Chapter Twenty-Three
Darkness.
The heavy presence at Cassie’s back pinned her down, pressing her breasts and belly and thighs into the bed.
Warm breath tickled her ear, and her heart kicked it into high gear.
She couldn’t move. She couldn’t see.
And she couldn’t scream because a huge, rough hand clamped over her mouth as soon as she turned her head.
Jase…
It wasn’t Jase.
The size was wrong.
The voice was wrong.
Way wrong.
And that wasn’t a hand over her mouth.
It was a gag.
“Cassandra Michelle Mitchum,” a voice like buzzing flies whispered. “Let me explain what you’re doing here and what is about to happen.”
She couldn’t breathe. Panic washed over her in terrifying waves as she realized the man on top of her was forcing the air out of her lungs. And that wasn’t all. Her chest…it ached in a way she’d never felt before.
Before…
She struggled to remember…
Hitting the tree. And Kyle. His voice in her ear. Oh God, where was he?
The man at her back, the one suffocating her, spoke again. “I decided I didn’t want to wait until tomorrow.”
Tomorrow?
Images flashed through her pounding head. Of Kyle. He wants to play. Of Neely wiping sweat from his brow. The way he was looking at you… Of another man holding a machete. That eye.
She screamed around the gag, and her captor pressed his weight into her backside.
“Oh, you don’t want to play anymore?” He made a tsk-tsk-tsk sound with his tongue. “That’s okay, muchacha. I still want to.”
She twisted her neck and winced. The throbbing pain in the back of her head nearly took her breath.
“You’re okay, pretty girl. You hit your head, and there’s bruising on your chest. Nothing to threaten your life.” The relief was short lived because he leaned into her ear and added, “Not yet.” And before she could piece the fuzzy memories of the wreck back together, the point of something sharp and menacing trailed down her face, right at the hairline, and a second muffled scream tore up her constricted throat.
“Not as willing as the other one, but I like it this way, too,” her captor said. “This hair is getting in my way though.”
The man atop her pulled her hair tight, and fresh tears flooded her eyes as the knife began sawing near her neck. No. No! She went perfectly still, afraid any struggle would send the blade slicing into her flesh. She bit her lips in and sobbed, willing her shoulders not to shake. Her safety shield was being shorn away, rendered useless…just as it’s always been. And that realization sent a new terror crawling through her belly. True helplessness. That’s where she was. And where, oh where was Kyle? Had he made it to safety? Was help on the way?
“So much hair. Does El Crotalo like all this? I hope he does.”
He was talking about Jase.
She swallowed down a dizzying fear, heightened now by the realization that she’d cried out his name after the wreck. In those moments of blind fear, he was all she’d wanted. Now she wanted him to stay away. He said he’d give his life for hers, and he’d meant it, despite all that came after. Only now did she understand the gravity of that statement, and in a blinding moment of clarity, she knew she’d do the same for him.
Fingers brushed her back, scooping up clumps of hair, and she felt a lightness she hadn’t felt…ever. “Mira,” he said, running his hands through the shorn locks. “Much better. Now you look at me.”
Still pinning her midsection, he shifted slightly and rolled her over. She surged up, hands flying, nails clawing for purchase. She was promptly slapped. Hard. So hard the seconds of pure black terrified her more than the pain because she couldn’t black out again. She had to fight.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk. Not good, puta. Now I’ll have to restrain you.”
As he reached around for something in his back pocket, she made another attempt. A fist connected with her left cheek. This time the pain encompassed everything, and it took her a while to realize she’d been handcuffed to the headboard.
She screamed, sobbed, strained. She fought with everything she had, bucking beneath Oscar Martinez as he smiled down at her, the knife between his teeth. His hands moved over her body, from neck to waist, stopping to squeeze a breast, to knead greedy fingers into her hips. Nausea rolled through her, wave after wave, souring her stomach and chilling her blood.
She fought harder.
Oscar opened his mouth, still grinning, and the knife fell to her stomach. “Mmmm, that feels good.”
Horror-struck, she went stock-still. Oscar threw his head back, laughing, and her fear melted into desperation. She thought she’d understood true fear when she came to on the bed with her heart thudding, her stomach hollow. But now…now…it had gone beyond that, to a place where pain was accepted as inevitable and all that remained was the will to survive, no matter how much it hurt.
“You know why I’m doing this?” Oscar asked. She narrowed her eyes at him, and he chuckled again. “You’re a pretty little guera. But when I found you belonged to El Crotalo? I knew I needed more than a taste.”
Do I give him one? Pretend I want it? That might have worked before she’d been handcuffed and rendered unable to escape. What now? What options did she really have left?
“Jason Lucas will come for you, muchacha.”
Oh, God, please don’t let Jase walk into this by himself.
“And when he does, do you know what he’ll find?” Oscar picked up the knife she’d managed to buck off her stomach. “He’ll find I’ve taken something worse than his own eye. I’ve taken yours.”
She whipped her head back and forth, screaming, trying like hell to bite through the cotton cutting into the corners of her mouth.
“The only question is, do I carve it out before I have my way with you—” he leaned close, his breath hot on her face, “—or while I’m inside you?”
Her chest squeezed tight, and all the air left her lungs, hope with it.
The knife traced a circle around her eye. “Which one?” Oscar whispered.
Footsteps pounded up the stairs, and her breath returned.
“Coy!”
Neely.
No. Not him, too.
Oscar answered without breaking eye contact. “Donde es el guero?”
“I found him!” Neely called through the door. Her heart sank into the mattress. No… “He’s downstairs.”
Kyle hadn’t made it to safety.
Oscar tapped the knife at the corner of her eye. “Decisions, decisions…”
His weight lifted, and as soon as he cleared the bed, Cassie drew her knees up and twisted so she was kneeling. She could barely feel her hands, but thanks to the full moon’s light, she could make out the flowered quilt and an antique nightstand—minus a crochet needle, a letter opener, or anything else that might be useful.
Oscar rounded the end of the four-poster bed and stopped in front of the door. What the hell was he waiting for? She scanned the bedroom. Two windows. A closet. A man in the bathroom doorway.
A man…?
Jase.
Oh my God.
She blinked, and he was gone. Maybe it had just been an illusion. A mirage. A figment of her warped mind and bleary eyes.
She had no way to wipe the tears, and her lack of sight must have heightened her hearing because she heard the lock click and the door open as if broadcast in surround sound. She blinked and wrenched her head around, just in time to see a blurry, bloody Neely shove the door in.
“You tied up my mother!”
Neely’s abrupt change in demeanor startled her, but didn’t appear to faze Oscar at all, because he calmly replied, “Ah, but you didn’t have a problem when I put your father’s face in the pond, did you?”
She tried so hard not to look at Jase. Did I really see him? In the bathroom? She had to know. Just as she made the decision to confirm his presence, Clint appeared behind Neely and planted a foot in the man’s back.
Neely’s bulk slammed into Oscar, and both men crashed into the footboard. The bed shook from the impact, but her attention was riveted on Jase. Despite the limp, he surged out of the bathroom like the highly trained warrior he was, the shotgun at his shoulder covering both Neely and Oscar.
Clint reached the men at the foot of the bed first and shoved Neely aside to ram a pistol barrel in the face of his father’s killer.
“Clint!” Jase’s shout rang out a split second before Clint grunted and stumbled backward into the wall near the door, clutching his side.
Oscar stood and Cassie’s eyes went wide at the wicked-looking serrated blade in his hand. Neely remained on the floor. Somewhere. She couldn’t see him anymore and could only guess his location from the way Jase shifted the shotgun back and forth as he placed himself between the men and his brother.
Clint shoved away from the wall. “I got Neely,” he growled, holding his bleeding side with one hand, the automatic pistol with the other. “On your knees, asshole.”
Neely obeyed. Then he lunged. It happened so fast, she didn’t even have time to shout a muffled warning before Neely barreled into Jase’s legs. The shotgun skittered across the floor, and the cuffs bit into her flesh. She thrashed, enraged at being held captive on the bed, unable to retrieve the weapon.
As Jase rose to his knees, Clint stepped in front of him, using his bleeding body as a shield. Neely, his last ounce of fight gone, scuttled toward the far side of the bed. Oscar merely held his ground, still smiling that evil smile. Only a man who truly enjoyed pain and fear could wear the expression of amusement she saw on Oscar’s face as he watched Jase struggle to his feet.
Jase pushed Clint toward Neely and faced Oscar, breathing hard.
“Your woman’s a screamer, Crotalo.” Oscar crouched low and wove his knife through the air, attempting to circle Jase. “I would have had all her screams if you hadn’t come here.”
Jase grunted and advanced. Oscar went for his face. His knife sliced through the air as if in slow motion, and Cassie recoiled in horror as Jase’s skull crashed into Oscar’s.
Oscar stumbled backward and Jase, bleeding from his face, charged. He hooked his right leg behind Oscar’s calf, taking him to the ground. The knife clattered to the floor, and Jase kicked it across the room, in the opposite direction of Neely, who Clint had beaten nearly unconscious.
Her head snapped back to Jase in time to see him receive a brutal kick from Oscar—right on his wounded shin. How he remained standing this time, she had no idea, but he stepped back and raised a hand. Clint tossed him the retrieved shotgun, and in one fluid movement, Jase had it shouldered and aimed at Oscar.
“Adjoining bathroom,” he said, sneering down at the coyote responsible for so much human suffering.
“Que?”
“How I got in here.”
Oscar laughed. “Crotalo, I got you,” he said. “And I marked you. Your woman can remember that every time she looks at you.”
“My woman likes my scars, motherfucker.” And with another sinuous motion, Jase swung the butt of the shotgun from his shoulder and smashed it into Oscar’s face.
Oscar hit the floor and rolled onto his back. He smiled up at Jase through bloody teeth. “How’s my boy?”
Jase slammed the butt of his gun into Oscar’s face again.
“Jase!” Clint yelled. “Stop!”
But Jase didn’t look to his brother; he looked up, over an immobile Oscar, and right at her. The right side of his face was sliced open, beginning above his right eyebrow and ending near his cheekbone. Her eyes watered as he attempted to come over the end of the bed. He couldn’t. In fact, he had to use the side of the bed for support. Her heart hurt for him, for this man who’d just had several wounds re-opened—painful wounds both physical and emotional.
She surged toward him, straining against the cuffs. Jase collapsed onto the bed, cupped her face, hooked his thumbs under the top of the gag, and ripped it down. She took the deepest breath she’d ever taken. His hands twisted into her ruined hair, and he pressed his lips savagely to hers.
“Jase…” she rasped, tasting the blood on his lips, the salt on his skin. “Your face…can you see?”
He stilled, breathing her in. “I can see you. That’s all that matters. I’ve got you, baby. You hear me? You’re safe now. I’ve got you and I’m never letting go.”
“Jase…” She hiccupped. Though her wrists were still bound to the bed, she clawed at his shirt with her fingers, pulling him closer. “I’ve got you, too.” And she wasn’t letting go, either. Never again.
His next words hit her cheek, soft as a breeze, comforting and warm. “You’ve always had me.” He pressed his forehead to hers, and their ragged breaths found a rhythm in the silence. Cassie thought she could have stayed like that forever, with his big hard body wrapped around hers. Finally, he pulled back, but his intense gaze never left hers. “Clint, the keys. Find them.”
“Got it,” she heard, somewhere behind Jase.
“What does crotalo mean?” she whispered.
“Rattlesnake.”
Clint spoke from the end of the bed. “Whatever you are, we’ve got an unconscious asshole over here, and if you hit that one again we’re gonna have a dead Mexican, too.”
Neely struggled to his knees. “I ain’t unconscious.”
Clint abandoned his key search. “Shut up,” he commanded, raising the pistol responsible for Neely’s face, which swelled grotesquely.
And thank God she couldn’t see Oscar’s face.
Neely spit blood. “You said if I told you where—”
“I told you I wouldn’t cut your dick off like my daddy should’ve done to yours.”
“Your aunt got what she wanted. It’s what they want, especially when they say they don’t.”
“Sick fucker,” Clint spat. “Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it? I saw you looking at that boy downstairs, no wonder you were looking for him so hard.”
At that, Cassie felt no remorse for Neely’s face.
“Coy said I could have him when he was done with her.”
“His name’s Oscar Martinez. And you opened the door to the devil,” Clint said to Neely. “We inherited him. Big difference.”
“He tied up my mama!”
“Are you shitting me?” Jase roared, as much in frustration as in pain. He limped over to Oscar, and she cringed, wondering if the man was dead. When Jase stepped over him a few seconds later, holding the handcuff keys, Oscar’s head lolled in their direction. Blood frothed from his mouth.
Oh, shit. She turned her head and girded a very queasy belly.
“We need to make a move here,” Jase said, working at her wrists.
“You,” Clint said, standing in front of Neely. “Same deal your daddy got, only you’re not coming back because there won’t be anything to come back to. All of it.”
“No way!” Neely lunged up.
Clint eased him back down with a gun to his head, just as her restraints fell away.
“I ain’t givin’ you my land.”
“No, you’re selling it,” Jase said, pulling her against his side. “At fair market value.”
“I can’t—”
“Can’t what?” Clint asked. “Take your money and disappear? You’d rather stay here and explain this?” Clint tilted his chin at Oscar. “As well as your role in your father’s murder?”
“He…he cheated on Mama! And Oscar said he’d fix it. That he’d fix everything.”
“Christ, you have some screwed-up priorities,” Clint said. “Take the money, and we’ll take care of this.”
Neely slumped to his knees. “Mama’s gonna be so pissed about this mess.”
“For fuck’s sake,” Clint said. “Let’s get Oscar cuffed and Cassie out of here.”
Jase tossed the cuffs to his brother.
“What are you going to do with him?” she asked.
Clint and Jase exchanged a look. Clint answered. “I’ll take care of it,” he said, “Later. Let’s head downstairs. I’m sick of breathing this air.”
Cassie stepped over Oscar and goose bumps prickled her skin. It was like walking over a grave. “Won’t somebody miss him?”
“I’ll take care of it,” Clint repeated.
Okay then.
Clint motioned for Neely. “You first. Go check on your Mama.”
Mrs. Neely sat in her dining room next to Kyle, her hands clutching a coffee mug. The woman’s eyes narrowed in disgust when Clint shoved her son into an empty chair at the opposite end of the table. At least the man had sense enough to look ashamed of himself.
“Cassie!” Kyle’s embrace nearly knocked her down. “I swear I thought we were both going to die,” he hissed in her ear. “God, you look like shit.”
She met Jase’s eyes over Kyle’s shoulder. “We need to get you to a hospital,” he said.
She smiled up at him, unaware of the pain until now. She’d been on a Jase high since the moment she’d seen him in the bathroom. However, it was quickly wearing off. “You don’t look so great yourself.”
“I’ll live,” he said.
“Me, too.” And they had some loose ends to tie up, despite her splitting headache and wobbly knees.
Over the next hour, she pounded out a quitclaim land deed on the Neely’s desktop computer while a concerned Jase hovered and an overcaffeinated Kyle corrected all her mistakes. The attorneys could prepare a warranty deed later. The quitclaim would more than suffice for now. She made more coffee and washed Jase and Clint’s injuries as best she could while Oscar yelled from upstairs and Neely blubbered to his mama. And all the time she wondered how exactly Clint planned on taking care of Oscar and if Kyle would need to see a doctor about the thorns in his hands. Some of them were so deep she couldn’t get them out. And Jase was right, she needed a doctor, too. The head wound was minor but would need stitches, and damn, her chest hurt. She wouldn’t be surprised if she’d cracked a rib.
At some point, Jase appeared with a legal description for the Neely property, which he’d tracked down in their office file cabinet thanks to some help from the widow. He set the paper beside her. Then he set something on top of it. She glanced over, still typing, and her eyes began to water.
“You can pay me back after your override comes in. Or not. I don’t care.”
She looked up at him and nodded, blinking the tears away. He’d just presented her with a receipt from Mariposa, Houston’s top-rated assisted living residence. And the suite reserved in her mother’s name had been paid in full for the next twelve months.
“You didn’t listen to any of my messages, did you?”
She shook her head, still unable to respond to the beautiful, bloody man with the heart of gold staring down at her.
“Despite the circumstances, I’m glad I got to tell you in person. And not a moment too soon. She moves in next week.”
“Thank you,” she managed. And when she could form more than two syllables, she’d tell him how full her heart was, how she planned to pay him back, and exactly how she planned on thanking him—she’d tell him every detail about that.
Jase nodded and stroked her hair. Or what was left of it. That part sucked. But the way he smoothed her ravaged hair, the way he dipped his head to kiss the top of hers…it was exactly what she needed at that moment. Drawing a shaky breath, she turned back to the deed.
“You’ll be getting a lease on this tract, too,” he said.
But she didn’t care anymore.
By the time they’d cleaned up their little mess, so to speak, she didn’t care about much, so badly did she hurt. She didn’t care what happened to Oscar Martinez. She didn’t care about her damaged car or that Kyle was worried about his nonexistent future career as a hand model. And she certainly didn’t care that Mrs. Neely planned on moving to Arizona to be near her daughter and was no longer speaking to her son.
All she cared about was Jase, warm and solid, and very, very shaky beside her as they made their way to his truck.
“I’m done pushing you away, Cassie.”
“And I’m done letting you,” she replied, pulling him tighter.
Slipping out of her embrace, he dropped to his knees.
Concerned he’d finally collapsed, she hit the ground in front of him. Her outcry died in her throat when his big hands curled gently over hers. “I’ll never hurt you again,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “Not intentionally. I’ll go to my grave regretting what I said and how I handled things, but I’ll also spend every last one of those days loving you so thoroughly you won’t have a doubt in your mind that I was only trying to protect you. And I’ll always protect you. My life for yours, remember?”
Oh, she remembered. She remembered the way he’d loved her then, even as he’d spoken words she hadn’t wanted to hear. She couldn’t wait to exhaust him with joy this time.
“I want you by my side forever,” he continued. “No matter what comes our way. If…if you can forgive me—”
“I forgave you the second I saw you standing in the middle of the highway.”
“You did notice,” he chuckled.
“I’ll never forget it.”