Redemption River

by Lindsay Cross

Brown’s fingers finally released their hold and she collapsed to the floor, her knees slamming into the rough wooden planks. Pain shot up her legs, down her shins. She coughed and gagged, trying to suck in enough oxygen to keep herself conscious. Evie pushed up from the floor, but her arms were too weak.

  “Now this is where you belong. At my feet.” Brown squatted and grabbed her chin, yanking her face to his. He handled her like she was property.

  Anger finally slid past her fear and she slapped his hand away. She jumped up, looked around, and found a weapon. Her pruning shears stood propped in the corner. Ten feet.

  She took a step, ready to lunge, but Brown’s arm wrapped around her waist. His other hand yanked her hair and pain ripped through her scalp. This time she managed to scream, and she prayed Hunter would hear.

  “I’m here to deliver a message.” Brown licked her neck, sliding his slimy tongue from her collarbone up to her ear.

  “I don’t care what you’re here for.” She jabbed an elbow into his stomach.

  Brown grunted and pushed her. She stumbled but managed to catch her balance. Turning to face him, she started to slink backward, toward the stairs. Toward Hunter.

  The sheriff’s face turned dark red. A fanatical gleam shone bright in his gaze. “The little kitten grew some claws? Don’t worry, I’ll remove them.”

  Evie took another step back. Brown moved with her. She knew she wouldn’t be able to take a trained law enforcement officer in hand-to-hand combat, not even with her diploma from self-defense class. She needed someone stronger, bigger, and more badass than the Hulk to help her. “Hunter!”

  Brown roared and lunged. She got in one more step backward before he threw her to the ground. His elbow landed in her stomach and Evie’s knees bowed up. Air leaked from her mouth in short gasps, as if he’d punctured a lung. She couldn’t seem to get enough air. Stars danced overhead as she lay there, stunned.

  Brown’s slap snapped her head to the right, sending pain exploding across her face. Blood trickled out of the corner of her mouth. This can’t be happening. Not again.

  “Like I said before you opened your fucking mouth, I’m here to remind you to do as you’re told.”

  “Apparently you missed the memo. I’ve already agreed to do what he wants.” She squeezed the words past her clenched teeth. Brown’s face paled and a flicker of indecision skated across his eyes. “Uh-oh, did the big bad sheriff get left out of the loop?”

  Brown grabbed her jaw, forcing her to look at him. “Marcus can’t wipe his ass with out me. Got it?”

  “Really? Then why are you so surprised we’ve already made an arrangement? Didn’t he tell you?” Brown’s grip tightened. The pain was excruciating, but Evie refused to cow to him. She would never submit to Brown.

  “You want to see what I can do? Want to see why you better do as I say?” Spit flew from Brown’s lips and Evie cringed away. Brown pulled a phone from his pocket and shoved it in her face. “Marcus might sit in the big chair, but only because of the real men on the ground.”

  “Real men don’t beat women. They don’t put on a fake badge and pretend to be a cop. You are the furthest thing from a man.” Evie punctuated each word. Rage seemed to roll out of her very pores.

  Brown’s lip pulled up sharply to the right. “Your dad said the same thing. Right before I blew his brains out.”

  Her heart stopped. Brown shoved his phone in her face. She tried to recoil from the video he pulled up, but the floor held her immobile. Trapped between a hard place and a sadist’s hands.

  Her father. On his knees, his hands bound behind him, a gun pressed to the side of his head.

  She couldn’t see who was holding the gun, but she saw the shoes. Cop shoes. Brown pants. “You coward.”

  “Watch, Evie. Watch and see what a real man can do.” Brown squeezed her jaw until she thought it would break.

  Her dad pressed his lips together into a tight line. His eyes were hard. Granite. Furious. He didn’t beg, didn’t so much as acknowledge the man holding the gun. Her dad, her hero. He’d never once caved to pressure. Never.

  She heard the retort of fire. Saw the bright yellow blast explode from the end of the pistol. Saw her dad fall to the side in the dirt.

  Her whole body went cold. Her mind shut down. Her lungs locked.

  She heard screams, but she didn’t realize they were coming from her own throat until Brown slapped her again.

  “Shut up!”

  A gun clicked and she sobbed. But the sound wasn’t from the video. Hunter stood behind Brown, a pistol pressed to the back of the sheriff’s skull.

  “Get the fuck off her.” Hunter’s voice was dark. Deadly. Welcome.

  Brown’s eyes met hers. The rage ripping across his face was frightening.

  Hunter pressed the gun harder against Brown’s skull, lowering the bastard’s head closer to hers. Revulsion rolled through Evie’s body and she turned away. The sheriff’s nails dug into her jaw, but she kept silent.

  “Drop the phone and stand up. Keep your fucking hands where I can see them.” Hunter punctuated each word. “Or I’ll blow your goddamn head off those weak excuses for shoulders.”

  Brown put his phone on the floor and lifted his hands. His uniform was wrinkled now, the strips of his rank almost as distorted as the man wearing them.

  Evie wanted to squeeze her eyes shut. Block them out. Block out the memory of that terrible video. She started shaking. She didn’t know if it was from rage or shock or terror.

  But she grabbed the cell phone and got to her feet, her knees locked tight to keep from falling. It was evidence. She could use it against him.

  “Get out. Now. Before I kill you.” Hunter’s jaw locked tight, and his eyes… His eyes were almost black. Hunter’s pistol was still pressed to the sheriff’s skull.

  “You’re going to regret this. You should have kept to your own, Hunter.” Brown’s voice shook with fear. Evie felt the first tinge of satisfaction and prayed Hunter would shoot the man.

  “I am keeping to my own. You fuck with her, you fuck with me. Now get up.”

  Evie’s eyes widened just as Brown’s did. The sheriff turned to look at her but then whipped his attention back to the man holding the gun. He slowly rose to his feet.

  Hunter held the pistol in his right hand, his left cupping the grip. He pressed the weapon to Brown’s forehead.

  “Out,” Hunter bit out, his voice as deadly as the weapon in his hands.

  Brown backed down the back porch steps. “Don’t forget my message, Evie.”

  She grabbed the chair beside her before her knees buckled.

  Hunter fired a round, and the bullet sent a plug of grass and dirt flying into the air next to Brown. The sheriff took off around the side of the house. A few seconds later his tires spun out of her driveway.

  “You should have shot him.” Evie trembled harder, her teeth chattering. The phone buzzed in her hand.

  The video.

  She threw the phone and ran for the trash can, no longer able to hold the bile inside.

  Hunter followed her and grabbed her hair, holding it off her face and rubbing small circles on her back.

  When she finished emptying her stomach, the tears started and Hunter pulled her into his arms, cocooning his body around hers. But nothing could protect her from what she’d seen.

  “He—he killed my father,” she choked out between sobs. “He had it on video…and he made me watch.”

  14

  Evie doubled over, clutching her stomach, and would have fallen to her knees if he hadn’t grabbed her.

  Hunter lifted her in his arms. “Jesus Christ.”

  He buried his face in her hair, inhaled her sweet scent, and prayed it would cap his rage. But each one of her sobs ripped open a fresh pit of anger.

  He carried her inside, sat on the couch, and held her there, unable to think of anything else he could do to ease her pain.

  Hunter stroked her hair, her shoulders, her arms. Anything to soothe her. “Don�
��t worry about him. That fucker is going to feed the gators in Red Fork Bayou.”

  Cows had been known to disappear down Red Fork Road and the only things to turn up would be horns and hoofs. Brown’s bones were smaller and would be easier for their breed of gator to digest.

  She sobbed harder, clutching him like she feared she would fall through the floor if she didn’t hold on tight enough. Earlier tonight, his only thought had been to get her to trust him so he could use her. Now all he could think about was protecting her. Shielding her. Keeping her safe.

  And killing the sheriff.

  “Evie, you need to tell me what the hell is going on.” Hunter needed to know. He had to find out if she was really working with Marcus.

  Evie’s sobs slowed to hiccups and her tremors reduced to an occasional shake. “I’m not ready to talk about…it.”

  Hunter grabbed her shoulders, making sure to be gentle, and eased her away so he could study her. She blinked, sniffled, and looked away.

  “Evie, look at me.” Hunter waited for her to turn back to him. “I came home to recover from being shot in combat. I expected to hang out with my family. Hopefully spend some time with you.”

  Evie trembled again and Hunter cupped her cheek. He needed her to buy his line of bullshit, no matter how bitter the words tasted in his mouth. At least they contained a grain of truth. “I missed you. I was really scared you wouldn’t even look at me, let alone talk to me, but I hoped. I hoped every day for the past three months, while I was holed up in that hospital.”

  “Hunter…”

  “Let me finish.”

  Evie leaned away from him. His tone had been drill-sergeant harsh and he realized he’d gotten way too used to talking to soldiers.

  “I get to you, finally and the goddamn sheriff attacks you in your own home. Makes you watch a video of your dad’s murder.”

  Tears filled her eyes and spilled down her pale cheeks.

  It felt like metal in a tornado was ripping up his insides. Her tears had always sent his hero syndrome into overdrive. Going into this thing, he’d prepared himself to see her cry. To beg and plead for his mercy. But now, actually confronted with this flesh-and-blood Evie, he realized he’d wasted his time. There was no preparing for this.

  “You need to tell me what the fuck is going on, honey. Because I feel like I just got stuck in a mud pit and the gators are circling.” And if he didn’t get her to admit the truth willingly, the CIA would take it from her. Either by coercion or force.

  Evie hung in his grip, wrung out and pitiful. Her left eye was already swelling. “I don’t want you to get involved. It’s not safe.” Her breathing hitched.

  Hunter almost sighed. At least she hadn’t told him it was none of his business or tried to kick him out of her house. She was scared. And she needed him. He knew it. She knew it.

  “How about I pour us a drink? Got anything stronger than beer?”

  “In the cabinet over the fridge. Jack Daniels.”

  His favorite. He and Evie used to sip the whiskey slow, savoring it as they watched flames leap in their bonfire. “I knew you thought about me.”

  She stiffened. “Whatever. I can’t help it if you have good taste in whiskey.”

  Hunter couldn’t hold back a small smile. He could tell the shock was fading. She would need someone to catch her when it disappeared entirely and reality set in. And he would be there.

  Hunter eased her to the couch and went to the back porch, found the cell phone and placed it on the counter. He could get this to Hoyt later. Then Hunter would know everything about the sheriff. What he ate. What he drank. Where he pissed.

  He went back to the kitchen and grabbed two shot glasses and a full bottle of Jack before returning to the living room.

  Evie hunched on the faded blue couch, her shoulders slumped, her head cradled in her hands. Her posture screamed defeat.

  “Here, take this.” Hunter handed Evie a full shot glass, put the bottle on the floor, and sat beside her. There was wariness in her gaze again, but he intended to fix that fast. “Go on. Down it. It will help soothe your nerves.”

  She looked at him like he’d turned into a cockroach. “You think a drink will make me forget seeing my dad murdered?”

  “Not one drink. More like ten. I’m going for past normal drunk and into permanent liver damage.”

  “Maybe death by liver would be preferable to death by sheriff.” Evie downed the whole glass and Hunter hurried to refill it.

  “Maybe if you talked to me, let me help you, you wouldn’t have to contemplate death by anything.” Hunter sat his shot glass on the end table behind him, knocking over a picture in the process.

  He picked up the old frame and studied the photo, surprised to see his own father smiling back at him. It was a younger, blonder version of Hank James, but he still had intense blue eyes capable of piercing steel. Evie’s dad, Tom Videl, stood on the other side. Both men had an arm wrapped around a very young and very attractive Maxine.

  “Can you believe how young they were?” Evie said.

  “I didn’t know Hank hung out with your parents.”

  “Yeah, from what C.W. has told me, they all used to be real close.”

  “What happened?”

  “I–I don’t know. I tried to ask C.W. but he never answers my questions straight. Half the time I have no idea what he’s talking about. I think he was one of those vets who should have been diagnosed with PTSD.” Evie placed a hand on his shoulder and studied the picture.

  Hunter stiffened, that small touch igniting his need for her. “I don’t think they knew much about PTSD back then.” Her fingers curled, sinking deeper into his skin, and his desire ratcheted up another hundred degrees. The image of her fingers wrapped around his cock took hostage of all other thoughts.

  He carefully placed the photo back on the table. “Your grandpa is one tough man. I talked to him tonight.”

  “Why?”

  Hunter met her gaze dead on. “I asked his permission to date you.”

  Evie paled and leaned away, but he caught her hand. He needed to touch her. He didn’t know why.

  He needed to be with her. But he had to remember why he was here. He had to get her trust.

  So he could betray her.

  Sourness coated his tongue at the thought. The idea that had seemed so easy just a month ago now made his body scream in revolt.

  “You didn’t.”

  “I did. And he didn’t kill me.” Hunter said.

  “Jesus.”

  “I’m asking you to fill me in. I know some bad shit is going down and I think you may be caught in the middle.” Hunter watched the expressions flicker across her face. Knew she wanted to run. He wasn’t going to let her.

  “I don’t know what you think is happening, but you’re wrong. C.W. is crazy, I told you that. Things are just business as usual.” She was hedging, her smile fake and brittle.

  “I’ll tell you what I think. I think that sheriff is dirty and I think he’s trying to get you to do something you don’t want to do. I think you need my help. I think your dad would want you to ask for it.”

  Her smile cracked. “That’s low.”

  Hunter refilled her shot glass and tilted it toward her lips. “Here, this will help. Swallowing the truth is harder than believing the lies.”

  Evie kept her gaze glued to his and tilted the glass back. Number three. She couldn’t weigh over a buck ten at most. Her tolerance should top out after shot number five. Lesson number one from Mr. J-get your enemy wasted and pump them for information. Except Evie sure as shit didn’t feel like an enemy.

  Hunter poured another and passed the glass back to her. Evie tucked a strand of long blonde hair behind her ear before accepting the glass. Then she bit her lip and Hunter groaned. She had the sexiest mouth he’d ever seen. Ever imagined. And right now, he wanted to do things to those lips that would make the devil blush.

  Evie dropped her brows. “You okay?”

  Hunter nodded and do
wned his first shot. The liquid fire seared a path down to his stomach, but it did nothing to tame the heat in his dick. “Yeah, just remembered something.” Like how sweet her mouth looked wrapped around his cock.

  She didn’t say anything, but her look clearly said she didn’t believe him.

  “Evie, I can help you. I take out scum every day. Usually in other countries, sure, but assholes are assholes, no matter what their nationality.”

  Evie touched her neck, flinched, and downed the liquor in her glass. Shot number four.

  She tilted her head to the side, giving him an eyeful of the swelling on her face. The small bit of dried blood at the corner of her mouth. The cold control he’d managed to maintain for so long vanished.

  Then he saw her neck.

  Brown’s fingerprints stood out against her golden skin. The need to kill rose sharp and fast. Hunter accepted it. He let the beast loose from its cage. He didn’t yell or roar. He didn’t jump up and pace. He harnessed the killer inside him, letting him sink into his pores. Familiar. Comfortable. Necessary.

  Evie refilled her own glass this time. Hunter couldn’t move. Couldn’t think past peeling Brown’s fingernails back with his hunting knife.

  “Can you stop staring at me, please?” Evie said.

  “Are you going to tell me about Brown?”

  Evie cleared her throat and leaned back against the couch cushions. Her nightgown pulled high, exposing her thighs. Her knees parted, just a couple of inches.

  Hunter had to sit on his free hand to hold it down. The last thing he needed was to sink into her hot flesh and totally forget the mission. No matter how much the thought drove him insane.

  “It’s not really Brown. I mean, he’s involved. But Marcus is the one. Brown is his lackey.”

  Hunter ripped his focus from daydreams about her panties to her confession.

  Evie blushed and pulled her gown down. He might as well be sixteen and horny, not a covert killer on a mission, because damn if her rosy cheeks didn’t make him think about how rosy her ass would look after a spanking. He downed his whiskey, but the burn didn’t take the edge off. His cock was so swollen he was sure his zipper would leave an imprint on it.

  Evie downed shot number five.