by Jaycee Clark
“Think you’re smart, don’t you, slut? I should ask you that question.” B.J. took a step towards her. Nina held her ground. Scrapes and clangs filled the air as weights dropped and people either moved closer or back. The smarter ones moved back.
If a fight broke out, it was solitary. Rules and regulations were followed above all else. In that moment, Nina made her decision. She dropped the other dumbbell she held.
No way in hell was she going to be accused of starting some freaking fight.
“Why’s that?” Nina asked, holding the flat gray stare of the other woman.
“Rod.” The word hung on the air heavy with judgment.
And this was the blow-job queen talking?
Nina only raised a brow.
“Think you’re so much better than the rest of us, don’t you?” B.J.’s breath reeked.
“I don’t know, you’ve got it all figured out, B.J. Why don’t you tell me?”
She saw the fist coming, but she didn’t do a thing to stop it. The Bitch had one hell of an uppercut. Nina felt as if her jaw exploded as the lights dimmed around her and her feet flew out from under her.
Her head rapped hard against the concrete.
“Fight! Fight! Fight!” The words chanted in a chorus like some movie. The kick to her ribs had her gagging.
“Hey!” Feet pounded on the floor as the guards rushed forward. “Break it up. Break it up!”
Nina moaned. If she was lucky, she’d get the infirmary. Please, let her be lucky.
Shuffles and curses pounded the air as the guards wrestled the Bitch to the floor and cuffed her.
“It’s solitary this time for you, B.J.,” one of the guards said.
“Fucking slut started it.”
“Yeah, Fisher started it.”
Nina moaned again, the world was gray and fuzzy. Her head must have hit the floor harder than she thought. Damn.
“No, she didn’t,” said a voice she didn’t recognize.
“Yeah, Rose is right. The Bitch started picking on Fisher. She didn’t even say anything. Then, B.J. decked her.”
Nina didn’t know who all was standing up for her, but hopefully, the guards believed them.
“Fisher?” Someone squatted down next to her. “Fisher?”
Nina opened her eyes. There wasn’t any need to pretend pain; it sliced through her skull. Please don’t let her vomit all over the place. She swallowed the nausea and tried to focus on the two guards swerving above her.
“She prob’ly has one of them concussions or whatever the hell they’re called. Whacked her melon good. Bam! Like a damn ball.”
Nina had no idea who was doing all the talking. Holy shit, her head hurt.
“Fisher, how many fingers am I holding up?”
“Which one of you?” she asked before the world went dark.
• • •
When she woke up it was to the stringent smells of ammonia and disinfectant. It still felt like a mob of jonesing bag brides wanting their hits stomped through her head in three-inch spiked heels.
A small dim light over a desk drew her attention.
She tried to move her hand, but nothing happened. Damn, restraints. So much for a bump. Here she was in the prison’s treasure trove of drugs and she couldn’t even get off her ass to get a capsule of Tylenol.
Oh well, she’d been without before. She wasn’t an addict. She would just rather be high than not. There was a hierarchy to things, even addictions, in her opinion.
Nina spent the rest of the night looking at the gray rectangled ceiling. Darkened florescent lights marched down the center of the room in a perfect line.
One more month. Rod had to come through for her. He simply had to. And she knew he would. He bought her story, hook, line and sinker. Felt sorry for her too. ’Bout time somebody did.
She’d have to be careful. No way could she afford to have any of her privileges taken away or to have any of the guards, and certainly not the warden, watching her. The next month was important. Clean bill. No more drugs sneaked in, too risky. No fighting. The last had been all too close a call. It was a wonder anyone stood up for her, and if they hadn’t, she could easily have been in solitary or cell time, and either one was not an option. Time to be the perfect inmate.
Nina gave a harsh laugh and noticed another bedridden prisoner watching her. This woman had black hair, stark against the pillow and her cadaver complexion. Not wanting another confrontation, Nina turned her head to the side and thought about the first thing she’d do when she got out.
She’d head towards San Antonio, get Rod to make a pit stop at that run-down place outside of Brownwood and get some rocks. If she could swing it, she’d try to get him to buy a bit more that they could sell to make some extra cash. That would take care of some money problems. Nina would just have to get Rod to shell out the dough.
That shouldn’t be too hard with what she was giving him. Rod had cursed at one point during their last encounter that she should be nicknamed B.J. and not the Bitch. Yeah, Rod would give her whatever she wanted. ’Course, she’d also contact some old dealers. And once she got back into the swing of things, she’d track down Johnny and the Shepards and her lawyer.
Now what she would do to them, once she’d found them, was another story. Rod was still a problem she was working on. He would be useful no doubt, but Johnny could and probably would help her more when the going got tough. But Rod would stick with her when they were too far in because he wouldn’t know how to get himself out of a mess. Johnny on the other hand would leave at the first sign of real trouble from the SPOC. SPOC—COPS . . . either or. Didn’t matter.
In her world, Johnny’s world, one was the same as the other.
So as far as Johnny, she didn’t really know, he was a great lay. A much better fuck than Rod, but needs must when the devil drives.
The Shepards would have to die.
As far as Ryan—well, Nina had yet to come up with what she would do with the little bastard when she got her hands on him. He was her flesh and blood, so it did seem wrong to kill him, but she still had to make certain he never squealed about that night in Austin. No way was she ever going down for killing a cop.
The questions and problems she would face after she got out of this hellhole plagued her until the window pinked with the oncoming dawn.
Nina sighed and dreamed of revenge.
Chapter 11
Fourth of July
Taylor stood at the entrance of the massive room and surveyed these people in this atmosphere. It had been awhile since she’d gotten all dressed up for a party. And she had to admit, though she was nervous, she was having fun.
The ballroom, overlooking the long sculpted lawn leading down to the Potomac, was in full swing. The party, held in the honor of the nation’s independence and Jock’s birthday, was by invitation only.
Several couples twirled to Sinatra on the dance floor, the brassy band jazzing out tune after tune. More food than could be consumed that evening had been piled high on tables in shapes of animals, forests of vegetables, meats, fruits and decadent desserts.
The last few days had strained her nerves and she still didn’t know if they were more settled or more frazzled. Morris had finally called her to let her know Nina was where she was supposed to be, and a print was lifted from her house belonging to one Mr. Gibbons. Case of the burglar solved. He was back in custody and looking at more charges against him than what he already had. After the night in the pool, Gavin kept up his assault on her, very subtly of course. A smoldering look here, a daring I-know-how-you-feel look there, maybe it was a brush of fingers against her palm, or the way his arm draped around the back of her chair.
All these little things and he had yet to touch her, yet to kiss her again.
The man had warned her, and she was learning he was stubborn. They had yet to get past the tension that swirled around them every time they were together. Taylor still wasn’t certain she wanted it to end. There was a great deal of excitement s
imply knowing he wanted her and she had the power in upping the ante in her refusal.
A deep rumbling laugh made her turn to see Gavin talking with some people across the dance floor. Lord, he made her heart skip. Gavin was handsome, too handsome truth be known. But dressed in his black tuxedo he was breathtaking.
She wished he’d smile at her again. Not like he was smiling now, but one of those cocky, sexy smiles he’d used on her since they met. One she had only seen rarely since their swim in the pool.
The day after had been a tense one. Taylor had cleaning crews to talk to, and to top the day off, her ex had called pissed because the Austin Police Department had the audacity to ask him if he held a grudge against her, enough to trash her new home. Yeah, Charles had been slightly put out. Taylor had shrugged off his temper and words, as she had for years. Ryan and Gavin had not been so easily forgetful. Unfortunately, both had been with her in the car when Charles had called, and both had clearly been infuriated, both for the same and different reasons.
The house she came home to Sunday night was one with new locks, fresh paint, some new furniture and a state-of-the-art security system. The last was her favorite and most calming out of the new purchases—though she didn’t remember ordering one. Gavin had told her not to ask so many questions and that she was welcome.
After that, the half week flew by. Gavin, or rather, his entire family, had informed her and Ryan that they simply must come to the party. Taylor still had no idea how she’d gotten talked into this.
She scanned the room again from her place in the doorway and saw Ryan chatting with Tori and Aiden, both he and her son held the baby boys. Anna Lopez, the twins’ nanny, sat smiling at the same table. Taylor wondered where Jess had gotten off too.
“There you are,” came the soft Texas drawl.
“We’ve been looking all over for you,” said Christian.
Both women stood just to the side and behind her. The two were complimenting in their attire. Jesslyn wore a black silk pantsuit. Christian was dressed in a deep crimson gown that flowed down her long figure.
“Sorry, I was powdering my nose,” she explained to them. She liked these two and had made friends with them over the weekend.
“There’s no reason to be nervous,” Christian told her.
“Oh, I’m not.” Then Taylor tilted her head in agreement. “Okay, maybe I am, but it’s from being out of practice from these gatherings.” The hair on her nape shifted and she turned, looked and locked eyes with Gavin across the floor. The flutter in her stomach had nothing to do with nervousness. No, it was an aware tingle of what could be—what probably would be—if she’d go to him. After all, she “knew where to find him.” Taylor swept her eyes down him and back up to meet his. Feeling wicked, she slowly smiled at him and gave him a wink, before turning her attention back to the ladies at her side.
“What is going on between the two of you?” Jesslyn asked point-blank, taking two flutes of champagne off a tray from a passing waiter, then handing them off to Taylor and Christian while asking for a bottle of water.
Taylor took a sip, the crisp almost fruity wine tingled on her tongue. How to answer that one? “What do you mean?”
Christian and Jesslyn’s laughter mixed together.
“Come on, Taylor, spill it,” Christian said. “There is something from the looks of things, and everything else.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Well,” Christian said, leaning against the wall beside Taylor. “He brought you out to the house for the weekend. He’s never done that before, at least not as long as I’ve been here. And the looks he sends you.” Christian shook her head. “I’ve always wondered if the rumors about him were true.”
“What rumors?”
Jesslyn leaned close, a one-sided grin on her face as her eyebrows wiggled. “Those rumors that supposedly make any woman fall at his feet because of how good he is.”
Taylor hadn’t heard any of those rumors, but she could well imagine them. She didn’t know a thing about women falling at his feet, but that thought made her smile.
“He’s used to women falling all over him, is he?” You know where to find me. So, if she went to him, then she’d be just like all the women he was used to. That made her wonder who could outlast whom. Which of them would give in first and if the wait would be worth it.
“So the rumors say,” Jesslyn admitted.
“Though I often wondered how true they are. He’s always working, always at the hospital, always on call.” Christian shrugged. “Seems to me he does little more than work, eat and sleep—less of the latter two and more of the first. Then again he’s a Kinncaid, so the women fall all over him regardless of whether or not he has time for them.”
Taylor had no idea what to make of the conversation.
The two women looked at her then back out to another woman who was walking up to Gavin.
“I never knew what he saw in that one,” Jesslyn muttered.
“I think it was the ‘dahrlin’ Gavin’ whispered in her breathy overdone Southern belle routine,” Christian retorted.
“Is that Scarlett?” Taylor asked.
Both of her friends turned and gave her questioning looks. “How do you know about Scarlett?” they both asked.
“He told me.” Taylor shrugged. “Why?”
Christian leaned towards her. “Jock liked her, though God only knows why. I heard him tell the other boys and Mrs. K. he hoped they stayed together.” Christian grinned. “Mrs. K. told him to please mind his own business, he meddled too much.”
“Aiden told him if that was the case then she was the wrong woman because whoever Jock picked was a disaster,” Jesslyn added.
“What do you mean?”
Jess waved an absent hand. “Long story. Suffice it to say that Jock’s idea of perfect wives for his sons rarely corresponds with theirs. Personally, we’ve all met Scarlett and can’t stand her. Thank God you came along.”
Wives? Taylor took a big drink of champagne and choked.
“You all right?” Jesslyn thumped her on the back.
“Fine,” she coughed out. Wives? “Uhm . . . Gavin and I are just friends.” Yeah, just friends.
Jesslyn stuck her tongue in her cheek and nodded.
Christian cleared her throat. “You just keep telling yourself that.”
A brassy blues tune came from the band and Gavin and Scarlett joined in with the other dancers on the floor.
“By the way, I love that dress,” Christian told her.
“Thank you,” she said, smoothing her hand down the side of her sleeveless dress. She’d found this one in a consignment shop just the other day. The Georgette material was sheer with gold and crimson stitching woven into various shapes of dancing paisleys. It overlaid the underlying material of peacock blue. The dress, a 1933 original, shoved a dent into her budget, and she loved it.
“Hi, would you like to dance?”
Taylor jerked around and wondered who the man was talking to. Handsome devil, whoever he was, about her height with gray eyes.
“Who are you talking to, Robbie?” Christian asked.
His eyes raked down her. “This lovely new lady I’ve yet to meet.”
Christian laughed. “This is Taylor Reese.”
“Hi, Taylor. I’m Robbie Trelington.”
She held her hand out expecting to shake his hand, but he held hers up and kissed it, old-fashioned. She grinned. He was a flirter.
“There you are.”
Taylor blinked as Gavin slid his arm possessively around her shoulders and hauled up against him, effectively pulling her hand away from Robbie’s. “Why didn’t any of you save me?” he asked them. “I swear that woman does not understand the meaning of the word no.”
He glanced down at her. “Where have you been? We haven’t even danced yet and I still have another surprise to show you. Hi, Robbie. Excuse us.”
Gavin’s arm weighed on her shoulders, and she could feel his eyes boring into the top
of her head as he led her a few feet away.
Looks like he came to her first.
Taylor licked her lips, her side warm and tingly where it touched his. Finally, she craned her head back to look at him. She couldn’t exactly pinpoint the expression in his narrowed eyes.
“What?” she asked him.
“Have I told you how great you look tonight?”
She first thought he was only being his regular charming, flirting self, but though he smiled, it was a small, almost serious one. Turning, she hesitantly put her hand to his chest, smoothing it along the pristine white shirt, though Taylor kept her eyes on him. What she saw in them made her heart slowly roll over as her stomach skittered. They were still that deep, almost midnight blue, but the depths were a turbulent sea. They reminded her of the night in the pool; passion mixed with . . . with . . . That was the part that worried her, the part she couldn’t figure out. Was it caring? Protectiveness?
Taylor licked her lips. “I can’t remember if you have or not. I know I haven’t told you that you look very dashing and handsome in your sharp lined tux. Very you.”
His arm had shifted from her shoulder to rest around the small of her back and she couldn’t help but smile.
Ebony brows danced above those spine-tingling eyes while his other hand brushed along her cheekbone.
Spine-tingling indeed.
Gavin noticed her deep intake of breath as he smoothed the back of his hand along her cheek. So soft. She was so damn soft. When he’d seen Robbie sidle up to her, he’d left Scarlett in the middle of some sentence and stalked over to Taylor. He found he didn’t like the prick ogling Taylor.
“Well, since you can’t remember,” he told her, “let me say that you . . .” He started to say look lovely. Instead, he leaned down and whispered in her ear, “Make me want to take you upstairs and slowly see how lovely you look without anything on.”
Her sigh made him grin.
Another slow song started. Before she could do more than shiver—and he knew it wasn’t from the cold—he laced his fingers through hers and led her to the dance floor. Her eyes had gone almost amber. Fascinating.