Forbidden (Southern Comfort) by O'Neill, Clark (best affordable ebook reader txt) 📕

JR sat in his truck, watching the SUV in his rearview mirror.

Damn, that had been close.  He’d almost been taken out by the FBI, quite literally. It was that same agent he’d seen on TV.  The one who was humping Tate Hennessey.

Good ole Julie had been a font of valuable information.  Thank God for the small town grapevine, which made everybody’s business public record.  Tate Hennessy, who’d been the one to help construct the composite, was apparently hot and heavy with Mr. Visiting FBI, who, word had it, was some kind of profiler, just like on TV.

Blah, blah, blah, ad nauseam – the woman had droned on and on.  But JR had discovered that the delectable Ms. Hennessey lived in Charleston proper and ran a bed and breakfast.

And was no doubt bedding and breakfasting Mr. FBI.

It gave JR a small burst of pleasure, however, to realize that the bastard had been so close to him and not even known it.  It was dangerous thinking, he knew, because it was exactly that sort of arrogance that had led Billy Wayne to go and screw things up.

The son of a bitch.

Now everything was ruined.

He had to come up with a plan, and he had to make it quick – a way to complete this latest transaction, get the FBI off his tail, and spread around a little of his own personal misery in the process.

Vendetta was such an ugly word, but he had to admit it had a certain ring to it.

It was dangerous, and would mean extra risk, but hell – what exactly did he have to lose?

He’d lost everything that mattered, already.

So he’d pick up the pieces, just one last time, and then laugh his ass off as everyone else scrambled – the FBI, the local police.

Tate.

He studied his own reflection in the mirror, allowing a self-satisfied little wink.

Oh yeah.  It was going to be a hot time in the old town tonight.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CASEY trembled and tried not to cry as William climbed out of the bed.

Whatever they were doing with her, whatever they had planned, she hoped it would happen soon.  Because whenever the blond man was away for the night William crept into her bed.  Two nights ago he’d paid just a brief visit, chatting away as if she was interested.

Casey and William, long lost pals.

He’d touched her, but they’d both kept their clothes on, which she felt was due to the blond man’s warning.  Whoever he was, he seemed to be in charge, which worked out in her favor, because it made William keep his hands mostly to himself.

Mostly.

But last night…

A sob escaped before Casey could stop it.  She’d learned that William didn’t like for her to cry, and became agitated whenever she did so.  So last night, after he came to her bed, she’d tried her best to appear calm and friendly.  But it was so hard…

And it became harder before the night was over.

He’d stripped out of his clothes again.

The blond man apparently wasn’t coming.

So he’d felt comfortable not only removing his shorts and his Gold’s Gym T-shirt – folding them neatly, lying them beside the bed, while he smiled at her – but he’d also removed her clothes as well.  Her shirt had been tricky for him, seeing as she was still handcuffed to the bed, so it had ended up dangling from her wrist like some sort of weird bracelet.  And her pants…

Tears rolled down Casey’s face in helpless currents as she remembered how very, very hard it had been not to cry.  To not just break down and sob, sob, sob like a little baby.  But William had put his fist through the wall – somehow, she’d always thought that was an expression, until she’d seen him actually do it – when she’d cried like that the other day.  So she’d lain there, biting her bottom lip until it bled, so that she didn’t cry while he undressed her.  He’d skimmed his big, thick-fingered white hands over her hips, pulling down her shorts.  Over her breasts…

He’d murmured endearments meant to charm but which turned her stomach.  She kept her legs clenched together as tightly as she could, but he’d gently pried them apart and then knelt back on the bed, just… looking.

And touching himself while he looked.

But he hadn’t raped her.

Pushing the reality of what he’d done out of her head, clearing her mind of that disgusting vision which made her feel dirty and shameful and used, she reminded herself of that fact.

But how much longer would she be able to comfort herself with that thought?

And how much longer before he actually did so?

Hearing the toilet flush, Casey turned her head into her pillow, wiping the tears away so that William wouldn’t see.  She was exhausted from keeping up the charade, and from getting no rest because William was sleeping beside her.   He’d slept with his arm around her.  And if she hadn’t been so worried about what would happen if she tried to escape – about how easily he could put his hand through her as he had through that wall – she would have tried to kill him while he slept.

But she had been afraid, and she hadn’t tried, so she was still lying in this bed.

Naked and terrified and desperately wanting someone to come save her.

As if on cue, the blond man stepped into the room.  With her face pressed into the pillow she hadn’t heard his footsteps on the stairs.  But something in the air had given away his presence.

It made her shiver.

She looked up into his eyes – which were hazel now? – and he looked her over grimly.  Then his attention shifted to the bathroom as William opened the door.

With a look that said oh, shit.

“Hey, cuz,” he said casually, like he wasn’t really standing there naked.  Like the blond man hadn’t just caught him in the act of doing exactly what he’d been warned not to do.

William, however, did his