Booted (Trails of Sin 3)

“You fucked him, knowing he killed my mother?”

“I didn’t know at first.”

He steps to the window and rests his hands on the sill, staring out into the fall of darkness. “I have a hard time believing anything you say.”

“I don’t care what you believe as long as you don’t stop me from killing him.”

He looks at me like I’m incapable of hurting a fly. “How did he kill her?”

“I don’t know. He bemoaned the fact that his wife was in the car, that he only meant to kill Ava O’Conor.”

“Because he wanted our land?”

“I don’t know.”

I don’t remember his words, but I remember his fists. He swung them hard whenever I asked questions.

Lorne turns back to the window, absorbed in brooding silence.

“I want you to know…” I sink into the bed, extraordinarily drowsy and fading fast. “I meant what I said about no cops. Jarret and Jake did the right thing by killing those men, and I would never turn them in for that. Your secrets are safe with me.”

He gives a tight nod, his gaze on the darkness outside.

The sting on my cornea dulls, but every blink is an irritating scratch. So I hold my eyes closed, for just a moment of relief.

The rigid stillness in the room stretches around me as I fight sleep. I intend to leave tonight. I don’t know how, but I need to stay awake. I try for long minutes, straining to open my eyes.

It’s a battle I eventually lose.

When I wake, the suite is empty, the stark space illuminated by a dim lamp. The clock on the nightstand reads two in the morning.

Blank walls, no personal touches or color, boxes piled in the corner—there’s no warmth or life here. This space has been waiting a long time for Lorne to come home, and I hate that I’ve stolen it from him.

I need to go.

A plate of fruit, vegetables, and cheese sits beside the clock. I’m sure I have Maybe to thank for that.

Gripped with a voracious case of the munchies, I fall upon the food, inhaling every bite and gulping down both bottles of water.

The walk to the en-suite bathroom is murky. My head feels too heavy for my shoulders, and it’s all I can do to put one foot in front of the other. But I manage to stay vertical, empty my bladder, and return to the bed without colliding with the floor.

I’m just going to lie down for a few minutes until this throbbing hangover passes.

I shut my eyes, and when I open them again, sunlight stabs into my retinas.

“Fuck!” I lurch upward and glance at the clock.

Fucking fuck, fuck! I slept for twelve hours?

A sinking feeling hits my stomach. Last night was Lorne’s first night out of prison, and I took his bed. Where did he sleep? On the couch?

Fuck me, I’m such an asshole.

The fresh plate of fruit and bread on the nightstand makes me feel worse. This family didn’t give me the warmest reception, but they took care of me. They don’t deserve what I’m about to do next, but I don’t have any other options.

I eat quickly and crawl out of bed, surprised by my energy. It seems food and sleep were exactly what I needed.

In the bathroom, I peel off the dress. The bandages follow. The recent knife wounds are the ugliest of my injuries, but they aren’t deep enough to require stitches.

John was more of a slasher than a stabber, every cut meant to make me less attractive so no one else would want me. His words.

After a quick shower, I clean my teeth with toothpaste on my finger and glance at the mirror.

Holy fuck, my face looks like ten miles of bad road. At least the bruises and cuts aren’t swollen today, and my bloodshot eye appears a little less red.

I wrap a towel around me and creep through the estate.

A peek at the kitchen, living room, and front and back porches confirms I’m alone. Having lived here before, I know the guys work long hours in the field.

I’ll be gone before they return to the house.

I grab some protein bars, canned goods, and bottled water from the pantry and head back to the wing that once belonged to John. It’s been remodeled since I was here. Not a hint of his toxicity left in this space.

Bypassing Lorne’s suite, I slip into the bedroom Jarret shares with Maybe.

In the closet, I find a small backpack and stuff it with the food and a few of her comfortably loose sundresses. If I weren’t so malnourished, her jeans might’ve fit.

Guilt pinches my stomach as I rummage through her shoes and take a pair of scalloped cowgirl boots. I slide on a casual dress that covers the bruises on my chest and thighs. And panties… I’ll have to get some later.