacing his voice. “You can’t. You can’t, man, she’s not part of this.”

  “Shh. My favorite part’s coming up,” he said.

  Silence filled the room for the next few seconds, his prisoner’s tension rising palpably. Then an ear-splitting explosion ripped through the quiet as the house exploded. The camera Rafe had installed across the street shook with the force of the concussion, capturing every moment. The windows and front door blew out. A second later flames poured through the openings, engulfing the home.

  “No!” Tribiani screamed. “Oh, fuck, Natalie…”

  “Yeah, those gas leaks can be nasty,” Rafe said. “Don’t worry, though. She didn’t know it was coming and wouldn’t have felt a thing. Unfortunately, you’re not going to be able to say the same.”