Convicted (Entangled Ignite)

by Dee Tenorio

  Together, they made their way through the front yard of Frank Carter’s house.

  “I’m going in through the front door. You take the back. Frank hates my ass, so he’ll focus on me. You get Shana and anyone else out the way you came in.”

  A loud crash from inside, a woman’s shriek causing the muscles in Cade’s neck to tighten.

  “Go!”

  As if his body hadn’t forgotten all his years of combat training, Cade darted forward and began to circle the house. It didn’t take long. The back steps led to a barely there metal screen. He heard more yelling inside. A man’s voice, swearing over a woman’s soft sobs.

  “You don’t touch me, you bitch. You don’t fuckin’ touch me!” Another crash, another scream. Cade used the noise to slip past the screen door.

  “Carter, this is Rick Trelane from the sheriff’s department—”

  “You called the fucking cops?” Another slap. Or what Cade hoped was a slap.

  “Put your hands on her again, Carter, and I swear I will put a bullet through your kneecap. The next one goes through your head.”

  “The bitch cut me.” Carter barked, but Cade didn’t hear any more hits. Just stifled sobs and heavy breathing.

  He stayed pressed to the fridge, inching past the cabinets and closer to the voices. Every shift forward, his heart beat faster. His lungs burned for more oxygen, but he tamped down the urge as much as he could. The last thing he needed to do was give away his position by panicking. Rick needed him to not fuck this up. This woman, this Shana, needed him to not fuck this up.

  But please, God, don’t let there be blood…

  The house was smaller on the inside than he expected. Cleaner, too, except for the broken glass littering the kitchen floor. He glanced around, seeing an open doorway leading to the front of the house. A small table was tucked against the wall across from him. Chairs, with aged metal legs, almost hid a set of small arms and legs crouched behind them. A glance at the tabletop revealed a bowl and a box of cereal. Fruity Ohs.

  Shit, no one said anything about a kid.

  Cade tilted his head down, trying to catch the child’s eye, but it was balled up so tight he couldn’t tell if it was a girl or a boy. He glanced around, looking for any way to get the kid’s attention. He finally had to tap his fingers on the tile and hope to be heard over all the yelling.

  A dark head lifted from small folded knees. Pale blue eyes, sharp and startlingly alert, found him instantly.

  Cade brought a raised finger to his lips.

  The kid nodded though his whole body shook, glancing toward the wall. Toward the yelling.

  A quick check told Cade no one from the other room was watching. He gestured for the child to come closer, an order followed after only the briefest hesitation. Using his body as a shield, Cade backed them out of the kitchen and down the steps.

  Definitely a boy. A lanky one, too, for all that he couldn’t be older than six. Cade picked him up, let the boy wrap thin arms around his neck as he took him to the other side of an orange tree in the middle of the backyard.

  Faint pangs of emotion bubbled beneath the layers numbing his senses at the desperate grip of those little arms. Not for the first time, he was grateful to be so shut down. He had a job to do, one he couldn’t fail.

  For now, the boy was safe. Cade sat him down on the brick wall surrounding the yard, checking him for injuries by rote. No blood, he saw with palpable relief. Not even a scratch or a bruise.

  “M-Mommy?” the small voice asked, the kid trying to look at the house.

  “She’s next. Is there anyone else in there?”

  The little face, his blue eyes so big and scared despite the eerie stillness of the rest of him, moved back and forth slowly. Damn, he needed a jacket or something. Stark terror was moving quickly toward shock.

  “You stay right here. Don’t move, no matter what you hear, until either your mother or someone in my uniform comes for you. Understand?”

  A nod, jerky but definitely comprehending. Suddenly, he was patting his pajamas with jerking motions, the tremors growing visibly stronger. “My p-phone, I d-d-dropped my p-phone. I-I can’t lose my p-phone…”

  Cade frowned. “Your phone?”

  The boy blinked, even his lips leaching of color, fear a wound in his eyes. “He’ll be so mad…”

  Well, that explained how dispatch was called.

  Cade nodded. “I’ll be back. Stay here so I can find you.”

  It only took a few seconds to get back into the kitchen.

  “Back away from her right now, Frank.” Rick’s voice was cold. Downright fucking frigid. “I have my gun pointed at the back of your head. If your hands aren’t up by the count of three, I’m pulling the trigger.”

  “Get the fuck out of my house, Trelane. You’re not welcome here.”

  “One.”

  Cade crept out, low to the ground, gun drawn. Rick was still by the front door, gun aimed as promised. But he couldn’t possibly see the short knife Carter was holding to the throat of the small woman trying desperately to sink into couch cushions that wouldn’t oblige.

  It hit Cade as off, just as it had in his other fleeting glances at Frank Carter, that the man before him was the feared leader of a gang of bikers. Carter wasn’t big. In fact, several of the other members of the club should have been able to put him down without even blinking. But none of them did. For the first time, Cade was clearly able to see why.

  Carter wasn’t wearing a shirt, his flat, wiry muscles visibly tensed. Strung tight and twitchy as fuck, he held that little pig sticker like it was part of his hand. Not a good sign. The worst sign was the gleam in his eyes. Calculating. No fear, no concern for his own safety.

  “Two.”

  Carter’s gaze went from the woman’s face to the blade, as if he were pondering shoving it into her throat before Rick hit three.

  Cade saw the second the bastard made his decision, the slow, pleasured curl of too-thin lips. So did the woman, a flicker of her lashes right as her breath dragged in for what she likely knew was her last scream.

  Images of death flashed before his eyes. Bodies, blown apart. Burned. Mouths open, as if still screaming when there was no sound left to make. Too many deaths. Too much blood. Too mu—

  He was moving before he realized it, his body barreling forward and into the smaller man. They slammed to the ground, the small knife clattering out of Carter’s grasp as he spun for the threat he hadn’t seen coming.

  As Cade had been warned, the little bastard was shockingly strong, shoving at him with almost enough force to move him. Carter’s whole body bucked, his enraged yells almost deafening. Cade focused on getting the man’s hands under control so they could roll and cuff him. He had one, Rick struggled with the other. The whole time, Carter fought them like a fish trying to escape a line. Suddenly tired of it, Cade pulled back his fist and plowed it into the man’s face as hard as he could.

  Just that fast, the fight ended. Frank Carter, out cold.

  Breathing hard, hands shaking, he looked up, waiting for some kind of reprimand. That might be the way they handled things overseas, but it probably wasn’t the best choice for a new deputy.

  Rick stared down, dispassionate. “Roll ‘em. Let’s get him cuffed and in the cage before he comes to. Once he’s secure, we’ll call for the EMTs to make sure he’s not dead.”

  As good a plan as any. Especially since Rick sounded pretty damn disappointed Carter was going to pass that inspection.

  “Jimmy!”

  They both looked over at the woman, scrambling unsteadily to her feet and stumbling toward the kitchen.

  “Jimmy!”

  Rick was at her side in an instant, steadying her. “He’s fine, Shana. Cade got him out. Right? He’s out?”

  The woman leaning heavily on him turned toward Cade as well.

  What did it say about him, Cade wondered blandly, that he didn’t flinch upon seeing the mess of swollen flesh that had once been her face. That he didn’
t feel compassion. Or rage that she had been so violated.

  That he didn’t want to feel anything else.

  Especially not his gorge rising at the blood smeared across her mouth, all around her nose and cheek. Slowly spilling from her nostrils…

  He looked down at the man he straddled instead, taking a deep breath until he could swallow again. Clinically, he wished he’d hit the bastard harder, just to make it fair. She was gonna bruise like a motherfucker.

  “Boy’s in the backyard.” Cade knew he sounded gruff as he pulled the flexible restraints from the pocket of his belt.

  “Steel cuffs,” Rick ordered. “Frank can get out of plastic faster than a snake slides through shit, so make sure they’re on tight.” Ugly words, but Rick was infinitely gentle as he helped Shana back to the couch.

  Cade concentrated on getting the incapacitated man locked down, ignoring the soft sobs of the woman and Rick’s murmured words to her. Especially ignoring the fact that the shaking in his hands was starting to work its way up his forearms. He leaned down and pulled Carter over his shoulder into a fireman’s carry. Small, maybe, but Carter was a heavy bastard. Shaking off the imbalance, Cade got up and strode out to the truck. Less than a minute later, he was done, having tossed Carter inside and slamming the door behind him.

  God, what he wouldn’t give for a cigarette.

  Of course, if he had one, it wouldn’t take long for someone to see the shaking in his hands. That thought alone was enough to make him push out a shuddering breath.

  Cade looked back to the house, taking in how it somehow looked sadder now that he’d been inside. Unfortunately, he couldn’t stay here and think about why. His work wasn’t done, no matter how he wished it might be. Likely they’d have to take a look at the woman, evaluate if she needed to be taken in. Fuck. He wasn’t sure he could handle that. Then there was the kid… He bit back a groan. Why the hell had he allowed himself into this situation?

  All the grumbling in the world didn’t change the answer and he knew it. Because this was Rick.

  He owed his life, such as it was, to his friend and even if he didn’t, Cade knew he’d have come. No matter how blurry the world had become or disconnected he felt from it, Cade held onto his principles with both hands. Every tenant he knew demanded his loyalty to the brother who had walked through death with him, over and over again. It didn’t matter that neither of them had come out the other side completely whole.

  Which was why Cade forced his leaden legs to move back toward the house. To climb those steps and head back inside.

  Rick was kneeling in front of Shana, a bowl of water in one hand, a hand towel in the other, carefully washing the blood away. “He would have killed you this time, Shana.”

  The woman watched Cade carefully, seeming to ignore Rick entirely. Her eyes fluttered shut as he wiped at the corner of her mouth. Thankfully, most of the blood was washed off already.

  “She didn’t want her son to see her like that,” Rick explained without looking back at Cade. “It’s not like he won’t see the bruises.”

  “He’s used to those.” Shana’s voice was flat. Soft, but flat.

  Rick swore, dropping the towel into the bowl Cade now saw was full of pink water. “What are you going to do if we don’t get here fast enough next time?”

  Blue eyes, faded as the house she lived in, flickered. “I’ll figure it out when that happens.”

  “No, you won’t. You’ll die. You’ll disappear. And there won’t be anything I can do about it.” A fact that seemed to have Rick’s teeth grinding as he spat out the brutal words.

  They finally seemed to be enough to make her forget her distrust of the stranger in her house. She turned to Rick with a whisper of a smile on her swollen lips. Her hand, the swollen knuckles red and scuffed, found Rick’s on her lap. Right then, Cade wondered if he was invading on something. These two shared a look that spoke of secrets. Bad ones.

  “There never was anything you could do about it.”

  Rick made a sound akin to a growl before getting up so fast he almost knocked the bowl over on her. “Cade, take a look at her. She never lets the EMTs near her, and I don’t want to leave until I know she’s okay.”

  He stalked into the kitchen, leaving Cade and the woman who was struggling to hide her hurt with long, shaking breaths pushed through swelling lips.

  She looked away from Cade, but he could tell she was still watching him. Still aware, trying to decide if he was someone to allow within reach.

  Wary seconds ticked by as he let her assess him. He knew better than to move closer until there was some sign she would allow it. Nothing was more dangerous than a wounded animal, except maybe a wounded maternal animal. Cold to see a person that way, but he had yet to find much difference between people and animals when it came to instincts.

  She swiped impatiently at a tear slipping down her cheek, her hand still trembling, and gave some kind of resigned snort. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were more afraid of me than you were of Frank.”

  “I can punch Frank if he attacks me, ma’am.”

  She eyed him, the blue of her eyes still sharp enough to be piercing. “But not me?”

  He shook his head slowly.

  A longer study. “You might actually mean that.”

  “If that surprises you, ma’am, you’ve been spending too much time with the wrong kind of people.”

  Her brow rose, the effect ruined when she winced from the hurt. “You have no idea.”

  She gestured him over and though the last thing he wanted to do was look at her wounds, Cade made himself do it. He knelt carefully, forcing the bile down as the smell of blood hit. Rick had washed most of it away but the smell, that fucking smell, might as well have been thrown in his face.

  All of a sudden, he couldn’t breathe. Could barely see. His vision narrowed to needle points, leaving him in darkness so thick he could feel it on his shoulders. On his chest. His head. Crushing. Crushing…

  “Deputy? Are you okay?” Muffled words. Far away. But not far enough…

  Cade reared back from that voice, stumbling toward the vague memory of a wall. He tried to remember where he was, but his body was moving too fast for his mind to keep up with. Things broke under his booted feet as he kept moving, his body starting to jerk and twitch. God, he was going to be sick. Right there, wherever the hell there was. He could feel the acid lurching.

  Steps. He half slid, half fell down them, landing hard on his knees. He didn’t notice any pain, his fingers digging into the dry grass and dirt as his stomach emptied violently. Shame tried to push its way into him, but instead it was drowned out by the relief of gulping in a lungful of blessed air. Then another and another.

  But the burning in his lungs didn’t stop. The pressure wasn’t gone. It was worse. Fuck, he could taste the air but it wasn’t coming through. It wasn’t—

  “Shhh, slow down.”

  A new voice. Not Shana. Someone else. Husky. Low. Feminine. Familiar. Hands on his back. Touching him firmly. Wrapping around his torso and holding him tight.

  “You’re panicking,” the voice informed him calmly. Not gentle. Just…calm. Brooking no argument. “The air is here, you’re hyperventilating. Slow down and you can get it. One at a time. In,” she commanded.

  Maybe it was too many years in the Marines, but he responded to that directive. His body did what she said without any thought from him.

  “Out, slow.”

  He did it, relieved to feel the pressure give the tiniest bit. Over and over again, she spoke and he listened. Chaining one breath to the next. It felt like forever, but she eventually led him back to a safe pattern. His vision broadened bit by bit, until he could see the ground he knelt on. The sick he still hovered over. Until the pressure all over his body gave and the jerking slowed to a random twitch. Still, she held on. Anchored him.

  He couldn’t see her, but he could feel her warmth. The press of breasts, her body, to his back. Smell the leather she still wore, her
soft perfume. Feminine, but not flowery. Dark hair fell over his shoulder, thick and lustrous. Silk on his cheek. He had the immediate inclination to touch it, rub the satiny gleam between his fingers. Most of all, he could feel her strength.

  She wasn’t small. Not like Shana, who couldn’t have wrapped her arms around him like this if she tried. This woman’s arms held him tight, her lean muscles long and firm. It couldn’t have been easy, grasping him this way for so long, but she didn’t seem any worse for the wear and she didn’t let go until he patted her hand and nodded for her to do it.

  Slowly, giving him time to change his mind, the last of the pressure on his body faded and her touch disappeared.

  He wanted it back instantly.

  The panic gone, and now her support as well, he felt as if someone had just turned his entire body into jelly. Weak, sweat dripping all over, he fell backward into a slump against the concrete steps. It wasn’t the first time he had to be grateful for a rock to lean against and as his temples throbbed, he had to remind himself that it probably wouldn’t be the last.

  He closed his eyes, giving in for a few precious seconds to the exhaustion. Just a few, because he knew when he opened his eyes, reality would seep back in. Humiliation. He no longer had adrenaline and panic clouding his thoughts. He knew exactly where he was. Who had helped him back from an edge that had felt like death but never was.

  Katrina Killian.

  So she was one of the kind strangers after all. Why else would she be here, in Carter’s house, if she wasn’t someone he trusted?

  Cade looked up, unable—unwilling?—to put off the inevitable any longer. The sight of her punched him in the gut almost as hard as the panic attack.

  Blue eyes, dark and sensuous, stared back at him, watchful and devoid of the playfulness from earlier. He took in the heart-shape of her face, the full pink lips, and the skin touched with the gold of sun and health. That tiny mole kissed the corner of her left eye, catching his attention the moment she blinked. The face of an angel, he thought, though he was sure he’d given up believing in such things long ago.