Knotted (Trails of Sin, #1)

by Pam Godwin

But that’s not why Jarret’s fixing to beat me into a bloody pulp. Planting a girl in my bed was my idea. He warned me if I went through with it, he would rearrange my face.

I didn’t sexually or intimately touch Sara. I didn’t kiss her. Didn’t remove my boxers. I didn’t even get wood. I’m still a virgin, because I love Conor Cassidy.

I did the only thing I could to protect her. I broke her heart, because I love her.

He hits me for hurting Conor. For trusting her dad to look after her. For letting her messages go unanswered. For making her believe she’s unwanted.

I let him beat the shit out of me. I’ll bleed for her, because I love her.

All I know is I’d rather Conor live without me than not live at all. But I didn’t come to that realization overnight.

Someone doesn’t want Conor and Lorne in Sandbank, and they’ll resort to murder to bring their purpose to fruition.

And when her rapist goes free, I’ll honor the blood oath. I’ll kill for her, because I love her.

Rage etches his face, his hunger for justice unquenched. I’m the only one he can take it out on.

I eliminated the last tie she had to this place. She won’t return for me or Jarret or Ketchup.

I made this with all that I am for the one I’ll never stop loving.

I made her believe I let her go. God, if I only could.

He’s my brother. I love him. I have to know if he loves me back.

He’s thinner. Older. Hard green eyes. Black hair that crops close to his skull. He carries himself with a severe edge of intimidation. Still handsome, but unsmiling, in a deadly way. And not a hint of surprise on his clean-shaved face. I’m sure they gave him my name.

If I hadn’t sneaked off with Jake that night, if I hadn’t been such a rebellious little slut, Lorne wouldn’t be sitting on the other side of that glass. God, how he must hate me.

He flattens a hand against the glass partition. I stare at the scar on his palm, at the fingers that used to hold mine when I cried. I don’t trust what he’s offering. I can’t reach for it. He waits.

I block it all out and open my eyes. Because I’m happy to see him. He didn’t turn me away.

“God, you…” His gaze roams my face, softening with each pass. “You’re so beautiful. You look just like Mom.” I don’t remember her, but I used to have pictures. I’ve seen the resemblance.

My hand clenches around the phone, my voice low. “You haven’t tried to reach me in two years.” “I know.” A muscle bounces in his jaw. “You were supposed to stay in Chicago.” I clamp my molars together, vibrating with things I refuse to feel.

“You’re sorry for Dalton?” I tilt my head, swallowing against the sharp pain in my throat. “What about for ignoring me? For not calling? For not taking time out of your busy schedule to ask how I’m doing?”

He’s always been a terrible liar, and I know all his tells—the looking away, the fidgeting, the rambling on with too many words.

He knows Oklahoma State University has always been my dream. Why does it matter to him where I go? Because he doesn’t want me near him.

Silence whispers between us. Then his voice crackles through the phone. “Say something. Tell me what you’re feeling.” “I feel nothing.” Returning the phone to the cradle, I walk away.

Being rejected by every person I ever loved started a vicious cycle of self-hatred. Until I realized the best revenge is to put all my efforts into me instead of dwelling on them.

When guys approach me, I morph into a stiff, voiceless idiot. I’ve retreated so deeply into my work I don’t know how to interact with people.

He’s gone. Dammit, I just wanted a name. A face. A smile. A connection.

That girl misses Jake. I miss him. I mourn his absence more and more every day, and I despise myself for it.

I hate that he has such an unbreakable hold on me. A hold that makes my stomach cramp over what I did tonight. I cheated on him. It doesn’t make a lick of sense.

Levi Tibbs will go free in two weeks. He was sentenced to seven years, but he’s only serving six.

If I keep up this pace, I’ll be a Doctor of Veterinary Medicine in two years. That’s faster than anyone expected.

It’s summer break. Classes don’t restart for two months. I could leave school for a few weeks. How long does it take to kill a man?

He’s not supposed to be with her. He’s in a fucking relationship. Why is he doing this? Men cheat. That’s what they do.

“I’m going back home.” I stuff clothes into the bag. “Just for a couple of weeks.” To murder Levi Tibbs.

I should feel bad about the distraught way he watches me pack, but feelings are tricky. If I give them an inch, they swallow me whole.

“I mean, look at you. You’re the hottest damn woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. Do you see the way men stare at you? Like they’re waiting for you to turn your head, to give them the tiniest hint of interest?”

“I love you,” Miles breathes against my mouth. He says it every day, and I never say it back.

After poor little Conor Cassidy fell between the cracks, it makes sense that she would ride a dangerous motorcycle, desecrate her skin with tattoos, and sell her soul to the devil.

The short sleeves of his black t-shirt expose the tanned definition in his arms. Frayed jeans hug low on his hips and cling to the strength in his thighs. Stubble darkens his chiseled jaw, and the line of his perfect lips promises pain.

I’m doing the exact thing I despise. I’m openly and shamelessly checking him out. Lifting my gaze up, up, up, I tilt my head back to meet his fathomless brown eyes. “I’m just shooting the shit with your buckle bunnies.” His nostrils flare.

That’s when I see it. The wide leather cuff with the horseshoe charm on his wrist. Why is he wearing that? Am I the butt of some kind of sick joke?

I inch a boot forward, indicating my desire to leave, but he doesn’t move. Him and that goddamn leather bracelet. Does he wear it when he fucks them? Does the horseshoe stroke quivering skin while his hand thrusts between their legs?

He doesn’t. As I strap on the helmet, he sits in the truck with the windows rolled down and says nothing. The few feet that separates us might as well be 928 miles.

Jake might not give a fuck about the pact, but he made it clear in the bar he’s not done fucking with me. He’ll make sure I don’t leave town until I’m chewed up and spat out.

Pretty doesn’t even come close. There’s a distinctive something about Conor that no other woman has.

“She gave me the cold shoulder when she came out of the bar,” Jarret says. “I guess I deserve that, but she seemed especially withdrawn.” His voice hardens. “What did you say to her?” “She ran into some of my mistakes.”

Before I left the Big Sugar, I made sure every leaky mouth in the joint understood that Conor Cassidy’s here to stay. With me.

Forgiveness is the biggest hurdle, but it’s not the only one. I need to deal with the boyfriend, her PTSD, her completion of veterinary school, and all the shit poisoning the ranch and our families.

Her return to Sandbank is a risk, but my patience has run out. Her schooling’s almost complete, and I have a damn good handle on the danger against her. There isn’t a chance in hell I’m letting her go this time.

I’ve watched my brother kill men without a hint of hesitation or remorse. When it comes to Conor, however, he’s a soft and squishy teddy bear. It’s maddening.

John Holsten cut and ran because I gave him no choice.