Grit (Dirty #6) Read online

  Grit

  A Dirty Sequel

  Cheryl McIntyre

  All Rights Reserved

  Copyright © 2015 by Cheryl McIntyre

  Grit

  Cheryl McIntyre

  2015

  No part of this story may be used or reproduced in any form without prior written permission by the author except where permitted by law.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to real persons, events, or places are used fictitiously. The characters are the work of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to persons living or deceased, events, or locales are coincidental.

  The author acknowledges the trademark status, as well as ownership of products referred to in this work of fiction. The uses of these trademarks have not been authorized, nor are they associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Edited by Dawn McIntyre Decker

  Table of Contents

  Dirty Recap

  Grit

  Prologue

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Thirty-Two

  Thirty-Three

  Thirty-Four

  Thirty-Five

  Thirty-Six

  Thirty-Seven

  Thirty-Eight

  Thirty-Nine

  Forty

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Other Books by Cheryl

  Dirty Recap

  If you have not yet read the Dirty series, I highly recommend reading it before reading Grit, though it is not a must.

  For those of you who need a refresher on how the Dirty series ended, turn the page. If you don’t need the refresher, feel free to skip this and move onto Grit.

  Happy reading.

  Dirty Recap

  Rocky

  The hallway is empty. Deserted. My shoes squeak against the shiny linoleum as I hurry toward the muffled voices of two hundred of my fellow students. I duck into the locker room to straighten my messy hair and wash the dried paint from my hands.

  Muted cheers erupt as I push the door open and head for the gymnasium. I peer through the small window separating me from the rest of my class. I’m so late. I should be in there, cheering my peppy ass off.

  Hands skim along my hips before gripping my waist. I’m tugged back against a hard chest. I gasp, surprised. I try to turn, but the grip on my hips tightens. I open my mouth to protest, but nothing comes out.

  I try to pull away again, struggling to free myself.

  I shoot upward, panting, as I slide my hand across the bed in search of Link’s warm comfort. After a bad dream, just the feel of his skin is enough to calm me.

  The bed is empty. Cold.

  Lonely.

  Securing the sheet around my body, I shuffle sleepily toward the door. This isn’t the first time I awoke alone in his bed, but I need him right now. This nightmare wasn’t as bad as usual—they seem to be getting better each day—however, the thought of pressing myself into Link’s solid chest is too tempting to resist.

  I open the door and peer down the hall, a little surprised to find it dark. Usually I can follow the flickering blue light of the TV or the pale white glow of his laptop. I keep my hand on the wall to ensure I don’t run into anything.

  I catch his form passing in front of the window from the corner of my eye. I smile, moving toward him instantly.

  “Couldn’t sleep?” I murmur, stopping in front of him. He doesn’t answer me and I reach for him like an addict needing her fix. Just one touch will set me right, make me feel normal again. My fingers meet the soft material of a t-shirt, and then the toned, wiry frame underneath.

  Not Link’s thick, muscular structure. Not the body I take comfort from.

  The scent hits me then. Something musky and smoky. Not the inviting crisp scent I’ve come to adore.

  Not Link’s soothing scent.

  I suck in a startled breath, a shiver of panic rocking my body. My feet stumble over the sheet as I try to backtrack. I trip, falling to my hands and knees, but I don’t stop. My fear keeps me moving, crawling along the floor, desperate to get away.

  He grabs a handful of my hair, yanking, and halting the little progress I was able to make. I reach back blindly, trying to pry myself loose. My hands wrap around his wrists futilely.

  “Settle down, Cowgirl. The more you fight, the more it turns me on. I don’t have time to play with you right now. Your boyfriend’s gonna be back soon.”

  No.

  NO.

  Link’s not here?

  Where is he?

  Tears fill my eyes, spilling over quickly and sliding down my cheeks in hot trails. Because I’m alone. Because I can’t survive this again. Because I can only imagine what Bates is going to do to me.

  I whimper, choking on my terror.

  He jerks my head back as his other hand skates down my stomach. He slips under the sheet, his fingers sliding lower until he’s cupping my most intimate place. I freeze, willing my limbs to move—to fight—as he caresses me. Just when I think I can’t take another second, he drops his hand.

  “You smell like sex,” he whispers into my ear. His breath is hot and moist against my skin, causing me to shudder with loathing and disgust. He lifts his hand, inhaling deeply, and sighing as if savoring my scent.

  Bile rises in my throat.

  “What do you think he’ll do when he realizes you’re gone?”

  The small black and white photo of Olivia in the newspaper flashes in my head like a beacon. Bates is going to do to me exactly what he did to her. And Link—God, Link—he’s going to have another woman ripped from his life. Just hours after he told me he was beginning to see a future with me.

  I don’t want to die.

  The next set of tears that fall are for Link. For the future he and I are supposed to have. And because I know he can’t live through this again, either.

  “Why are you doing this?” I cry.

  He chuckles, the sound mocking. “It’s all closing in now, sweetheart. We had a good thing going—nobody knew who we were. Then Steve had to fuck it all up. Useless, weak piece of shit. If I’m going down, I’m going to take as many as I can with me.”

  I jerk away from Bates, unwilling to go easily. Link’s words play in my head, focusing me. If Garrett or Bates or any other guy comes after you, you’re going to kick their fucking ass. You’re going to know exactly where to hit. How hard to hit. What position works best. You’re going to know how to kill them.

  I’m going to do what Link has been teaching me to do. I’m going to use the skills he gave me and I’m going to make this fucker suffer.

  With a flick of my wrist, I drop the sheet, lowering the only shield I had. However, this gives me a few advantages. Like the fact that his eyes are now traveling my body like a starving predator, distracting him. Or how I no longer have fabric hanging off of me for him to grab or to hinder me from fighting in the way I know I’m going to need to. And on top of that, hopefully dragging a naked woman from a house will draw some kind of attention.

  Bates takes a ste
p toward me, licking his lips suggestively. He opens his mouth to say something—something vulgar or threatening, I’m sure. I don’t have anything protecting my feet, so I don’t kick him like I want to. Instead, I close the distance between us, bringing us chest to chest. And then I swing my hand, punching him in the testicles as hard as I can.

  A grunt blows against my bare skin as he leans forward. I pull my arm back, ready to hit him again, but instead of grabbing his boys defensively like I expect, he slams his fist into my stomach, and I crumple. I fall to the floor, my lungs trying to expand, but unable.

  He stands over me, peering down with a sadistic smile. “I’m going to have fun making you pay for that.”

  Link

  Rocky’s cell goes straight to voicemail. I punch the steering wheel, stepping hard on the gas pedal. As much as I want to take care of Bates myself, I can’t risk Rocky’s life. I pull up Byers’ number and place the call.

  While it rings, I drive like a madman, running red lights, and flying through stop signs, hoping a cop tries to pull me over.

  “Detective Byers,” he says gruffly.

  “It’s Linken Elliot,” I pant. “Send someone over to my house, now, or someone’s going to die.”

  I hang up before he can question me. The less he knows, the faster he’ll move his ass.

  I haven’t allowed myself to really think about what could be happening to Rocky right now. What Bates is doing to her. I haven’t wanted to go there. But as I get closer to my house, still so far away from helping her, I can’t fight it any longer.

  Olivia.

  I see Olivia’s face. The terror. The agony. And that moment when she gave up. Gave in. When she stopped crying, stopped fighting.

  “Please, don’t do this to me again,” I plead. I don’t know if I’m talking to Livie or God. I just repeat it over and over like a mantra, hoping someone hears my prayers.

  Rocky’s a fighter. Named after the only undefeated boxing champion. She won’t give up like Livie did. She’s stronger. I’ve trained her, shaped her, showed her how to protect herself.

  But what if it wasn’t enough? What if she isn’t ready?

  “Don’t take her away from me,” I beg. “I can’t lose another woman I care about.”

  I pull into my driveway, slamming the gear into park before the car’s even stopped. As I run toward my front door, my vision tunnels. My mind goes blank. I’m numb, preparing myself for whatever scene I’m about to walk in on.

  My stomach churns violently as I kick the door open. My eyes land on Rocky, lying naked on my living room floor. Her eyes are closed, her arms limp on each side of her head. She looks as if she was being pinned down. And by the multiple bruises lining her face, she fought hard.

  And then she’s no longer there. I’m in the alley four years ago, looking into Olivia’s face.

  I fall to my knees beside her, incapable of words. Powerless to conceal my torment.

  Rocky comes back into view, her skin pale, blotched in purple contusions.

  God, what did he do to her?

  I place my fingers to her neck gently, afraid to touch her. My head drops with relief as I feel the unhurried throbbing of her pulse.

  I press my lips together, trying to hold back a sob of gratitude.

  My little fighter.

  As the terror gradually leaves me and my heart begins to beat again, my mind focuses. And every mistake I’ve made since walking through the door catches up with me.

  A shadow moves over the light from the open door, shining on Rocky’s legs. I have just enough time to brace myself for the hit before I feel something hard and solid strike my head.

  Rocky

  He’s on top of me.

  The pressure of his body holds me to the floor, restricting my breathing. It’s like a lead weight lying on my chest. I will my eyes to open, but they aren’t quick to obey. Maybe it’s my subconscious, refusing to witness another rape.

  I hear a groan and the weight shifts before leaving me.

  My eyes flutter, but are unwilling to remain open. I keep trying.

  Link comes into view before disappearing as my eyelids drop once again. My heart pounds inside my chest with sweet relief.

  He’s here.

  Please don’t let me be dreaming or hallucinating. Please let him really be here with me.

  I force my eyes open yet again, and roll my head to the side, following the telltale sounds of aggressive struggling.

  As my gaze lands on Link, I notice blood trailing down the back of his head. My eyes fall closed. Panic helps me blink them quickly.

  Link’s feet are shoulder width apart, one in front of the other, slightly turned out. His knees are bent, shoulders relaxed. His elbows are close to his torso, hands up, protecting his face. A perfect boxer’s stance.

  In front of him, Bates holds a large knife. I know immediately it’s the one Lea described. The one he used to kill Olivia. The one responsible for the scars on Link’s back.

  Bates slashes at Link, and I cry out, knowing he’s defenseless against a weapon like that.

  Link turns his attention to me, giving Bates an extra advantage. The blade pierces Link’s skin, sliding down the length of his bicep. A line of crimson splits his flesh. He stumbles back into the wall, gripping his arm and dropping his defense.

  I roll to my side, and then onto my stomach. My hands slide along the floor as I try to push myself upward. My arms give out and I slip back to my stomach.

  “Rocky,” I hear Link say. I glance over my shoulder, trying to find him. My eyes are drawn to the large smudge of red on the wall.

  “Get out of here,” he continues, his voice strained.

  My face must be a mess because as fresh tears make their way down my cheeks, the salty moisture burns my skin. I need to get up. Not because Link wants me to get away—I’m not leaving him—but because I need to help him. Between the two of us, I know we can overpower Bates.

  When you’re fighting for someone else, you can’t give up. You have to push past the pain, the insecurity, the fear. You have to keep going because you know if you don’t, you’ll never forgive yourself.

  I keep fighting, just as Link is doing for me.

  Locking the muscles in my arms, I heave myself onto my knees. I can hear scuffling of feet, the harsh, panted breaths, the thwack of fists meeting skin, and it makes the urgency that much more potent.

  I push to my feet, knees weak, and balance off, causing me to sway. Somehow I catch myself on the counter. My stomach aches where that asshole punched me. It feels like a rock lodged inside my belly. I ignore the pain and take a step toward Link, struggling with Bates.

  I slide my foot, taking another shaky step. I have no idea what I’m going to do—what I’m capable of doing in my state. I must have hit my head because everything is spinning. Blurry. It’s making me lightheaded and dizzy.

  Bates kicks out, connecting hard with Link’s leg. As Link falls to his knees, Bates smiles. That smile I once found so attractive, now a cruel, gratified smirk.

  I try to move fast enough. I try to lunge at Bates. Throw myself between the men. But my legs are inept, my effort futile. It happens so fast, I can’t make sense of what’s occurring.

  My knees hit the floor, just as Link’s did just a second ago. And then the room is filled with a flash of light as a loud popping sound echoes off the walls, making my ears ring.

  Smoke drifts off of the shoulder of Bates’ shirt, a circle of red growing larger and larger, spreading along his arm. He looks down, his mouth falling open as if in shock. The knife tumbles out of his hand as if he can no longer hold onto it.

  There’s shouting. Beams of light bouncing around the room. But I keep my attention locked on Bates. His gaze moves from his shoulder to Link, his eyes growing large.

  Someone touches me, places a coat over my shoulders. I only look away for a moment, glancing back at the officer trying to guide me outside. Away from Link. I try to pull away, turning back to the two men.
/>   Link is still on his knees, his arms bleeding profusely. He raises his opposite hand, light reflecting off the long blade of Bates’ knife. I scream. I must. Because Link stops, his hand pausing in midair, even with Bates’ belly.

  It feels like time stops as Link battles against his need to complete the mission he’s been on for much too long now. I understand it. I do. I want Bates dead too. But if Link kills him now in front of these police officers, he’ll go to prison, or worse, they’ll shoot him.

  He looks back at me as the officers continue to shout. I shake my head, silently pleading with him. I feel my lips move, but I can’t hear myself over all of the yelling.

  But Link understands.

  He drops his hand, letting the knife slip from his fingers. The cops move in, one pushing Link to the floor. Others take hold of Bates. There’s so much chaos. Too much happening too quickly. I’m shuffled out the door and into the back of an ambulance.

  Link

  Byers hands me a cup of coffee as the doctor finishes dressing my arm. I nod a thank you as I take it. The hot liquid feels good traveling down my parched throat.

  “There will be a guard on him at all times until we’re able to transport him,” he says casually. I don’t know if Byers is trying to reassure me or warn me—I’ll be caught if I go after him.

  It’s not an issue. As much as I want that man dead—erased from existence—I’m going to allow the legal system to take care of him. It’s not easy to do, but I made the decision the moment I heard Rocky tell me she needed me.

  I haven’t been needed in a long time.

  “When can I see Rocky?”

  Byers sips his own coffee, peering at me over the rim. “As soon as we’re done here. She’s been examined. Superficial wounds. No concussion. She can go home today.”

  I sigh. That’s good. That’s very good. I’m sure she misses her place.

  I don’t have a home to go home to. My house is currently a crime scene.