When Opposites Collide Boxset
When Opposites Collide Boxset
Kathy Coopmans
HJ Bellus
Contents
Prologue
1. Caitlin
2. Katch
3. Caitlin
4. Katch
5. Caitlin
6. Katch
7. Caitlin
8. Katch
9. Caitlin
10. Katch
11. Caitlin
12. Katch
13. Caitlin
14. Katch
15. Caitlin
16. Katch
17. Caitlin
18. Caitlin
19. Katch
20. Katch
21. Caitlin
22. Caitlin
23. Katch
24. Caitlin
25. Caitlin
26. Katch
27. Caitlin
Epilogue
BLANK CANVAS
**TRIGGER WARNING** **TRIGGER WARNING** ***TRIGGER WARNING***
Prologue
28. Amelia
29. Zeke
30. Zeke
31. Amelia
32. Amelia
33. Zeke
34. Amelia
35. Zeke
36. Amelia
37. Zeke
38. Amelia
39. Zeke
40. Amelia
41. Zeke
42. Amelia
43. Zeke
44. Amelia
45. Zeke
46. Amelia
47. Zeke
48. Amelia
49. Zeke
50. Amelia
51. Zeke
52. Amelia
Epilogue
Bonus Scene Bonus Scene
Acknowledgments
BRICK
Prologue
53. Eden
54. Brick
55. Eden
56. Eden
57. Brick
58. Eden
59. Brick
60. Eden
61. Brick
62. Eden
63. Brick
64. Eden
65. Brick
66. Brick
67. Eden
68. Brick
69. Brick
70. Brick
71. Eden
72. Brick
73. Eden
74. Katch Sterling
75. Eden
Epilogue
76. ABOUT THE AUTHORS
Hitchhiker
Copyright © 2017 by Torrid Timbre Press
Edited by: Julia Goda
Cover Designer: Just Write Creations
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.
Dedication
To those who dream, believe, and then achieve in the sexy world of opposites.
Prologue
CAITLIN
“Beer?” Rachel asks extending her hand.
“Hell, yes.” I grab it from her, not hesitating to take my one and only swig of the cold brew. I’ve refined the act of nursing a beer through these parties. It’s more of the atmosphere and hanging out with friends that I actually enjoy. It’s the only time I get to be me.
“I still can’t believe you got out of the house tonight.”
I shrug, half shocked myself. My friends have been partying since our eighth-grade year. Key words my friends, not my parent-approved friends. No, those friends are more than likely at the stuffy country club tonight.
“My mom covered for me. Told my dad I was sick.”
Rachel smiles and then begins leading me through the crowd. The loud, thumping music empowers me. I tend to hang out with older classmates, and since my last name is Winslow, they don’t bat an eyelash at the fact I just turned fourteen. It’s my rebellious side flaring out in me. My dad tells me it’s the white trash of my mom’s side tainting my soul. I’ll never know how one man can be so cruel yet know when to say all the right words just when a person needs them. Must be the lawyer in him, I suppose.
I sit on a large log next to Rachel with the bonfire glowing brightly sending off ample waves of heat in our direction. The laughter is infectious as a boy from the public school entertains the crowd. Jagger, I think his name is, and my, oh, my is he a looker and quite the charmer. Nothing like the stuffy and arrogant boys at my school who believe they’re entitled to everything.
“Parent!” someone yells over the crowd.
All heads turn to the warning call. That’s when I see the shiny leather shoes walk up to me. His suit and tie are out of place like a glaring red flag.
“Caitlin.” His voice drips with venom.
“Dad,” I whisper, not making eye contact, knowing that his features will be stone-cold.
“Time to go.”
He doesn’t give me a chance to respond but instead pulls me up by the neck of my shirt, dragging me to the car. My body trembles in fear. He’s never hit me or inflicted physical pain. No, it’s his words that slice me open. He’s a professional at tearing down a person with his words alone. I’ve watched him take down powerful men with his intimidation tactics and words.
The door slams on his Mercedes Benz, leaving me alone in the backseat. I steady myself for the brutal berating that’s about to ensue. My mom reassures me it’s just the way he ticks and that under all his layers is the man she fell in love with. I’ve never met that man.
He settles behind the wheel, firing up the engine and then adjusting the rearview mirror to stare me down. He maneuvers the road with ease while directing vicious stares back in my direction.
“There was a wreck tonight, Caitlin.” He pauses for a brief moment. “Your mother is dead.”
“What?” I gasp, then steady my palms on the cool leather of the seat. I open my mouth to speak again, but nothing comes out. No.
“She went out to find you, lost control of her car, and crashed over the side of the canyon cliff.” He glares once again in my direction.
“Dad, she knew where I was,” I whisper.
He shakes his head in disgust. “That lying bitch. I figured as much. She could never give up on raising you in the same way she was. Complete poor and white trash, always lying and sneaking around. My dad warned me that I’d never be able to tame the girl from the wrong side of the track. I should’ve listened.”
“Dad.” His name escapes my lips as I fight to process what in the hell has just happened. It’s not his cold voice or slicing words, but the fact my mother is dead. She was my person, my everything, the loving force that held me together.
“I refuse to allow you to follow her path.” He slams the steering wheel. “If you’d only been where you should’ve been, then she wouldn’t be dead. You killed her, Caitlin.”
My vision blurs, my soul dies, and my heart cracks into irreparable pieces, and in this moment, the new Caitlin Winslow is introduced to the world.
That night in my bedroom was the loneliest of my life. All of my things had been rearranged. My father told me I’d no longer live like a slob. The dresser had been moved, the desk wiped clear of all my belongings, and barely a trace of anything I used to be was left.
No more…
dance lessons
carefree life
aspiring dreams of Broadway
It was all
buried with my mother’s lifeless body, only if there had been a body. There were no remains; just like my old life.
1
Caitlin
As a young child, I was always confused when my father’s words would seep into my pounding chest. Trying to ease my fear away from my nightmares. He was gentle, kind, and held me until I fell back to sleep. However, he was a ruthless man. He was made of pure evil, and until I was old enough to understand those words, I always thought they soothed me. Made me forget about the monster under my bed or the noise the trees outside my window would make as they scraped their limbs across the glass. I loved him. Wanted to grow up to be exactly like him, and I did, minus the insensitivity to the innocent.
For the innocent are victims. Like me. Like my mother.
His heart was as black as a starless night. Where mine is desperate to be loved. It craves that all-consuming passion with a man who takes me as I am. Turns my insides upside down and shakes me about. Leaves me breathless. That’s all I ever wanted; someone to love me for me. Not for my money, not for my body, and assuredly not because of my last name.
I’m a thirty-year-old ruthless, self-absorbed snob. One of the best cutthroat defense lawyers this side of the Mississippi. A bitch with an attitude that will bring you down whether you're guilty or not. Except, I’m not really a bitch at all. People just think I am. I hide behind the proverbial mask; the one dear old Dad placed there when I became old enough to understand the words he spoke time and time again. They became my bible, and I’ve lived by them daily.
His words echo in my head now as I sit alongside the road in the pitch-black dark on this long stretch of highway. The bright skyline of Los Angeles far off in the distance.
“You’re not afraid of the dark. You’re scared of what’s in it.” I sure the hell was and I sure as shit am now. In fact, I’m downright petrified.
I live in one of the richest areas in the world. Born and raised in Beverly Hills and part owner of Winslow and Associates in downtown Los Angeles, and I’m running. Leaving behind the city of angels, demons, and death, and going to the only place I feel safe.
Someone murdered my father six months ago. The case is still an unsolved mystery. I can honestly say it didn’t surprise me when I received the call that he had been shot in his bed while he slept. There was no mercy in the kill. A point-blank vengeance shot that took his life in a second.
He created a name for himself. A bastard who crossed the wrong person or people one too many times. Whoever wanted him gone broke into his home and became that monster in the dark. Shot him viciously in the back of his head.
I loved my father, but I don’t miss him. The way he acted toward others. The smug satisfaction on his face that I turned out to be like him. And now, as I sit here in my brand new, broken down 2017 Audi R8, I want to kill him myself. I’m stranded because of him. Whoever killed my father broke into my home today. I know it was them. I guess I could thank my lucky stars that they only sent me a warning instead of killing me the same way they did him.
Their warning was clear, precise, and to the damn point. Destroying everything I own, except the clothes on my back, and leaving me a reminder on my bathroom mirror with my favorite and now ruined shade of Christian Louboutin Miss Loubi red lipstick.
Bitch, you are next.
I left town immediately after filing my report with the police. Told them I did not give a shit if they wanted me here or not. I signed the report, tossed them my business card, and promised them I would be in touch. My legs started shaking so bad in my nineteen-hundred-dollar Gucci boots that the police officer had to guide me into my car. My hands were trembling when I called my secretary to tell her I was going out of town indefinitely. Which shocked her due to the fact I’m researching a high-profile divorce case. I plan on going to my cousin’s house, Curtis Gallo. The President of the Hell’s Lovers MC. I figured if my life was going to be hell, I might as well take up residence. Well, in name only.
Curtis and I have an understanding per se. As long as he keeps his illegal shit out of my city, then we get along fine. I may be one hell of a lawyer, but I don’t openly believe my clients are all innocent. And Curtis is definitely not innocent.
In fact, he has no idea I’m coming. He is going to be livid over this.
“It’s two o’clock in the morning, Caitlin; you may as well start walking.” I sigh, lean forward, and bang my head on the steering wheel. I hate the dark.
I lift my head, grab my purse, and open my door. The hot, muggy summer air hitting me smack in my face. “Great. Not only will I ruin my boots and possibly break an ankle, I’m going to sweat my ass off, too.” I kick my door shut. Not giving a rat’s ass if my four-inch heel scrapes the paint off this piece-of-shit car or not. “Fucker,” I scream at the car, kick the tire, and check my phone for a signal.
When there’s nothing, I shove it angrily into my purse, pull out my only defense weapon I could find while stewing over this, and start walking down the road. My boots are clicking away on the deserted road.
“Well, this could poke an attacker's eye out.” I laugh, unamused, while rolling my Mont Blanc Ultra Black Ballpoint Pen in my hand.
I walk and I walk for what seems like forever, pulling my phone out every now and then to check the time and use it for light. Until the damn thing dies and I’m back to walking in the pitch black, jumping at every noise coming from the woods on both sides of me.
“You asshole,” I curse at another car that drives right on by me and ignores my thumb in the air as I try to hitch a ride. “Thank you very much, you dirty, rotten piece of shit,” I screech even louder at the next car that passes me by, honking it’s horn and hollering profanities out the window. “I’m going to die out here, and I hope you choke on your guilt. Stupid little punks.”
I keep walking, my legs about to give out when I see the headlights of another car approaching. I stop, turn around, and chuck out my thumb, walking carefully backward as I do so. “Stop, please,” I beg, as it cruises closer and closer. “I need help, for fuck’s sake!” I scream when I realize they aren’t slowing down. My thumb still out, my shoulders begging to slouch in defeat. “You dirty fucking prick!” I scream so loud that I startle myself. My eyes go wide when the driver slams on the brakes, places the car in reverse, and hauls ass back toward me. “Shit.” I freeze. My weapon is stinging my hand as I grip it tightly. My eyes grow as wide as the moon.
Pea-sized gravel flies in the air when tires screech to a halt several feet in front of me. The door whips open with a set of black combat boots stomping to the ground. My gaze travels up from his boots to his worn jeans. There are more holes and tattered rips than jean on those things. A worn, brown belt with a silver buckle sits right below what I’d suspect is a set of hard abs. At least they appear to be.
“Woman, I know you did not just call me a prick.” A deep voice crawls up my spine. I feel as if I should stand at attention with the way it rumbles through the darkened sky and echoes at my feet.
I’ve dealt with criminals time and time again. Fuck, they’re my bread and butter padding my savings account, but nothing this menacing and most assuredly not in the dark. I’m afraid to look up into his face. I am fucked.
“Not so fucking mouthy now?” I swallow as the crunch of his boots meeting gravel grows closer.
Find your words, Caitlin. You are a refined, cutthroat attorney who prides herself in not letting anyone intimidate her. I’ve been brainwashed into this machine day in and day out. I’ve got this. I clutch the pen in my hand and raise my head to face the man.
“I need a ride.”
Simple, precise, and to the point. I have no other options right now. He’s here with a running car. It’s quite simple.
“No shit.” His top lip twitches, and that’s when I come eye-to-eye with the man who will change my life.
Holy shit. He’s rugged, alright. Straight from Lumber Town. A heavy, dark beard, deep eyes, and a freaking massive chest my tongue wants to map a ro
ad on. He’s dark and dangerous, no doubt. A scar trails from right below his eye and dips into his beard. Pleasantries are out the window with a man like this.
“My car broke down back there.” I point behind my back.
“That fancy piece of shit? For God’s sake, get the fuck in if you want a ride.” He looks at my boots, and I swear I see his lip curl up. Then this scary man shakes his head, turns back to his car, crushing gravel as if he owns it. This man is frightening, and I’m a stupid, stupid woman for getting in his car.
I run to his car with my swollen ankles and aching feet. When you’re desperate, you’re desperate. The scene from my apartment drifts back in, and I shudder. I’ll take my chances. Three cars whiz down the highway before I open the passenger door to the sleek black muscle car. Rugged and masculine just like his owner.
I laugh when my ass hits the leather bench seat. I’ve used insanity in cases before, but now I’m actually experiencing it. Nothing about this situation is funny. I barely have the door shut when the car jets back out onto the highway with no warning.
“Something funny?” he asks with a raised eyebrow, focusing on the endless road ahead.
I shake my head and remain quiet, studying his knuckles going white around the steering wheel. I keep the pen clutched in my hand, ready to strike if need be.
“You fucking lose your voice again?” he roars.
“No,” I squeak out.
He mutters a profanity, growing angrier by the second. Oh, God. I thought I was terrified on the stranded road in the pitch black with ominous sounds surrounding, but that has nothing on this. I fumble for the words and fight off a shaking voice before I speak. I will show no fear.
“I need a ride to Barstow to my cousin’s house. 825, 7th Avenue, near the industrial part of town.”
He reaches for a pack of cigarettes, lights one up, and rolls down his window. I don’t smoke, but with everything that’s happened, I would love to have one now. I wait for an answer from the big, bad wolf, but it never comes. I try to relax back into the leather seat, but find no comfort. Miles tick by in silence with the only comfort being Barstow appearing on the road signs. Just let me make it to my cousin’s.