When Opposites Collide Boxset

by Kathy Coopmans

  “I never saw one. Don’t recall my old man mentioning one, either. Fuck her dad; he forbade us to go to the funeral. My dad mourned the loss of his sister in women and booze for years. Do you think he fucking lied? That her mother is alive? Jesus, fuck, you do?” He stands there shaking his head. His anger and pain are a losing battle. I have been there. It doesn't get better, no matter how many years go by. This right here, though, has to fucking burn.

  “He does what?” I spin around to see Rachel and the eyes of my obsession staring wide-eyed and mouth gaping open at me.

  And she is wearing my old Queens t-shirt. I tilt my head slightly because, fuck, she has a nice rack to go with her bitchy attitude, legs that have my mouth watering to lick all the way to her sweet pussy. Fuck me.

  “You?” She points her finger at me. “I fucking knew it. You are a member of this club. How dare you play with me and scare me half to death, you son of a bitch?”

  And here she goes. That fucking mouth. Wrap it around my cock, babe. I got all fucking day.

  “This is him. The guy who picked me up. The asshole. You owe me a new ink pen, you fucker.” She slams her hands onto her hips, readying herself in a fighting stance. My cock jumps.

  I raise my brows. If I were a laughing man, I would double over in a fit at the way she’s acting. Instead, I’m backpedaling with what I just told Curtis about not playing games. She thinks I played her last night; well, she hasn't seen anything yet. I lunge for her, pull her tight little body up against mine. Those tits of hers smashing up against my chest. Fuck me, she is fucking beautiful. Big, green eyes, naturally plump lips, and if we didn’t have an audience, I would be biting the hell out them to sample my first taste.

  “You mean this?” I reach around her and grab the pen off the table, shoving the papers underneath the file they came in. She doesn’t need to know about my suspicions. Not until I have solid proof.

  “You're the devil. Satan reincarnated in the flesh. Give me that.” She grabs it out of my hand, shoves it down her shirt.

  Her chin is jutting out as if to dare me to dive under her shirt and get it. She has no idea how badly I want to.

  Someone clears their throat. At this point, I have no idea who when all I can see, hear, or smell is her.

  “Well, then. I see you were right, honey. Katch was the one to pick her up. Hello, Katch.” Rachel waltzes by, patting me on the shoulder.

  “Rachel. How are you, babe? Looking good,” I acknowledge her without taking my eyes off the beauty in front of me.

  “Thanks. Do you mind telling me what color my shirt is?” Rachel taunts with a flirty and carefree laugh.

  “Don’t give a shit. This shirt right here, though”—I tug on the collar enough to expose enough of her creamy-white shoulder—“is black, and it’s mine. You playing games with me, Rachel?”

  “Nope. Never. Not me.” Caitlin bites down on her bottom lip. Her big eyes are staring up at me. I want to eat you whole, sweetheart.

  Goddamn liar.

  She finally speaks up again after moments of silence. “Let go of me.”

  I release my hold on her. Not because she asked me to, but because I can feel that knife twisting in my back from Curtis’s stare.

  “Curtis, you should kick this man out of your club. He’s an idiot. Katch? What kind of name is that? And you, you little bitch. You knew all along it was him. That’s why you gave me his t-shirt. Ugh. Safe here, my ass.” She glares at me.

  The hot-ass vixen straightens out my shirt, which causes me to look down at her tits. I’m so fucked. Never in my life have I wanted to get to know a woman inside and out. Talk about opposites attract. That’s one thing Curtis is right about. This woman is far from any other woman I’ve met. She’s not an itch I need to scratch. She’s not a toy I need to play with until I’m bored. Nope, not this feisty little thing. She’s a woman who will wrap my dick around her finger. Make me feel things I have no business feeling.

  I fight to blink away the confusion. Katch Sterling doesn’t feel this shit. I don’t attach to people or even allow myself to fucking feel. Until her.

  “Calm your shit, woman. Katch isn’t a member of the club; he’s a good friend. He came by to offer his help, so the way I see it, you need to settle your ass down. Have some respect and fill us in on everything that happened leading up to, during, and after you discovered your house had been broken into. Now, have a Goddamn seat and start talking.” Curtis reaches forward, palming his wife’s ass. “Baby, can you make us some coffee?”

  I can’t help but smirk when Caitlin’s mouth drops open and she peaks around me to gape at her cousin.

  “Ain’t got time for games between you, sweetheart, and me. I need to figure out my first move, then you and I are driving into town to Carey’s Auto Shop to see what happened to your piece-of-shit car.”

  Her shoulders stiffen; not a word comes out of her mouth. That’s a damn shame. I’m getting used to the sweet sound of her voice. I’d prefer her to be yelling my name when I’m fucking her, but what the fuck ever. Will get to that soon.

  “My car. You had it towed?”

  “Of course I did. A two-hundred-thousand-dollar car sitting along the road out here is dollar signs in someone's eyes. You're damn lucky it was still there. I’m a lot of things, Caitlin. One thing I’m not is the insensitive fucker you think I am.”

  “Thank you.”

  It’s barely a whisper, but I’ll take it.

  “Welcome. Now, sit and talk.”

  5

  Caitlin

  Sit and talk? Good Lord. I feel roles reversing here. It’s usually me doing the interrogating. When I do, it’s not this close, and my clients don’t have me this turned on. I’m aching.

  “Well, I was in court all day, as usual. I’m sure you know I’m an attorney.”

  His brows shoot up, which indicates to me that he doesn’t care what I do for a living.

  “Anyway,” I continue on. The need to get this over with sitting heavily on my chest.

  “I drove straight home. Only to my shocking surprise when I opened the garage door, my mom’s…” I don’t know if I can finish. This was the part that broke me down when I gave the police my statement. It’s the part that hurts the most.

  “Your mom’s, what?” Katch asks.

  Unlike when I first walked in here, when his eyes appeared to be stripping me naked, they now show sympathy and concern. It’s a barely-there hint but present all the same.

  “Fuck, Caitlin. Not her vintage Mustang?” Curtis asks.

  My eyes are so blurry I can’t see straight. I nod and choke back on my tears.

  “Whoever did this shredded it. They carved up the leather seats, keyed up the paint. It’s ruined. I have nothing left of her. Nothing.” My voice trails off.

  This is so unreal. Every single time I get my bearings, they are ripped right from underneath me. I felt light and giddy with Rachel after our serious talk. She showed me around the house. It was nice until I entered the kitchen, where I was thrown in between heaven and hell.

  “And?” Katch prompts.

  “I went into my townhouse to see the inside was much of the same. Someone wanted to send a message to me really badly.” I run a circle on the hardwood table top while speaking. “Didn’t think much of it, since I’ve pissed a lot of people off in the court system, but something didn’t settle well with me. I mean, the car was enough, but for them to ruin everything I own shows me they mean business.”

  I choke on the word ‘car’ just remembering my mom’s smiling face when she used to drive it. It was her happy place. Lots and lots of shared ice cream cones and laughs in it. Long ago memories. Whenever I needed to talk to her, I would go to her car. It was the only place I felt close to her.

  My father. He kept it hidden from me at first. Once I found it tucked way back in the corner of his museum of cars—I was already in college—I stole it. Told him he had and always would control my life, but I wanted that car. It was mine, and that was the
only time I can remember that bastard giving in to me.

  A bristling sound catches my attention from the invisible circles my finger draws into the table top. I look up to Katch, who's running his hand through his beard. He has tired lines under his features, slight markings of crow’s feet at the edge of his brandy-colored eyes. Those rich, dark eyes pierce me with a fear and twinge of protectiveness. He could ruin me.

  “I can’t fucking believe you traipsed all over your damn place when you knew it had been broken into.” Curtis runs his hands through his dirty-blond hair until it stands on end. “They could’ve been in there waiting for you.”

  Rachel wraps her arms around his middle, hugging her front to his back. “She was in shock. Calm down, babe.”

  “It was dumb,” I finally admit. “I’ve never felt the fear I did when I walked into my bathroom. It was the worst part of the house. They’d dumped everything all over my floor, and that’s where I found the message.”

  “What aren’t you telling us?” Katch growls.

  I look back up to him and flinch when I realize the man can see right through me. I shiver, trying to shake off the fear of everything I saw last night before talking again.

  “There was red liquid all over. Not bright, but dark like blood.”

  “Did anyone follow you when you left?”

  I drop my head, realizing how each of my steps getting here were reckless and dangerous. “No clue. I called the cops, went to my neighbors, and once I was finished with them, I ran to my car and left. Called my secretary to tell her I was leaving town for a while. I didn’t look back.”

  “Who was your dad dealing with when he was killed?” Curtis asks.

  I shrug. “No clue. He handed over the litigations division to his second-in-command in his will. Even though we worked in the same building, we were basically separate entities. You’d have to ask him.”

  Katch rises up from his chair. He’s tall. Way fucking tall, like over six feet. I notice how broad his shoulders are, and then roam down to his thick thighs that are being hugged by his worn blue jeans. He’s rugged. Not like any of the men I’ve dated before. He also stirs something deep in my stomach. Something that drives me incredibly mad with desire.

  “Being it’s a Saturday, I suspect there ain’t anyone in your office to know you’re gone. You trust your secretary?” I simply nod. “Good. I need names. We are going to need names to protect you, Hollywood.”

  “Names? Protect me? Hollywood?” Confusion. I don’t need any more of it.

  The rest of the room vanishes away in a bubble, leaving me and this sexy-ass man standing in front of me, staring at one another. His large palm juts out to grab me by the hip, and in the next second, I’m being yanked toward him. My chest collides into his again. It’s like hitting a brick wall. I feel his other calloused palm cup my cheek, forcing me to look up at him. He’s beautiful in his own rough and sexy way.

  “Saying this one time, Hollywood, so you better listen the fuck up.” The deep rumble of his voice sends chills racing down my spine. They land at the base of my spine, scatter everywhere, and I would be lying to the both of us if I didn’t admit I want him to kiss me right now. “I’m not a member of the club. I’m my own. I kill and protect. You’ve just officially become my next assignment. I’ll kill to protect you. End of fucking story.” Oh, geez, am I in the arms of an enforcer? A hitman? Right now, I really don’t care. Not when my entire life I have been scared of the one person who should have been my protector. If this man wants to add me as his assignment, then I’m all in.

  I wait for his lips to drop to mine. They’re only millimeters away. I can taste his scent of tobacco mixed with a sensual spice as he breathes in and out in a rough, hard way. Right when I think it’s going to happen, he steps back and nods to Curtis.

  “We’ll get her car then get her some clothes.” Katch picks up his keys, tossing them in the air. “I’ll keep her at my place until your deal with the Santos simmers down.”

  “I expect fucking updates, Katch.” Curtis steps out of Rachel’s hold until he’s nose to nose with Katch.

  Katch is a good six inches taller than Curtis, but that doesn’t stop him. Curtis leans in, whispering something to Katch that nobody else can hear. The tension is thick and unsettling. I expect a brawl to break out any second, but the two men finally step back from each other and nod in respect.

  “Here.” A pair of neon-green flip-flops are waved in front of my face.

  “I know your feet are bigger than mine, and these bad boys are on their way to the trash, but it will get you to the store.” Rachel hands me the flip-flops, and I want to hug her right now for everything she is doing for me. But God. These things are blinding.

  I bite down on my bottom lip to catch my nasty remarks and rebuttal about going with Katch. I’m feeling defeated and deflated at the moment. As if I’m a ping-pong ball being tossed around in a do-or-die match.

  I run all of my options through my head. What I’m left with is nothing. Someone is out to kill me. I have no resort or escape route. The only one is standing in front of me. I’m the hitchhiker in life once again, scouring for help on a dark, lonely path.

  Rachel was right. The end of my heels hang off the flip-flops. The rubber strap between my toes feels like it’s going to give at any moment. I quickly hug Rachel and Curtis before stepping out of the house into the bright sunlight. What I wouldn’t give to be on the beach somewhere with no worry in the world.

  “Hey, Katch.” I turn to see Curtis on the front porch with Rachel cuddled to his side. “Get her a burner.”

  Katch nods as he flings his door open and roars his machine to life, while I’m still standing by the passenger door. He revs the car up. The roar vibrates through my chest, kicking my common sense into overdrive. Geez. Talk about someone needing to calm their shit. I open the door then throw myself onto the leather bench seat.

  The car flies forward then veers to the right, nearly clipping a man standing guard at the gates. His face goes pale seeing the black car darting right for him. He’s quick enough to leap to the right just in the nick of time. His body blurs as we whiz past him. I catch sight of the poor guy landing in a patch of cacti.

  Then I’m startled by a deep and dark roar of laughter.

  “You’re fucking crazy.” The words slip from me before I even realize it.

  “Catching on quick, Hollywood.”

  The asshole knows how to turn me from mild to wild in a matter of seconds. Something deep down knows that simple fact turns him on. I will not give in to this fucker. Later, I’ll let him know that he will no longer be calling me Hollywood.

  The city of Barstow blurs by as Katch ignores all the speed limits and most of the stop signs. I find myself staring at his profile, studying his strong jawline even though it’s covered by a whiskey-colored beard. His scar adds a depth of richness to his looks. There are stories of survival and courage there to tell. The dark aviators shielding his eyes only add to his level of sexy. Why does he have to be so damn pretty?

  I crack up into a fit of laughter picturing his reaction to being called pretty. Tears roll down my face, and for some damn reason I can’t control the giggles spilling out. I shouldn’t be laughing right now, which only causes me to lose it even more.

  Katch whips the car into a small parking lot in front of a shabby automotive place. “What’s so fucking funny?”

  I can’t get a word out to answer him. He continues to glare at me through his dark shades, waiting for an answer. And I continue to laugh harder. Katch gets tired of waiting for me after several long minutes; he opens his door and then slams it right behind him. “I find him sexier when he’s mad,” I say through the last bit of my laughter. I pull down the visor, check my reflection in the mirror. The messy bun is wild on the top of my head with evidence of happy tears streaming down my face. It’s funny that I don’t feel naked without layers of makeup on my face. The collar of Katch’s t-shirt hangs off one shoulder, exposing all the ski
n.

  I hop out of the car, free my cooch from the confines of the cooter-eating spandex shorts. The ratty flip-flops slap the pavement as I near the door. I whip it open just like he did and halt when I hear “Ole Suzanna” start playing. I look to Katch, who shakes his head as a laugh slips out of my throat, causing the attention of an old man behind the counter to look up.

  “Damn, Katch. You did good. Real good. Come on over, darling.”

  He turns slightly toward the man, rolls his eyes, and goes right back to talking. JimBob, or at least that’s what the embroidered badge says on his greasy coveralls.

  “Wasn’t no hack job. Whoever cut the fuel line has done it before. It was a slow leak,” JimBob speaks then takes a long drink from his Mt. Dew bottle. I feel as if I’m in Hickville, USA. Except I’m not. I’ standing here in the mix of all of this listening to JimBob say that someone tampered with my car.

  “When will it be fixed?” Katch growls.

  “Part should be in next week. We don’t carry those fancy-ass car parts.”

  While listening intently to their conversation and trying hard not to freak out, I’m pushed from the back. The force is brutal, not giving me a chance to steady myself. My body lunges forward. I hear my voice squeak, anticipating the crash to the floor. The tile is brutal when my kneecaps and palms collide into it. It takes me a few moments to realize what just happened, then my head begins to swim with confusion.

  When my brain finally begins to process the pain of shredded flesh, a commotion catches my attention.

  “You motherfucker,” Katch roars.

  My vision focuses in on time to see Katch slam his fist into the face of a stranger over and over. He then pulls the bloody man up by his collar, sneering in his face.

  “Think you owe this pretty lady an apology.” He called me pretty.

  The bloody man gasps for his next breath. Katch nails him in the side with a balled-up fist. My God, what’s happening to my life?