But he wasn’t the one for Lena.
Lena was happy with the guy, happier than Law had ever seen her. He couldn’t begrudge her that happiness, even if once upon a time he’d imagined himself in Ezra’s place.
There was an ache in his heart, though. Yearning wisps of envy that had him wishing he was anywhere but here. Okay, anywhere but here or anywhere with Mackenzie.
Home, alone, sounded good.
Weddings weren’t exactly his favorite way to pass the time, but this was one of his best friends … and even though once upon a time he’d desperately loved her, seeing her happy was important to him.
With just about anybody else, he could have ignored the invite.
Except he was the one who had given away the bride. Hard to ignore the invite when that was the case. Sighing, he tipped his beer back and counted down the minutes until he could make a polite escape.
For Lena, he could be polite.
“You look about as happy to be here as you’d be at your own funeral,” a soft, quiet voice said.
Glancing down, he made himself smile.
Hope Carson stood barely five foot six, even in the three-inch heels she’d worn with her maid of honor dress. She was slender … and she was the only other person in the entire world with the power to get him into a monkey suit.
Her dress was as green as her eyes and gleamed against her pale skin. She’d always had that delicate beauty, but tonight, he had to admit, she looked amazing.
And every guy who looked at her longer than two seconds probably felt the lingering stare of her boyfriend, the county DA, Remy Jennings.
Well, every guy but Law. Law was nothing more than a brother to Hope, like she was nothing more than a sister to him, a fact that Remy was more than well aware of. So when Hope leaned against him and hugged him, Law wasn’t overly concerned when Remy’s eyes lingered on them. Hell, he enjoyed needling the guy anyway.
That was what had him leaning down and pressing his mouth to Hope’s. Pissing the DA off was a favorite pastime of his. Had been for a while. Passing a hand over Hope’s hair, careful not to dislodge the delicate spray of flowers near her right ear, he said, “You look amazing, sweetheart.”
“Thanks.” She smoothed a hand down one narrow hip and sent a look over her shoulder, smiling in Lena’s direction. “It looks like her day went well, right?”
“Hell, she’s married. That was the goal, right?”
Hope rolled her eyes. “You’re such a guy. Yes, she’s married … and that’s the goal. Sort of. But getting there, how they do it, the memories … it matters.”
“Whatever.” Law took another drink of his beer, shooting Remy another look. He was talking to one of his cousins, Carter Jennings—Roz’s husband.
Hank Jennings was also there with some woman Law couldn’t immediately place. Hank was the mayor, and in Law’s opinion, a class A asshole. Although he’d gotten a little better over the past few months.
The Jennings clan—the whole damn county was lousy with them. Three cousins served on the town council. The vice principal of the high school was also a Jennings. Several of the county cops were Jennings by blood, a few were Jennings through marriage, and at least one person on the minuscule city police department.
A quarter of the people in Ash were related to the Jennings clan in some way, shape, or form. Hope would be one of them before another year was out, Law had no doubt about it.
“Speaking of goals … you thinking you might make a run for that goal with Remy any time soon?”
Hope blushed and hunched her shoulders. “I … I don’t know.”
“You haven’t talked about it?”
Her blush deepened.
Law laughed. “That’s a yes.” And knowing her as well as he did, he suspected she was terrified and excited. Dipping his head, he kissed her again, this time, pressing his lips to her brow. “Go for it, kid. You know you’re not going to find another guy who’ll love you the way he does. And you’re never going to love anybody as much as you love him.”
She sighed. “No. You’re right. I just …”
Something dark and ugly moved through her eyes, memories that would take a lot longer than a few months to fade.
“He’s gone, kid. Dead and gone.”
“I know. It’s just …” She didn’t have to say.
Law knew her as well as she knew herself sometimes. Hope and Law had gone to high school together, back in Clinton, Oklahoma, a small town that was pretty much dominated by one family, kind of like the Jenningses seemed to dominate Ash, Kentucky. At least in size.
But the Carson family wasn’t a kind dictator.
Hope had married the golden boy, Joseph Carson, not too long after they’d graduated. His control over her had been subtle at first. Dress how I want you to dress. Act how I want you to act. Wear your hair the way I want.
And when she didn’t, that’s when the real abuse started.
Years passed and it got to the point where Hope felt the only escape was through killing herself. She’d tried … and failed. Her ex-husband had been a cop and he’d abused his badge and his family’s name, managed to get her locked away in a mental institution.
When she got out, the abuse had gotten so much worse.
It wasn’t until Law finally managed to get back in touch with her after a few years of sketchy communication that he realized just how bad things had been. He no longer gave a damn about any so-called power the Carson family might have had, and at that point, he’d been more than capable of causing his own brand of trouble.
He’d gone looking for Hope, and he would never forgive himself for not doing it sooner. Once he realized how bad things were, Law had been ready to kill Joe.
Although Hope had never confirmed it, he suspected that was what had given her the courage to leave. Not fear for herself, but fear for what it would do to Law’s life.
Why in the hell hadn’t he gone back sooner? Why hadn’t he known? She’d gone through hell, and if he’d listened to his gut, he could have done … something. Anything.
Like kill the bastard. He could have killed the bastard, and saved Hope all that heartache. Damn the consequences.
A storm of memories burned in the back of his mind, memories he struggled to hold at bay. Fuck that bastard to hell and back—
“Law.”
A soft, cool hand touched his cheek and he looked down, met Hope’s sad eyes.
“It’s not on us, right?”
He just stared at her.
“You keep telling me, I can’t blame myself for what he did. I can’t blame myself for Nielson being dead, and I can’t blame myself for how he killed that girl.”
Nielson—the cop who’d died saving Hope when Carson came after her.
And Joely.
That girl … the memory of the woman who’d lost her life was imprinted on his mind forever—a wound he’d carry for always. That girl. Swallowing, he looked away. His voice was gruff as he said, “Her name was Jolene. Joely Hollister.”
“Joely.” Hope looked away. “I know. I know her name. But you keep telling me I’m not to blame. How can I believe that, though, when I look at you and see just how much you blame yourself?”
Swearing, he shoved a hand through his dark, overlong golden-brown hair, only to have it fall right back into his face. Closing his eyes, he shook his head. “It’s not the same, Hope. Damn it, I knew something was wrong, and I didn’t listen to my gut. I didn’t do anything …”
“Neither did I,” she said flatly. “All the times he left bruises on me, I didn’t just know. I had proof, physical proof. I could have left, I could have come to you—even a phone call would have been enough. But I stayed. I can try to move past my guilt, but it’s going to be damn hard to do it, if I see my best friend wallowing in his.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “That’s pretty damn manipulative.”
“Yeah. It is.” She cocked a brow at him. “But if it works …”
Then she shrugged an
d pushed up onto her toes, pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Stop brooding. Go talk to people. Ethan’s here … that deputy from the sheriff’s office. You two hang out some. Go talk to him. Have fun. You look like you’re facing an IRS audit or something.”
Law grimaced. Shit. He’d rather face that. He had an accountant he paid to handle that shit.
But he couldn’t pay somebody to handle this for him.
CHAPTER
TWO
Three months later
SHE WAS SLEEPING WHEN HE CLIMBED OUT OF BED.
By the time he came out of the shower, she was stirring and he knelt by the bed, pressed his lips to hers. She turned her head aside so his lips brushed her cheek. “Morning breath,” she muttered.
He laughed.
“You going to call me when you get to the hotel?”
“Yes.” Although he already knew the answer, being ever dutiful, he knew he had to ask. “You sure you don’t want to come with me?”
In the dim light filtering from the hallway, he could see her grimace. “No. Not my thing. You know that. But you go … have fun.”
He kissed her again. “I’ll try. I’ll miss you.”
“Hmmm. You do that. Bring me back something pretty …”
“You know I will.”
In his mind, he was already making plans.
He was heading to Chicago. It was a big city, one he was familiar with, and although he’d miss the pleasure of a leisurely hunt, he couldn’t keep putting this off. The urge was a hungry, boiling need inside him …
By the time he was ready to head out the door, she was already lost once more to sleep. He paused to look in on her one more time, smiling absently at her. Then he left, impatience building, burning inside him.
He needed to be gone, away from here and gone.
He hadn’t realized it would be this hard to stop …
Her name was Katia. Or at least that was the name she’d given him. He didn’t know if that was her true name, and just then, he didn’t care. All he cared about was getting her out of this club. Getting her to a quiet, private place.
She didn’t know her time was running down. He figured that the one thing she was aware of was the need for sex—he could see it in her eyes. It probably had something to do with the pills she’d been popping. He didn’t much care for that, but in the end, it wouldn’t matter. She’d still fight—he could see it in her eyes. He knew which ones would fight.
A fast hunt wasn’t the same as a leisurely one, but there was pleasure in it just the same. A lot of pleasure.
They were walking down the block—or rather he was walking, she was stumbling while he held her up. One of her hands kept sliding down to rub his cock through his jeans and despite the need, he was a little disgusted with her. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, though, and he knew Katia was ideal for his needs. Ideal …
Abruptly, she giggled and grabbed his hand, jerking him into an alley. “Let’s do it in here.”
“Wouldn’t you rather get a hotel?” he asked.
“No.” She grabbed the hem of her short dress, pulling it up to show that she wore no panties. Faint light fell across her hips and thighs, revealing her waxed cunt. “I want to do it here.” She licked her finger and touched herself. “If you’re good, then I’ll let you get me a hotel. Later.”
He lifted a brow and followed her deeper into the shadows. This … well, this could be a new challenge altogether. He had some of his tools secured inside the leather jacket he wore. It wasn’t much, but it would suffice.
It wasn’t like they were in a quiet area of town. He’d heard sirens three different times in the past ten minutes, all from different directions. Voices rising and falling, the occasional yell, the pump and blast of music coming from somewhere close—very close. Another club, he assumed.
Behind him, he heard footsteps, a shout. Automatically, he lowered his head, hunched his shoulders. Hiding his height, his face as much as he could as he moved across the busted-up pavement, feeling the crunch of broken glass under his feet.
She smiled at him and rubbed herself harder. “You want to fuck me in here?” she whispered, batting her lashes at him, giving him what she must assume was a seductive smile.
He smiled back and slipped a hand into his pocket. He needed a rubber. And a gag.
“Yes.” He leaned in, kissed her, taking pleasure in it, giving her pleasure in return, smiling inwardly as she stilled, then sighed and shuddered against him. She whimpered in pleasure, and that pleased him.
All the while, her hands ran all over him and he let her do just that. When he pulled a rubber from his pocket, she grabbed it from him and put it on him, although he was careful to catch the wrapper, tucking it inside a zippered pocket, keeping it nice and safe.
Couldn’t leave any fingerprints lying around after all. After he dealt with the wrapper, he found a thin pair of gloves, balled them up in his fist, so she wouldn’t notice, wouldn’t see.
She curled her hand around him, started to stroke, but he stopped her by reaching down, cupping her. She wasn’t wet enough, not yet. Oh, he couldn’t have that. A bit of finessing, a bit of patience … and a few more kisses and she was mewling into his mouth, shaking and rocking against him, desperate, all but begging. He made certain she came before he did anything else.
That was one of his favorite parts.
Now it was almost time for the next favorite. He pulled his gloves on, quickly, quietly, kissing her to keep her from paying attention. Although she was so strung out, and still riding high on the orgasm, she might not have noticed anyway.
When he leaned back, her lashes were low, shielding her eyes.
He reached up, stroked a hand down her cheek. Then, as her lashes started to flutter, he fisted a hand in her long golden curls and slammed her head back against the brick, once, twice, three times.
Hard—hard enough to stun her and as she sagged against him, silent, he slipped the gag into place. Once that was done, he glanced around once more.
Dark, damn dark.
She moaned, her head slumped against his chest. He steadied her, lifted her. Waited until she roused before he did anything else. It just wouldn’t be much fun unless she was awake. Who wanted to fuck a motionless stick?
Her lashes lifted and he saw the moment fear began to slide into her eyes. That was when he pushed inside.
She didn’t start to fight right away though.
She was still confused, thanks to the drugs in her system, and the blows to her head probably weren’t helping. To aid that confusion along, he stroked her clit and murmured, “I love a bad girl who likes to play games.”
She blinked and looked delightfully confused over the gag and as he started to pull out, she tightened around him—a startled, harsh moan ripping from her behind the gag.
She reached up, tried to pull it away. He caught her hands in one of his, slammed them over her head. Watched as that flicker of fear bloomed into something larger. She tried to pull away.
“No, Katia … it’s part of the game. My game.” He laughed as she started to struggle in earnest.
Watching her, he rested a hand on her neck, lightly at first, as he peered into her clearing eyes. No longer clouded by lust, no longer clouded by pain, and even the lingering effects of the drugs she’d been tossing back were clearing. Adrenaline could do that.
It wasn’t fun, though, to let it end too fast. He let her have one hand free, resting his own on her neck.
He squeezed and watched as she reached up, raking her nails across his hands. Or trying to. She felt his gloves and freaked out. He chuckled as she started to fight. And that really did it for him. As his cock swelled and his balls drew tight, he wedged his forearm against her neck and whispered, “Didn’t your mama teach you not to talk to strange men, Katia?”
Her name was Kathleen Hughes, not Katia.
But Kathleen was such a boring name … such a good girl name and she was so tired of people thinking she was a good girl.
&
nbsp; She was twenty-four, damn it. Living on her own, having a good time, living her own life, living her own life and having fun. Tired of people expecting her to do what they wanted, tired of people expecting things of her, or even just being disappointed in her when she fucked up.
That was what she would have said if anybody had asked a few hours earlier.
So what if she was a little bit miserable lately? So what if she was missing her mom? Missing Jared, too … Jared—the bastard. And that was why she’d been popping those pills, because she’d been thinking about him, missing him, thinking about calling him.
But he wouldn’t want her back … miserable thoughts that only made her more miserable, which made her pop more pills, and now she was out here, struggling to breathe, struggling to see, to think, to function.
She would have given anything to be back home, listening to her mother tell her, You shouldn’t dress that way … you should try to find a nice boy, Kathleen … not those kinds of boys. Kathleen, please …
Would have given anything to be back with Jared, where she felt safe …
She tried to scratch, tried to bite, but her attacker just laughed. And he slammed into her, brutally—what had felt so good, even if a little wicked a few minutes ago, now hurt and tore and burned and she moaned, tried to pull away. Tried to think past the pain in her head, between her legs. Tried to think past the fear—
She needed to get away from him. Needed to scream for help.
But she could barely breathe. The gag. She tried to spit it out but that didn’t work. Tried to pull her hands away from his, but his grip was brutal, merciless. Whimpering, she stared at him, tried to beg him silently to let her go.
And then he dipped his head, gave her one of those sweet, tender kisses, pressed lovingly against her neck even as his body tore into hers. When he lifted up and smiled down at her, Kathleen struck out at him with her head, slamming her forehead against his. But he evaded, as though he’d known exactly what she was going to do. Slumping against the wall, tears trickling down her cheeks, she shuddered and tried to twist away when he started to touch her again—this time gently. Even as pain was ripping through her.
If You Know Her: A Novel of Romantic Suspense Page 2