Never Give You Up (3 page)

Having seen enough, Terry withdrew his favorite Beretta Neos and took aim at Adolfo’s forehead. He didn’t want to do it, but he had no choice—not when he felt threatened. As he exhaled and pulled the trigger, nothing in the world eased his turmoil more than the blood spurting from Adolfo’s mangled forehead, and his desolate eyes, frozen in sudden death as his blood sprayed the wall behind him.

Terry didn’t want to think about Adolfo’s family getting his finger.

With a heavy heart and more weight on his tired shoulders, he put his piece away and set the finger inside the tiny velvet box, before retreating into the elevator. “I need a fucking drink before I deliver this to Dad. How about you?”

Gabe wiped the spatter of blood from his arm and released an annoyed growl when he realized the blood trail ran all the way up the side of his shirt. “It’s not even noon yet.” He gave Terry a
“what the fuck is wrong with you”
look.

The elevator doors silently inched closer together. Terry put his hand out to stop them and said, “So? It’s close enough to lunch time for me.” He removed his hand and the doors closed before Gabe could argue with him.

As the elevator smoothly ascended, Terry wondered if they made a huge mistake.

Chapter 2

Brown, soggy leaves. No vase of fresh or artificial flowers. No colorful cradle to crest the headstone. Nothing but a dismal carpet of dead leaves to grace her husband’s grave.

Mary Billings, widow of little more than four months, absently toed some of the leaves around with the tip of her boot.

Nestled near a tattered and lifeless tamarack, the headstone rested in the furthest northern section of Silver Creek Cemetery. In bold letters, his name, along with birth and death dates, engraved the existence of his life. Now he was just a lone monument, tucked away from all the others in this depressing place.

That’s what you deserve.

Maybe she was a cruel person for not missing him. Did her lack of hysteria mean she was as nasty as he had been when he was alive? Now she questioned everything in life because nothing made sense anymore. She had been devastated when the RCMP first arrived with the news of his death, but with the continuing silence came acceptance. Tom had hurt her both physically and emotionally for years. Now that he was gone, Mary had a strange sense of peace.

Sometimes she wondered how drowning would feel. Did it hurt? Did you simply feel cold and fall asleep? Maybe that wasn’t harsh enough for Tom. Maybe he should’ve suffered more, as she suffered through their marriage.

Look where your stupidity got you, Tom. Look where it got me.

His sudden death had set her free. Sad to say, but she was too afraid to leave him when he was alive, and today would be her final visit to his grave. She couldn’t do it anymore. Couldn’t pay her respects to a man who did nothing but hurt her since the beginning of their toxic marriage.

She may have loved him from the start, when she was younger and he’d put a spell on her, but it quickly turned poisonous shortly after the wedding. His control over her was as strong and unyielding as granite.

“Goodbye, Tom.” Despite her will to be strong, her voice sounded weak, distant, as if it came from somewhere else with the wind.

She had to be tough now. Soft people never survived out here.

With a heavy heart, but an odd sense of relief, Mary returned to the north gate of the cemetery on the outskirts of her small town. She untied the reins attached to her big bay stallion, lifted up onto the saddle and urged Blue onto the road leading home. She needed the crisp air to fill her lungs and feel the connection of woman and horse today, rather than a lifeless drive in a lonely vehicle, listening to the same old boring voice on the radio. At least the noise of the wilderness sounded different every day.

She patted Blue’s neck. “Time to go home, boy. I’ll give you an apple.”

Blue had been her saving grace many nights when Tom was still alive and she needed an escape from his violence. At least Blue could take her places no vehicle could traverse. He was sturdy and strong, never afraid of an unfamiliar or rough trail, and he never argued. Blue gave her a sense of security, and belonging. Right in this moment he was her only friend.

Spring filled the air in her little mountain town, but the cheery, fresh air and new growth did nothing to set her mind at ease. She felt like that dead tamarack in the cemetery.

She was alone—alone in a small town with nobody to share her time. Her best friend was busy being in love with her new man, and everyone else stared at Mary as if she was a husband killer.

Rumors traveled fast in small towns. Some of the story was true, some of it stretched beyond belief. It first started at the café shortly after Tom’s funeral service. She heard the whispers, noticed the glares. A helicopter and a group of thugs were mentioned, and apparently they had been Mary’s friends, or maybe her father’s. Probably sent to help her kill Tom so she could keep the trapline and the house.

Maybe she was just like her father they had whispered. Crazy and alone in the middle of nowhere. But they knew nothing about her, not really. She was a quiet woman who kept to herself and plodded through life as best she could.

She didn’t have a group of female friends. She didn’t get mixed up in other people’s affairs. Maybe that was her problem. She’d never taken the time to really get to know anybody. Not in a true sense. Her only real friend was Mima.

Look at her. She pushed our beloved Tom into that freezing river. How dare she show her face here?

Sometimes she wished she did push him. After all, he thought nothing of hitting her whenever he felt the need, or whenever she didn’t do anything good enough. Did the town not know what kind of animal their precious Tom really was? Just because he was a tall figure in town and supported local businesses and charities—didn’t make him a great husband. No. People did bad things behind closed doors all the time.

She resented being treated like an outsider simply because she wasn’t well-known like Tom. And because of their shallow minds and ignorance, Mary became sour. She wanted nothing to do with most of them. Only a few treated her with respect and kindness, and they were few and far between.

Ambling along at an easy pace, she guided Blue along the side of the dirt road leading home, trying to forget the townsfolk and their notions, not at all happy to return to a house with nothing but seven dogs and a hut full of furs to be skinned and tanned, waiting for her.

The road toward home curved around huge boulders, thick wilderness, and beautiful rolling hills, all beneath towering mountains. The scenery never failed to impress her.

An hour later she unsaddled Blue and urged him into his stall in the little barn beside the house. Once he was tucked away and content with an apple treat, hay, and water, she made her way across the yard.

It was well past dinnertime, but she didn’t feel like cooking. Instead, she grabbed a bottle of rum, put on her favorite jazz CD, and settled onto the chair beside the living room window.

With the beautiful view of the wilderness around her home, Mary sipped her drink and stared outside, until the jagged tips of the surrounding mountains no longer felt like her prison guards.

* * * *

A cool blast of air whipped her hair about. Evergreen and poplar branches swayed in the wind. A mountain fresh scent filled the swirling air.

She glanced up at the pale blue sky, wondering if Tom was staring down at her with his ever-present scowl. What would he think of her now, surviving without him?

One of the dogs wined, followed by a long, low howl from the others. To anyone else it may have sounded like a pack of wolves lingering nearby. To Mary the sound was eerie and beautiful.

She paused along her trek by the river. The hairs on the back of her neck tingled.

A familiar hum resounded through the mountain range.

Her eyes widened as that all-too-familiar black chopper crested the nearest mountain peak.

Oh God. Not him.

She made a mad dash for the house, hoping to have a few minutes to do something reasonable with herself. Maybe put half a face on, or powder her puff. Thank God she had power and running water out here on this side of the mountain.

Time to play.

She tossed her hat and coat somewhere near the hallway table and ran into the bathroom. Quickly, she washed her hands and set out to fix herself up, excited yet angry that her unexpected guest could be a tall blond man with dangerous blue eyes. If it was him she’d slap the crooked grin right off his sexy face. Since Tom’s death, the handsome criminal couldn’t seem to leave her alone.

The dogs barked with excitement. Mary’s hands shook as she removed her clips, whipped her shoulder-length hair about and clouded her head with hairspray. She applied some concealer and powder, pinched her cheeks, and rushed to the back door just in time as the unmarked chopper set down in the clearing on the other side of her driveway.

Frozen in the back door, Mary watched, transfixed, as the passenger door to the chopper opened. He stepped down, tall and lithe, dressed in a black leather bomber and blue jeans. He hunched low to avoid the blades whirling above his head, his golden hair whipping around as he came toward her with intent, with dark purpose, eyes flashing deep sexual desires. She should step back and lock the door. She should grab her rifle.

But she couldn’t.

There was something about him that made her stand there like a nervous fool, unable to tell him to leave her alone.

Since his last visit, her dreams had been plagued with hot, sweaty nights, naked in his arms. She’d awaken with her fingers between her legs, shrieking in delightful orgasm or on the very edge, it tormented her all day. Her cheeks heated as he slowed his pace and took the first step at the back door.

“Hello, Mary.”

His voice. His voice did things to her insides that should be punishable by law. Maybe he had a handful of women waiting to please him back in the city. Maybe he had all the wrong intentions.

Today she didn’t care.

She’d been through too much to care about anything but feeling something good. Something tangible.

Without a word, she grabbed the lapels of his jacket and yanked him into the doorway. If he was surprised by her actions he didn’t say anything, didn’t pull away. His lips felt like wicked perfection against hers, as she forced him to give her what she wanted.

Her heart lurched as his strong arms went around her, crowding her against the doorframe. The sturdy wood pressed against her back painfully, but she didn’t care. Not when his hot mouth made her tremble and burn under his searing touch.

Fast and frenzied, they backed into the house. The screen door banged against the frame. Terry trapped her between the hallway wall and his hard body, and when Mary felt his erection press against her abdomen, she boldly reached down and stroked him over his jeans.

“Mmmm,” he moaned, and rocked into her hand.

“Yes,” she moaned, excited and surprised by how large he felt in her hot grip. “Give it to me.”

Without finesse, Mary unzipped his jeans and pulled his cock out, eagerly dropping to her knees and took his bulbous head into her mouth—

A loud knock rapped on the back door.

Mary jerked up in bed and blinked from the bright beam of light shining through the bedroom window, and looked around in stunned delirium.

Panting, she ripped her fingers away from between drenched lips, painfully close to orgasm, and sucked in a shuddering breath.

Jesus Christ.

Another loud knock pounded the door, followed by a few more. She rubbed her head and groaned, the knocking right on her fragile skull.

How did I get to bed?
The last thing she remembered was crying at the window after polishing off half a bottle of rum.

In her dazed and flustered state, she whipped her legs over the side of the bed and shouted, “Who is it?”

“It’s Gabe. Are you awake?”

I am now you son of a—
“Yes! Just a minute.”

With an unladylike curse, Mary plodded across the chilly wooden floor and grabbed her housecoat from the hook by the door. Still in an aroused yet angry state, she made her way to the back door and yanked it open.

“What do you want?” She tried to control her heaving chest.

Gabe raised a teasing brow. “What, no hello?”

She folded her arms over her bust and glared at him. “Hello. Now what do you want?”

With a casual shrug and a disarming grin, Gabe brushed past her, into the hallway toward the kitchen, as if he had a share in the property. “I thought I’d swing by and check up on you. Good thing I did. You smell like a pub. Everything okay with you?”