Unleashed #4 (4 page)

I could still feel the
pressure of his hand on my arm. I shook as I started up Bessie and
drove off. The patch of skin where he’d gripped me stood out red
and angry. He’d made me feel cheap, like a piece of meat. I hated
the way he looked at me, like somehow he thought he hadn’t just
bought the ranch. He figured he’d bought me along with it. I didn’t
know what would happen next in my life, but I did know I never wanted
to see Lymon Culpepper ever again.

Declan

Driving to the Brooks’
family ranch, everything felt surreal. I’d thought about driving
that road about a million times. When I’d left it six years ago, I
hadn’t moved that far away. About two and a half hours if you drove
it fast, and many times I’d thought about doing exactly that.

Now there I was,
speeding down the Montana highway toward Kara at 85 miles an hour. I
recognized what I passed, the dilapidated Shell station and the
abandoned church. The railroad tracks I’d never seen a train use,
not once. It all looked familiar yet strange and I felt nearly
disembodied, like I was watching myself hurtle toward Kara instead of
just doing it.

It might be because I
was going on 60 hours with no sleep. That was definitely contributing
to things.

I hadn’t slept
Saturday night. After the club I’d paced the hotel room like a
caged panther. Then, Sunday, I hadn’t been able to fly right out.
I’d forgotten I had a couple of commitments in New York, drinks and
dinner meetings, all of the bullshit that used to matter to me more
than anything else. Now, I could barely pay attention while a guy
agreed to sign on the dotted line, victoriously culminating months of
work to persuade him into a deal.

At six a.m. Monday
morning I’d finally gotten myself on a plane. Normally, I would
have used the time to catch up on work, read through some fine print,
plan my next steps. Today I nearly chewed off my own arm with
frustration, anticipation, anger and impatience. I didn’t know what
the fuck was happening with Kara and I was a man who damn well needed
to know what the fuck was happening. The more I thought about it—and
I thought about nothing else—the more my brain reeled with
extremes.

She’d been kidnapped.
That one I decided around two a.m. Monday morning. That was the
explanation. My sweet, trusting, naïve Kara had been kidnapped and
her captors had forged that note. As much as I wanted to pull out a
fucking gun at the idea of someone harming Kara, it did in a way
present a more palatable alternative. It wasn’t her decision. There
was someone else to blame.

By three a.m. I’d
discarded that idea. It made no sense. I wanted to think that it did.
But, no, there’d be a ransom note if she’d been kidnapped. They’d
want my money and they’d have left a note with demands. There was
no getting around it, she’d packed up her belongings and left of
her own accord.

It really pissed me off
that she didn’t take any of her new things. I’d bought them for
her. They belonged to her, the clothes, the jewelry, all of it. But
she’d cast them off, unneeded, unwanted. The delight she’d
pretended earlier that week shed like a snake’s old skin, lying on
the bathroom floor alongside that designer ball gown.

She’d even left the
apple charm necklace. That one I was sure she’d loved. It was so
like her, simple, understated, perfect. I’d ripped the chain in two
in my impotent rage.

She’d played me.
She’d had another deal worked out from the start, was just taking
me for what I’d give her, a trip to New York. She’d been waiting
the whole time to see how much I’d write her in a check. I’d
taken too long to put pen to paper, so she’d split.

At four a.m. I decided
she’d been in love. With someone else. It wasn’t like Kara to
turn mercenary, to care about nothing but the Benjamins. But love? I
could see her doing crazy things. Maybe she’d been pretending with
me to save the ranch while the real man she loved scrambled to get
together cash. They were like Romeo and Juliet, forced apart by
financial need. Then he’d finally come through, figured out some
way for a happy ending. I was the bad guy who got out-maneuvered.
When I finally got jilted so she could go be with her one, true love,
the audience cheered.

Any way it went down, I
had to figure it out. That was why I was back in Montana, unshaven
with bloodshot eyes behind my mirrored sunglasses. On my way to
Kara’s ranch to see for myself.

So it made sense that
at first what I saw seemed like a hallucination. Around quarter to
three in the afternoon, I saw Kara’s truck headed toward me on the
opposite side of the highway. I recognized Bessie from a long
distance away, the way you saw something and knew what it was on
instinct. That rusted old heap of junk, I’d recognize it anywhere
and so I knew it was Kara on the road heading in the other direction.
But I still didn’t believe it until she was right up on me, driving
past and I could see her clear as day. She wore a green dress, her
hair up in a ponytail with a few strands loose. She looked exhausted
and criminally beautiful.

I turned my truck
around. I was the scrap of metal. She was the magnet. Pulled to her
beyond my will, I followed. I needed to find out where she was
headed.

She hadn’t seen me.
She didn’t know the truck I was driving. Plus, she’d been
watching the road ahead of her like a normal person, not acting like
a wild animal eyeing all corners for possible dangers and clues. Good
thing I was, too, or I might have missed her. Now I could follow her
and see what she was up to.

After a little while,
Kara pulled up in front of an old, abandoned warehouse. It looked
like the perfect place to take someone to kill them. What the fuck
was she doing going in there?

A tenth of a mile down
the road I pulled over and nearly jumped out of my truck to run back
and stop her. But as the saying went, if you had to ask you’d never
know. If I confronted her before she even went in, I’d never really
know what was going on. Because she was clearly up to something. That
warehouse was not a place you’d head to for above-board dealings.

Maybe there was some
other scenario in play here, something I’d never suspected about my
innocent, wide-eyed Kara. Was she into illegal drug trafficking? Dog
fighting?

I’d lost my mind,
that was the truth. I knew it, but that didn’t change a damn thing.
I still sat there in my truck like a crazy stalker drinking a cold
coffee I’d grabbed at a gas station along the way. It tasted bitter
and I savored it.

I’d give her twenty
minutes, then I’d go in after her. Down the road I could see the
edge of the warehouse. I could make out the rust, the missing slat on
the roof. I decided I’d make that fifteen. If she wasn’t out in
fifteen minutes, I’d bust in there, fists up and at the ready. The
place didn’t even have a sign out front. Someone was up to no good.

Who was she meeting in
there? I swigged my coffee, wishing it were stronger. Whiskey, even.
I’d like a shot just about now.

Was she in there with
him, the highest bidder? Was she in his arms right that second?
Rolling down my window, I spat out flat into the dust. I wiped my
sleeve across my mouth.

Maybe it was Bruce.
Maybe right then she was pressing her soft lips to his, whispering
endearments, confessing how much she’d missed him this past week,
how hard it had been to pretend with me. Maybe Bruce couldn’t wait.
He might be taking her right then and there in the warehouse, against
the wall.

I punched the steering
wheel, the pain rocketing sharp into my knuckles. What did he have
that I didn’t? How had I fucked everything up, just when I’d
thought I had it all? That had been my problem. I’d let my guard
down. I’d gone soft and look what happened when you did that? You
got punched in the gut and then you ended up with bloodshot eyes and
scraggly stubble, lurking outside a warehouse, itching for a fight.

I’d had enough. I was
going in to find her.

Just as my hand got to
the latch on the door, Kara emerged. She looked serious. Eyes down,
her mouth set hard, she bee-lined straight to her truck. The engine
up and started quick and she drove off.

No one came out after
her. Should I go in and investigate? I’d murder any man I found in
there, I knew that much. I’d do it with my bare hands, too.

Enraged, I started up
my engine. I still didn’t know what was going on. I’d sat outside
in my truck and stalked her like a madman but hadn’t learned a damn
thing. I needed to think things out, get my head on straight. I
hadn’t eaten in over a day. Maybe I’d go get a plate of
something, try to sort through a plan. Try not to kill anyone.

For a man who always
liked having everything all mapped out, I’d sure lost my way. I
didn’t like it. I wouldn’t stand for it much longer. One way or
another, I’d have this sorted and soon.

Kara

Surrounded by clothes,
I struggled to sort them into piles: Goodwill, maybe, and yes. It had
only been that afternoon that I’d signed the papers selling the
ranch, but there was no sense waiting to start packing. Eleven
o’clock at night, no time like the present. Pulling out every piece
of clothing I owned and sorting it into piles felt satisfying. I was
taking the bull by the horns. It was either that or cry my eyes out
like a baby, so I forced myself into action instead.

I didn’t know where
I’d go next, but the only thing to do in a situation like this was
hold your head up and take a step forward. Maybe I could move to
Billings? Everyone needed a waitress, right? But I might see Declan
there and I didn’t want to take that chance. He’d probably walk
in with a gorgeous woman on his arm and I’d have to serve them
dinner.

I had a cousin in
Texas. She hadn’t wanted much to do with me when I’d needed a big
loan. But maybe she’d let me crash on her couch for a week or two
until I figured out what to do next? There were ranches and diners in
Texas. I could probably find some place that would hire me.

Tonight, the thing I
could do to get the ball rolling was start getting rid of junk. I
needed to strip down, give away most of my belongings. I needed a
fresh start and there was no sense lugging stuff around, or paying
for storage with money I didn’t have when I didn’t even know
where or when I’d need it again. Never having moved, I’d never
really fully cleaned house. I had so much crap to go through, so much
to give away or sell. It seemed to make sense to start with my
closet, plunging in deep and making significant cuts.

When I really got in
there, I found stuff I hadn’t worn since high school. Like one of
those tiny tank tops and flippy little mini skirts I used to wear
back in the day, during those hot summer months when I wanted to
tease Declan. I’d shamelessly pranced around, wearing
next-to-nothing and trying to drive him crazy. I’d had no idea what
I was playing with, how much I could get hurt by waking that sleeping
bear. I’d been so buoyant and carefree back then, unable to even
imagine the kind of heartbreak life could bring.

I felt so different
now, sifting through the remnants of my former life. My heart hurt so
much it felt like I was suffocating. If I started thinking too much
panic would build up in me, pressured and tight, constricting the air
in my throat, leaving me gasping for breath and wanting to claw my
way out but not knowing how. I couldn’t stop to think. I had to
mercilessly attack my closet like a hot knife through butter.

Should they stay or
should they go? Holding up the tank and skirt, I wondered if they
even still fit me?

That’s how I ended up
standing in front of a mirror in a tiny tank top and a flippy little
mini skirt. They did still fit, though they looked scandalously
skimpy. Maybe I’d gone up a cup size, or maybe I’d grown more
modest at 24 than I’d been at 18. The clothes left nothing to the
imagination. The top looked painted on, drawing more attention to
what it didn’t cover than what it did. My breasts fairly popped out
of it, no bra, the sheer fabric stretching across my chest. I
remembered how I used to prance around in front of Declan, how one
time I’d washed the car hoping he’d watch. He sure did watch as I
soaped things up and got all wet bending over the hood of the car.

Damn, he brought out
the slut in me. I’d always been such a good girl, fighting off my
dumb high school boyfriend, icing out everyone while I nursed my sick
father. How did Declan do it? What kind of a spell did he cast that
made me so crazy? Even now standing in front of the mirror, looking
at myself in these clothes, I could feel his gaze on me. Hot, heavy,
molten, so much power pent up in him. He lit me up like a match. It
wasn’t just this past week. It had always been like that with him,
back when we’d known each other last. Those long summer nights in
the barn.

Turned out he liked me
in these types of outfits. I hadn’t known it at first. He’d
barely looked my way. I hadn’t realized he was handing me a Get Out
of Jail Free card.

Instead, I’d kept
beating down the walls of the prison until I’d finally gotten
inside. I’d offered my wrists right up into the manacles and let
him cuff me. And once he had me fastened and trapped, I’d loved it.

I could still recall it
all so clearly, those nights together. In my reflection in the
mirror, I could see my nipples press against the thin fabric, my body
responding to just the memory of his touch. The urgency, the
darkness, the fear we’d get caught, I could still feel it all. Back
when we’d first kissed each other, he’d held back, like a
gentleman. I’d needed more. I’d been the one to push us further,
to beg for his touch.

As if I were
spellbound, powerless in the tractor beam of memory pulling me
forward, I found myself leaving the house and heading toward the
barn. It wasn’t a conscious decision. Back in that outfit, in the
heat of the summer night, it simply had to happen. I found myself
standing in the hay-filled darkness of the wooden barn asking to
relieve memories, needing to feel them close to me one last time. I
couldn’t fight it.