Booted (Trails of Sin 3)

From the glove box, I remove a condom and stuff it into my pocket. Then I step out of the truck.

My heart pounds a mile a minute, quaking my limbs. My gait is slow, my shoulders back, my jaw rigid beneath the shadow of my hat.

Weakness isn’t allowed in prison. Running and hiding from problems is like waving a flag to become someone’s bitch. That was the first lesson that stuck with me.

I remind myself of this as the door opens and a throng of patrons pours into the parking lot.

My hands clench and release at my sides, and sweat saturates my shirt. Prickles assault my skin, my nerves raw and senses on high alert.

I have an extremely short tolerance for people now. I lost the ability to socialize and connect with others. I’m even fumbling through my relationships with my family. Jarret, Jake, and Conor don’t know how to relate to me. They’re trying, but my carefully constructed shields don’t make it easy.

It doesn’t take long for the crowd to disperse. Car doors open and shut. Engines rumble. The crunch of gravel beneath tires follows them out of the lot.

With a steadying breath, I make my way toward the door.

Until it opens again.

A man and woman emerge, his arm hooked around her shoulders as he leads her toward me.

No, not toward me. I’m standing beside the only car at this end of the lot.

With a racing pulse, I step out of their way.

The raven-haired woman lifts her head. Her dark eyes collide with mine, and the smile on her bruised face drops.

I slam to a stop a few feet from her. What the almighty fuck?

“Lorne?” Raina jerks away from the balding man and clasps her throat. “What are you doing here?”

Red. It’s all I see, smell, feel. Fire seethes from my pores, coloring the world with my rage. A fire so potent and deadly it claws through my chest and grips my windpipe with flaming fingers.

John Holsten’s looking for her, and here she is, hanging out with some asshole at a strip club.

I probe the dark fields around the building, every nerve in my body on edge.

“I’m so sorry.” She digs into her stolen boot and pulls out a wad of cash. “Here.” She separates two twenty-dollar bills and holds them out with a trembling hand. “I have the knife, too.”

She lowers a backpack from her shoulder and rummages through it.

Blood rushes to my extremities and pounds in my ears. Where did she get the rest of that cash?

I turn my gaze to the man. His department store trousers, collared button-up, and squishy dad bod announces his status as a bored office clerk in middle-income America.

He’s with her to squeeze out an hour of pleasure away from his nagging wife.

Then it dawns on me.

Raina’s with him because she needs money.

“Did you already pay her?” I ask the man.

“Um… Yes?” His eyes tick between me and the woman he will not be fucking. “Are you her pimp or something?”

“Return his money.” My voice sounds like breaking teeth and punctured lungs.

She stares at the cash in her hand, her expression stark.

“What’s going on?” The man stands taller despite the quiver in his jowls. “Is this the guy who banged up your face?”

Adrenaline surges through my body. I plant my feet wide apart, burning to crack bones and spill blood.

“No.” Her eyes lift to mine, watching me from beneath her lashes. Whatever she sees in my expression tightens her shoulders and stutters her breath.

I need to reel myself in.

I’m not a religious man, but in some ways, I have the wisdom of Solomon. I’ve been to the very bottom, a place where there’s nowhere to look but up. The belly of hell. Nothing compares to that darkest hour of my life. Not the threat of John Holsten. Not this sickening situation with Raina.

“I made a mistake.” She grabs the man’s wrist and presses the money against his palm. “You should go.”

He glances at me and back to her, working his jaw. “But we—”

“Go home to your wife and kids.” I step toward him, forcing him to back up.

My I.Q. was higher than every prisoner and prison employee I encountered. Yet I learned to accept other men’s shortcomings. Beneath every hard, scarred, tattooed surface is a story of tragedy and strife.

Even this guy. He raises his chin and meets my gaze head-on, as if he’s more concerned about Raina’s safety than getting his face smashed in. As much as I want to do exactly that, I remind myself that everyone is suffering.

“I won’t harm her.” I nudge up my hat so he can see the truth in my eyes.

“Okay.” With a parting glance at Raina, he hurries to his car.

I pull out my keys and press the remote to unlock the doors. “Get in the truck.”