White Collared Part Three: Revenge (6 page)

She summoned the courage to tell him what she’d never told another soul—not even Caden. “He was going to leave my mother and take me with him.”

His body went stiff, and he frowned. “Why was that a gift? Did she abuse you?”

“No. Not in the way you’re thinking.” She shifted in his lap and rested her head on his shoulder. “Mama always had a drinking problem, but it had gotten to the point where she was no longer functional. She wouldn’t go to rehab, and my father finally gave up hope that she’d ever recover.”

“What did your dad do?”

She smiled, thinking about him. She missed him desperately, but she’d like to think he’d be proud of her for all she’d accomplished. “He was an electrician. For as long as I could remember, it had been my dad and me against the world. When I was really young, my mom would play with me. And she loved to garden, but by my fourteenth birthday, everything she’d loved in the garden had withered and died.”

“I’m sorry. That must have been difficult for you.”

The sting of Jaxon’s throbbing bites on her thighs grounded her in reality even as the memories rolled through her. “You would think so, but to me Mama was kind of always in the background of my life. She was there, taking up space, but she didn’t affect my life one way or another. My dad was the one who had to take care of her, and he’d had enough.”

“So what happened?”

“After lunch we went back to hunting. A few minutes later, I shot a doe, but it ran away. Dad went to track it and told me to stay in position. Hunting to me was as natural as breathing. I hadn’t lowered the gun an inch when it went off. I was wearing earplugs, but the sound of that shot was louder than any shot I’d ever heard. When my hearing cleared, it was so silent. It was as if I was the only person left in the world. I found him on the ground next to the deer. Blood everywhere. The deer looked at me with such sadness. My dad told me he would always love me and that he was sorry. And then he was gone.”

With his fingertips, he gently wiped the stray tears from her cheeks. “Kate, it wasn’t your fault.”

“Really? That’s not what everyone else believed.”

“What do you mean?”

The fear and humiliation from that day bubbled up from the depths of her memories. “When the police arrived, they locked me in handcuffs and arrested me.”

He hugged her so tightly it hurt. “You were a minor,” he said, fury in his voice. “A baby. What were they thinking?”

“They were thinking a champion shooter like me never missed when she aimed her gun. They didn’t believe me when I said my gun went off accidentally. My mother blamed me for taking away her husband. The media came in from all over the state. Followed me on the way to school. They spun the story they thought would sell the most papers, implying that my father had been sexually abusing me, and so I shot him.” She trembled, the horrible accusations from the news articles still souring her stomach.

He ran his hand soothingly over her hair. “How did it all end?”

“The court appointed a guardian ad litem, a young girl right out of social work school. She did some research online and found there had been several occurrences of premature discharge with that brand of rifle. Based on that and because there was no real evidence, they dropped the charges. But the damage had already been done.” She’d never forgotten how hard that woman had fought for her.

“What happened?”

Waves of grief rolled over her, and for once she didn’t fight it. It was time to let it all go. “I lost my way for a while. I got into drugs. Drank. Slept around. The only reasons I bothered going to school were to score more drugs and to see Caden. He never gave up on me.” Her eyes burned and her chest ached. Releasing the pain she’d kept bottled up inside her hurt more than anything Jaxon could inflict physically. “On my sixteenth birthday, I woke up in the woods behind our school, naked, with dried blood caked on my inner thighs and no recollection of how I got there. Luckily, I had my purse and my cell phone. I called Caden. He hid me in his room, and I spent the next few days detoxing.”

A muscle jumped in his jaw. “You didn’t go to the hospital or report it to the police?”

“No. It wasn’t the first time I’d blacked out, and everyone knew I was easy.” She brushed her fingers over his frown lines, starting with the little ones around his mouth. “I didn’t trust the police. Not after what they’d put me through with my father. It was simpler to accept responsibility for my actions and move on. And that’s what I did. It took a lot of work, but I managed to graduate from high school with honors and put myself through college.”

He slanted his lips over hers in a slow, lingering, but no less demanding kiss. “You’re even stronger than I thought. I’m so sorry for what you went through, but I’m not sorry it’s led you to me.”

He rose from the couch with her in his arms and carried her out of the playroom, down the hallway, and into a bedroom, where he deposited her on top of a bed. The billowy softness of the goose-down blanket soothed her sore skin. She sighed in surrender as he lay on top of her, and she parted her thighs, inviting him inside her.

With a gentle thrust, he accepted her invitation. She wasn’t sure if he wore a condom, but it didn’t matter. She’d been on the pill for ten years, and she trusted him.

With her body.

Her heart.

Her life.

But after they’d climaxed and Jaxon had fallen asleep with his arm banded possessively over her hip, she realized maybe it was Jaxon who shouldn’t trust her. How could he when she didn’t trust herself not to make more mistakes like the one tonight, when she’d gone to see Martha Webber? How could he when she’d killed her father?

They made love several times during the night, slowly and sweetly, but always with Jaxon exerting total domination over her, whether it was holding her wrists in place or holding her head immobile. She couldn’t have gotten more than a few hours of sleep between the sex and the nightmares.

As hard as she’d tried to shut the image out, her thoughts had strayed to Hannah. A part of her felt guilty for making love while her friend—ex-friend—fought to live. After all, no matter what Jaxon and Nick believed, it was Kate’s fault Hannah was attacked.

After waking up at six, they dressed for the day. She’d brought a few items from home and chose to wear jeans and a sweater with her favorite boots. Jaxon apparently approved, judging by his constant need to run his hands over her ass.

Both tired and emotionally hung over, they trudged to the kitchen. While she sat at the rectangular kitchen table, watching the sun come up over the horizon, Jaxon made them coffee and toasted a couple of bagels. He brought their breakfast to the table and then sat beside her. She smiled, but underneath the table, she dug her nails into her palm.

Last night scared the hell out of her. The fabulous sex. Sharing her thoughts and feelings. That wasn’t her.

She’d been independent for so long, she didn’t know how to deal with anyone telling her what to do. When it came to her career, she had to follow Nick’s directions. After all, he was her boss. With Jaxon, she’d come to realize that she didn’t just
like
to be dominated in the bedroom.

She needed it.

Now that she’d experienced the spicy taste of BDSM, she could never go back to plain vanilla sex. Jaxon had helped uncover and free the part of herself she’d hidden away like a dirty little secret. She was a sexual submissive and a masochist, and there was nothing wrong with that. But she’d be damned if she allowed anyone to tell her what to do outside of work and the bedroom.

If she caved and didn’t assert her independence, would she wither away as her mother had done? As much as she understood the rational fear plaguing Nick and Jaxon regarding her safety, she couldn’t hand them complete control of her life.

It was as if the more she trusted them, the tighter the noose became. Although the literal act of Jaxon’s hands around her neck aroused her, she couldn’t handle the metaphorical collar.

Which was why she needed some space.

She took a cautious sip of her coffee and then lowered the mug to the table. “I need to go see Hannah.”

He nodded. “I’ll take you.”

“I want to go alone.”

Not understanding, he continued to nod. “I’ll drop you off and wait—”

“No, I want to ride my bike and go without you.”

He jerked as if she’d slapped him. “You can’t be serious. Someone wants you dead. Why are you endangering your life?”

She rose from the table. “I’ve been responsible for myself for ten years. Just because I gave you power over me in the bedroom doesn’t mean I want it to cross over into the other parts of my life.”

Instead of getting angry, he grinned like she amused him. “Is that what you think I’m doing? Trying to dictate your life?”

“Aren’t you? I’m not supposed to go anywhere without you or Nick. I can’t stay at my apartment. I’m not used to this.”

He shot out of his chair and yanked her to him. “Well get used to it. It’s what happens when you have people who care about you and want to keep you safe.” His mouth descended over hers before she could say another word.

She tasted the mint of his toothpaste along with the robust flavor of coffee, and damn if the combination didn’t get her hot. For a moment, she relented, her arms circling his waist, her hands snaking up under the back of his shirt to his hot skin. He’d given her an orgasm not even an hour before, and between the flogging, bites, and thorough fucking, her body felt deliciously used. And yet her pussy dripped from her arousal.

Ignoring the urge to knock him to the floor and screw the hell out of him, she slipped her arms out of his shirt and pushed him back. “Your caring is suffocating me. I can’t breathe.”

She didn’t get far before he caught her and pulled her close. “This is about last night. About you allowing your fear to rule your life.” He nipped her earlobe and whispered, “Don’t run from me. From us.”

She shivered and suppressed a moan. “I’m not running away. But you have to admit, things have intensified between us rather quickly. I need some alone time.”

“Every time you’re alone, you put your life at risk.”

She didn’t want to hurt him, but she teetered on a slippery slope, and if she gave in, she’d slide into a chasm she’d never survive. “It’s my life. My risk to take.”

He backed her up into the kitchen counter. “When will you stop punishing yourself for your father’s death?”

“I don’t punish myself. Not anymore. I’ve put it in the past.”

His eyes darkened. “You’ve run away from it, just like you’re trying to do with me, and I won’t allow it.” He tangled his hands into her hair and tipped back her head. “I’ll give you this morning to visit Hannah on your own, but I’m coming over to get you at noon. Now that I know you can handle a gun, I feel a little better. Is it still in your purse?”

“Yes,” she said in a squeak, her clit pulsing. Her brain was going fuzzy from his display of dominance. “I’m not running. I know it seems that way, but this is who I am. It’s going to take me a while to get used to having people take care of me.”

He nuzzled her neck, making her legs weak. “When this is all over, I’m going to spend all my time teaching you that you deserve to be treasured. Pampered. Worshipped.” He lifted her onto the counter and flicked open the button on her jeans. “But since we have only a few minutes, I’ll give you a sample of what it’s like.”

Chapter Seven

Nine Days to Elections . . .

J
AXON BROUGHT HER
home and reluctantly allowed her to ride to the hospital without him acting as her bodyguard. She slipped on her leather jacket and gloves and then jumped on her bike for the ten-minute drive.

She understood his concerns, but honestly, who was going to attack her in daylight? Besides, if Nick was right and the person who had attacked Hannah had mistaken her for Kate, he probably didn’t know he’d gotten the wrong girl. At least not yet.

Nick and Jaxon had been relieved that she knew how to use a gun. What she hadn’t disclosed to either one of them was that the mere sight of one made her sick to her stomach. Last night it had taken the help of her meds and every bit of strength she had to place the revolver in her purse. The idea of squeezing the trigger—even in self-defense—generated anxiety. To this day she recalled the metallic scent of her father’s blood and the spasms that racked his body as he took his final breath.

How could she ever take another life when she couldn’t get over the first one?

Driving her bike would give her time to decompress, and it was the perfect morning for it. With her bike vibrating under her thighs and the bitter wind blowing against her, she allowed the peacefulness of the drive to settle in her bones and sloughed off the memories and guilt. She’d have plenty of time for that once she got to the hospital.

After parking in the lot, she stopped by the information desk to ask for Hannah’s room number and then made her way up to the fifth floor. All she knew was that Hannah was recovering after surgery.

She hated hospitals almost as much as police stations. Hated the smells of antiseptic and decay, which accompanied sickness and death. She got off the elevator, and breathing through her mouth, she proceeded down the hall, pausing in front of Hannah’s room.

Was she awake? What would Kate say to her if she was?

Steeling her nerves, she forced her legs to move and went inside.

Hannah’s eyes were closed. She had a tube in her nose, a blood pressure cuff on one arm, and an IV in the other arm. A monitor displayed her vitals and beeped steadily.

She was so still. Ghostly pale with purple circles under her eyes. All Kate could think was that Hannah had always said she would never be caught dead without makeup. Part of her wanted to sit beside her and fix her face before she woke up so she’d never know how horrible she looked.

“Katie,” Tom said, startling her.

How had she not noticed him behind the monitor?

Hunched over with his elbows on his knees, he sat in a chair next to Hannah. His eyes were swollen and red as if he’d been crying.

She moved farther into the room and resisted her urge to give him a hug in comfort. “How is she?”