Chapter Two
Kat’s shitty night just got worse.
They’d found her.
Two states, six months, and a fake name since her previous encounter with them, and they’d still managed to find her. How didn’t matter. It was why that clawed her insides all to hell.
The paper placemat sporting beer stains and a hastily scrawled note shook in her trembling hands. Chancing a quick glance around the barely lit employee parking lot behind Lou’s Riverview, she stared at the words again, praying she’d read them wrong.
Time to pay up!
We got eyes on you & ears with the pigs.
You got 48 hrs.
Nope. She’d read them right the first time. Roughly translated, it said Antony Sicoli wanted his money in the next two days, or she could look forward to another up-close-and-personal tour of the local ER. Or the morgue.
It also told her she was being watched, and Sicoli had already managed to compromise at least one of Alabaster, Louisiana’s finest.
In other words, Kat MacGregor was totally, and utterly, screwed.
Fighting to keep the acid in her stomach where it belonged, she cursed herself six ways to Sunday. She should have known better. She should have dyed her strawberry hair an inky black, maybe hacked off a good twelve inches so it fell to her chin. Should have covered her freckles with caked-on makeup like the other lost souls working at Lou’s for shitty tips and lewd comments.
Waitressing at that rundown joint in the cane breaks of Alabaster was the exact opposite of a “dream job.” But Lou paid under the table and didn’t ask any questions, so for someone on the lam like herself, it qualified as the “perfect job.”
Digging through her purse, she desperately searched for the keys to her shit-brown 1984 Chevy Celebrity, needing to feel the modicum of safety its rusting frame would offer. It might be a piece of crap, but it was the only thing constant in her life from when she left home at the age of seventeen.
Well, that and Lenny.
Fucking Lenny. She’d known he wasn’t going to amount to anything when they were dating her junior year in high school, but it hadn’t mattered. He had the Celebrity and was willing to take her far away from her house and the shit that went on inside those four walls. So what if his idea of a job was gambling while she worked random waitressing gigs to make sure they had enough to scrape by? Frustrating, but certainly not the worst scenario she could imagine.
However, the situation they’d barely escaped in Nashville half a year ago had gone from merely frustrating to life-threatening. Lenny screwed up bad when he got himself twenty grand into debt to the biggest crime boss in Tennessee. Hell, Sicoli was probably the only crime boss in Tennessee, and Lenny had still managed to get mixed up with him, of all people.
They’d gotten the hell out of Nashville after Sicoli’s guys gave Lenny a reality check message—’cause nothing says “pay up or else” like putting a guy’s girl in the hospital with a few cracked ribs, a concussion, and a swollen face to rival the final scene in a Rocky movie—and ended up in the Podunk town of Alabaster.
Kat scoffed as she shook the contents of her purse, hoping her keys would rise to the top. What a total misnomer. The person who named this town had either been hopeful for its future or completely blind. There wasn’t anything white or translucent about the place, but rather a palette of greens and browns in the muddy water swamplands of the Mississippi.
But even as shitty as it was, Alabaster had proved to be decent as far as a place to lay low. That was until last month when Lenny got arrested for “possession with intent to sell” a fairly large stash of crystal meth. Crystal meth! When she’d finally gotten him to agree to stop gambling, she never thought in a million years he’d get into selling drugs. Not that she’d expected him to get an upstanding job this side of the law—after all, that’s why he kept her around—but drugs?
Either way, it didn’t matter. By getting arrested, Lenny had indirectly done her a favor. Living on her own for the first time made her realize she could stand on her own two feet. Her entire life she’d depended on someone else to take care of things. But not anymore.
Since he’d started his stint at Elayn Hunt Correctional Center, Kat decided to save every penny she could and leave town—and Lenny—before he got out of prison.
And she’d foolishly thought things were going well. For the first time in ten years, she’d enjoyed her freedom, the chance to live without worrying about what sort of crap Lenny was up to. But now, ironically, the EHCC might as well be a safe house for him while she was stuck out here in the real world with guys who wanted something she couldn’t deliver.
Fucking beautiful.
Finally, she felt her keys and pulled them out, only to fumble them in her shaking hands and drop them in the dirt and shadows at her feet. Cursing, she bent down to retrieve them when she heard a loud shuffling sound several yards behind her. Her heart raced and the air whooshed out of her lungs at the thought of actually facing Sicoli’s thugs, until she heard the drunken rendition of an Alan Jackson song that accompanied the footsteps. Kat was fairly sure no self-respecting mob muscle would approach a target so carelessly. Or so out of tune.
Taking a deep breath, she grabbed her keys, stood up, and turned to face Rick, one of the triple-regulars at Lou’s. Meaning he was regularly there, regularly drunk, and regularly an asshole.
“Hey dere, Syd the Sexy. You been waitin’ on me?” he asked, bracing himself with one arm on the Celebrity.
Having to answer to an alias was bad enough. Rick turning it into a ridiculous nickname was even worse. Considering she’d just worked a double, she was tired, her feet ached, and the muscles in her upper back burned from strain. And that was all before she’d found the cheerful note on her windshield. So dealing with his shit now was almost more than she could handle.
“Fuck off, Mullineaux, I’m not in the mood. Go sober up in your truck. Which is in the front parking lot, by the way.” Then, hoping he’d take the hint, she turned away from him to unlock her door.
“Dere’s no need to be so damn rude, missy,” he spat out, his bayou accent thick and slurred. “You tink yer so much bedda dan de rest uh dem sluts dat work fer Lou, but you ain’t.”
His words crawled over her skin like a thousand spiders. She slipped her keys between her fingers and made a fist, creating the self-defense move she’d named after one of her favorite Marvel characters: the Wolverine. Not for the first time—not even for the hundredth—she wished she had actual superpowers. Then she wouldn’t have any problems dealing with scum like Rick Mullineaux.
Forcing herself to face the threat, she braced herself and said, “Go home, Rick. I’m not looking for trouble with you or anyone else. I just want to work my shifts and be left alone.”
“Dat’s just too damn bad, isn’t it? I don’ particularly want to leave you alone.”
He stepped in, crowding her back against the door. Before he could lay a hand on her, she reacted, slashing the keys down his cheek, leaving bloody scratches in their wake.
“You bitch!”
Shoving him as hard as she could, Kat spun around and grabbed for her door handle.
Unfortunately, she hadn’t thought her escape through. She’d pushed him with enough force to send him backward…where he bounced back from the truck parked next to her and pinned her between his beer gut and the Celebrity, his hands brutally gripping her hips.
Instantly, the nightmares she’d kept locked away for years flooded her memory and her old defense system took over. She could feel herself checking out, slipping into that dark void in her mind where nothing existed. Nothing bad and nothing good.
Just…nothing.
He’d be able to do whatever he wanted now. Her attempts at protecting herself ended the moment he touched her.
So while her sanity waited in the void, her body would play possum. All that was left was to hope that when the bigger animal was done toying with her, there’d still be enough left of her to drag home afterward.
…
Aiden pushed through the heavy steel door in the back of Lou’s as he lit the cigarette already pinched between his lips. The stifling August heat smacked him right in the face and the humidity was so thick his lungs felt like they took on fluid with every breath. He actually preferred the carcinogenic smoke circulating in his lungs to the swamp water–filled air.
He’d lived in Boston all thirty-two years of his life and hated winter every time it came around. But he was starting to appreciate the idea of a snowstorm over Louisiana’s suffocating summer. Though, he supposed when combined with not having to look his past in the face every damn day, even a hellhole like Alabaster was a step up.
He took a long drag of the cigarette and watched the cherry burn brighter in the dark as it ate its way through the tobacco and paper. It was times like this when he wished he could unwind from the long night with a cold beer. But not a drop of alcohol had passed his lips in five long years, and that’s the way it would stay.
Fridays were always the hardest. Aiden and the other coolers definitely earned their paychecks those nights. He’d had to prevent four fights tonight and that wasn’t including whatever Xander’s count had been.
But, he reminded himself, any night he didn’t have to use his fists was a win in his book. Along with Aiden’s “no drinking” policy had come his equally strict “no fighting” policy. No easy feat for an Irish Southie with a temper, who used to earn his living as a professional MMA fighter.
As he exhaled a stream of white smoke, he heard the mumbling sounds of a conversation coming from the back of the dirt lot. The dim floodlight over the back of the door barely illuminated the scene. He couldn’t make out much more than shadow figures, but one was definitely a female, and judging from the sloppy movements of the slouching silhouette, the other a drunken patron.
Aiden knew some of the waitresses did more than just get some of the customers their drinks. Though he wasn’t fond of the idea, he stayed out of their business, just like they stayed out of his. It was the unspoken law of Lou’s Riverview.
Having no desire to witness anything he might need bleach to wash his eyes out with later, Aiden dropped his cigarette and turned to head back into the bar. Just as his hand grasped the handle, he heard the man shout in anger, followed by the sound of a scuffle, stopping him cold.
He ran toward the couple, counting his strides along the way to remind himself to keep his temper in check. When he got close enough to be sure of what was happening, he clenched his fists so hard his knuckles cracked. Then, when he realized it was happening to Kat, Aiden damn near exploded with rage. His instincts fired commands to his muscles to Superman-punch the asshole into next week, but his brain managed to rein him in just before he lost control.
Instead, he grabbed the guy by his neck, yanked him back, and roared as he sent him flying a good six feet to land in a misshapen heap with a loud thud.
“Goddamn Mullineaux,” he ground out through his teeth. Aiden crossed to crouch by the unmoving hillbilly and felt for a pulse. He was almost disappointed when it came through nice and strong. After moving the guy to the edge of the parking lot to sleep it off, he left to go check on Kat.
She was still pressed up against the side of her car. She hadn’t even turned her head to see what had gone down or where her attacker had disappeared. He looked her up and down, trying to see if the bastard had hurt her in any way. Her standard-issue short black skirt was still in place, but the fitted white T-shirt had been pulled from her waistband.
His gut churned at the thought of anyone, especially Mullineaux, pawing at her like a piece of meat. Physically, she had the look of young innocence and natural beauty, which put her at odds with her surroundings. But her eyes told a much different story. They clearly showed she was haunted by her past, and in that respect, she fit right in with the rest of life’s misfits who found themselves at Lou’s.
“Sydney?” He hated using her fake name, but as far as she was concerned, he was just another work acquaintance who barely knew her, and that’s how it needed to stay. “He’s gone now. It’s okay.”
Nothing.
Shit.
She was shaking. She reminded him of the time he and Mary Catherine had found a tiny kitten hiding in a corner behind their school. It had curled itself into a quaking little fur ball, hiding its face like if it couldn’t see the threat, it wouldn’t be real. He remembered how Mary Catherine had crouched in that corner, petting and whispering to the tiny thing until it finally felt safe enough to come out.
Aiden had never been the logical and reassuring type. He’d been more of a barely contained powder keg. It had served him well in his professional fights, but outside the cage he’d always punched first and asked questions later. Eventually, it ruined his life and the lives of those he loved.
Since then, he’d been trying his best to be the exact opposite. He’d managed to keep his temper locked down, and now he hoped he didn’t totally fuck up the calm and gentle thing.
Channeling Mary Catherine with the kitten, Aiden eased up behind her, hoping to coax her out of her metaphorical corner. Hesitantly, he reached out to stroke the length of her back. As soon as his palm flattened between her shoulder blades, she gasped as though breaking through the surface of the Boston harbor in February.
She spun around and hissed. “Don’t touch me.”
Seeing her now, with her back plastered against the car and her eyes wide with fear, Aiden wanted to crush Mullineaux’s windpipe with his bare hands something fierce. It had been years since he felt the urge to pull a woman into his arms for reasons other than satisfying the basest of sexual needs, but in the past several months, he found himself wanting to just hold Kat and offer her comfort for whatever she might need.
Now was no exception. But he couldn’t give in to the urge for multiple reasons, not the least of which was his refusal to get too close to her.
So instead, he held his hands up with palms facing out and prayed the talking part of Mary Catherine’s method worked better than the petting had.
…
“I’m not gonna hurt you, I swear.”
The deep voice slid into Kat’s ears and brought the world around her into focus once more.
Ahm naht gonna huhrt you, I swea-uh.
The Bostonian accent registered in her brain as belonging to only one man. A man who, despite his reserved personality, always seemed to be at her side whenever a customer got grabby or even too bitchy—whether she wanted him to be there or not.
A man whose blue eyes could make her feel naked and protected all at the same time from a single glance across a crowded bar.
“Irish?”
“Yeah, it’s me.”
Relief started in her toes and worked its way up her body, reawakening her nerves and chasing away the subconscious paralysis she hated more than anything. She started feeling somewhat normal…until she noticed Rick sprawled on the ground behind Irish, and her pulse spiked again.
“Hey, don’t worry about him.” Irish stepped to the side, his palms still held out in a nonthreatening gesture, and blocked her view. He pointed two fingers at his own eyes and said, “Stay right here with me, kitten.”
Stay with him? What did he mean by that? Before she could do something stupid like swoon over what was most likely a meaningless phrase, the last part registered in her brain.
“Kitten?” Oh, no. Had he discovered her real name? Was this his way of letting her know? Then a thought crossed her mind that made her blood run cold. Maybe he’s one of Sicoli’s men. “Why would you call me that?”
The right corner of his mouth curled up. “What, are you kidding? One minute you’re cowering in the corner, the next, hissing and scratching.” He shrugged one heavily muscled shoulder. “Sorry, it just slipped out. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
Kat relaxed a few degrees again and offered a weak smile. “That’s okay. It’s better than Sydney anyway,” she muttered.
He slowly dropped his hands to his sides and took a small step forward. “You don’t like your name?”
Dropping her chin to her chest, she said honestly, “I hate that name.” Not that it wasn’t a nice name, but since she was forced to answer to it instead of her own, it put a bad taste in her mouth.
Because she was looking at the ground, she saw his hand coming and didn’t startle when she felt a finger under her chin, lifting her gaze to his. Less than a foot separated them, and at this proximity she was reminded of just how massive he was. Broad shoulders and a thick chest tapered to a narrow waist somewhere way below her line of sight. He towered over her five-foot-seven-inches frame and the bad lighting off to their side made his features all harsh lines and hollowed shadows.
“You got a last name, then?”
She arched a single brow. “Do you, Irish?”
Of course, she knew he did. Everyone had a last name. It was more a question of whether or not they chose to use it, and around here, a lot of people went the way of Madonna and Cher.
A slight twist up at the corner of his lips. “Guess I’ll stick with ‘kitten,’ then.”
Kat tried to ignore the fluttering in her stomach. The idea of any man using an affectionate name with her—especially the man whose deep, raspy voice gave her goose bumps every time he spoke—was so foreign that a short, nervous laugh burst out before she could bite it back.
He canted his head slightly and raised a curious eyebrow at her reaction. Clearing her throat, she tried to sound aloof. “Whatever trips your trigger.”
“You wanna come in for a drink and let your nerves settle for a bit?”
Suddenly, she remembered about the eyes and ears and thugs and money. All she wanted to do was get to her shitty apartment, down a few glasses of Jack Daniel’s from Lenny’s abundant supply, and sink into an inebriated oblivion where reality ceased to exist.
Her eyes darted around the back lot, searching the corners cloaked in pitch for any signs of lurking figures with watchful eyes.
“Uh, n-no, I gotta get home,” she stammered as she finally opened the car door and sat behind the wheel.
He gripped the doorframe, preventing her from pulling it closed behind her. “You sure you’re okay?”
Using a lifetime of feigning things she didn’t feel, she pulled up the corners of her lips and showed her teeth. “Absolutely.”
“Wait, I think you dropped something.” She looked over just in time to see him squat down and retrieve the crumpled placemat from the ground. “This yours?”
Her stomach sank as he opened it up. “Nope, not mine. Thanks again, Irish.”
She didn’t wait for his response, just slammed the door, started her car, and got the hell out of there.