Hell Hath No Fury Read online

  Hell Hath No Fury

  RC Boldt

  Contents

  About the Book

  Author’s Note

  Preface

  Prologue

  1. Her

  2. Caitlin Ashford

  3. Caitlin

  4. Caitlin

  5. Caitlin

  6. Caitlin

  7. Caitlin

  8. Her

  9. Her

  10. The Hunter

  11. The Hunter

  12. The Hunter

  13. Her

  14. The Hunter

  15. Her

  16. Her

  17. Her

  18. Her

  19. The Hunter

  20. Her

  21. Her

  22. The Hunter

  23. Her

  24. The Hunter

  25. Her

  26. The Hunter

  27. Her

  28. Her

  29. Hunter

  30. Kate

  31. Hunter

  32. Kate

  33. Hunter

  34. Kate

  35. Kate

  36. Hunter

  37. Kate

  38. Hunter

  39. Kate

  40. Hunter

  41. Kate

  42. Hunter

  43. Hunter

  44. Caitlin/Kate

  45. Hunter

  46. Kate

  47. Hunter

  48. Kate

  49. Hunter

  50. Kate

  51. Hunter

  52. Kate

  53. Kate

  54. Hunter

  55. Kate

  56. Hunter

  57. Kate

  58. Hunter

  59. Kate

  60. Hunter

  61. Kate

  62. Kat

  63. John

  Twelve Years Later

  Chapter 64

  Coming October 20, 2020…

  Dear Reader

  Copyright © 2020 by RC Boldt

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication and use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by trademark owners. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features in any media form are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if one of these terms are used in this work of fiction.

  Cover design by By Hang Le

  Visit my website at www.rcboldtbooks.com.

  Sign up for my mailing list: http://eepurl.com/cgftw5

  Dedication

  To Matty—my biggest cheerleader. Your love and support are things I never take for granted. (P.S. I love you more.)

  To A—my inspiration for Willow. May you request goodnight kisses for years to come. I love you more than the whole world and universe.

  To my father— Without you teaching me all those unconventional skills, I would’ve turned out to be a typical kid, and we both know that would’ve been sad and oh, so very lame. Love you always.

  About the Book

  Seven years ago, they took everything from me. My father. My husband. My child.

  When they stole my chance at justice, I vowed to get revenge.

  Then I met him.

  He tempts that long-lost part of me, but his presence is a reminder that betrayal lurks around every corner.

  Their biggest mistake is underestimating my commitment for vengeance.

  They don’t realize that when it comes to a woman like me, hell hath no fury.

  Author’s Note

  The Dixie Mafia is an actual criminal organization. Having originated in Biloxi, Mississippi and expanding to operate in much of the southern part of the United States, they are involved in criminal activities such as human trafficking, money laundering, drug trafficking and much more.

  *Liberties have been taken with regards to having the Dixie Mafia occupy parts of the coastal Carolinas to have a more cohesive and realistic story line.

  “You never know how strong you are, until being strong is the only choice you have.”—Bob Marley

  Prologue

  Death.

  Heartache.

  Vengeance.

  This isn’t a tale for the tenderhearted, the judgmental, or those who refuse to think outside the box and look at the broader picture. Those who think that everything is black and white. Simple. Cut and dried.

  It’s not. There’s always shades of gray.

  It’s easier to say “I’d never” when you’re sitting safely at home with the people you love most right by your side. When grief hasn’t woven itself so deeply into the fabric of your DNA that it can never be unraveled. There can be no separation. And even if you tried, it would only result in you becoming a frayed and tangled mess.

  It’s easy to say you’d never walk the treacherous moral tightrope. But you aren’t the one who plummeted to the depths of hell, littered with the agony of loss and the anger of injustice, and had to claw your way out.

  This story isn’t scrawled on pristine white pages in bold black ink. Marred, torn, and blood-spattered, its chapters hold deep gouges inflicted by betrayal.

  This story is about a woman who had everything taken from her.

  And how she took it all back.

  Her

  PRESENT DAY

  OCTOBER

  “Fuck you, bitch!” His eyes spear me with pure hatred, and I’m sure he’s pissed for a multitude of reasons.

  One of those might be due to the lethal broadhead arrow piercing his thigh and pinning him to the chair—and an uncomfortable one by the looks of it.

  But the real kick in the teeth is that a woman is doing all this to him.

  Me.

  “Now, now.” My tone drips with condescension. “Is that any way to talk to a lady? I’m merely saying the Dixie Mafia should pay better than this.” With my bow in hand, I gesture to the interior of the house we’re in. It’s so goddamn plain, it looks institutional. “Plus,” I muse conversationally, “I think this place could use a woman’s touch. Don’t you?”

  “Fuck you!”

  When I slam the steel edge of the bow down on his left knee, he howls. “You really should broaden your repertoire of responses.” I fix him with a look of exaggerated sorrow. “I think you’re just blaming me for your heinous excuse for surveillance.”

  His piece-of-shit partner snarls at me, teeth and gums showing the evidence of his monogamous relationship with chewing tobacco. Blood seeps from the wound in his shoulder where an arrow pins him to the back of the chair. “We ain’t into no anus shit!”

  I stare at him. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. Maybe I ought to beat the shit out of you with a dictionary instead.”

  Dipshit with the arrow through his thigh glares at the other man. “She said heinous, not anus, you asshole!” Then he turns to me. “You won’t get away with this. Boss’ll notice us gone and send guys after you.”

  When my mouth forms a grin laden with pure menace, the men’s expressions change in a flash.

  “Oh, I’m banking on it, b
oys.”

  I wasn’t always like this. I lived a simple life. I was married to a wonderful man and had a beautiful little girl. My dad was the typical doting grandfather.

  Then one day, in the blink of an eye, it was gone. They took everything from me and nearly succeeded in taking my life, too.

  Sometimes, I wish they had. I wish I’d died right along with them. Instead, I got left behind, buried beneath the suffocating rubble of heartache and devastation.

  Now I’m extinguishing the lives of those who played a part in taking my family from me.

  It’s time to see that justice is finally served.

  Caitlin Ashford

  SEVEN YEARS EARLIER

  Seaside Cove

  (bordering Wilmington, North Carolina)

  “I am so proud of you.” I put the car in Park, glancing to ensure the cookie cake is still unscathed on the passenger seat, and smile back at my six-year-old daughter, Willow.

  She grins. “Thank you, Mama.”

  I exit the vehicle before helping her from the back seat. Pure joy and excitement are etched on her as she holds the thick card stock sheet in her little hands. “I can’t wait to show Daddy and Paw-Paw my award!”

  We round the vehicle where I’d parked behind Bullard’s Gun & Pawn, our family-owned shop, before heading to the rear door and walking inside.

  My grandfather opened this shop after he came back from the war and eventually handed the reins over to Dad. After he’d finished serving in the Marine Corps, my father expanded the variety of merchandise sold, and business began booming.

  We never expected tragedy to strike while I was away at college, but within a month of my graduation, everything fell apart when my mother passed away from a brain aneurysm. My plans to work for a firm and put my degree in computer systems analysis to use were immediately shelved. Returning home from Appalachian State to help Dad as he reeled from the sudden loss of Mom, I assisted his then-right-hand man, Deacon Ashford, in handling the shop.

  Though Deacon and I went to high school together, we hadn’t run in the same circles. He’d been on the quieter side back then while I’d been head cheerleader and class president. Since I’d been away at college, he’d gone from the cute boy from high school to a handsome man my dad relied on.

  Working side by side with him, I’d come to see for myself how wonderful Deacon was, and it wasn’t long before we fell head over heels for each other.

  “Paw-Paw!” Willow rushes through the back of the shop to the Employees Only doorway, her little shoes pattering on the well-worn linoleum floor.

  The shop is currently free of customers, and I set my purse and keys behind one of the display cases near a register. My father schools his features before stepping away from Deacon to face Willow. His smile is wide as he holds out his arms to her.

  “How’s my favorite girl?”

  She wraps her arms around his waist and hugs him, starting right in and showing him her Student of the Month award.

  I let out a little sigh when my husband snags my eyes and musters a weak smile for me. Deacon and my father sometimes bump heads, and though it never lasts for long, it’s to be expected when two “chiefs” are trying to work and run a business together. Plus, having Dad live with us means Deacon never really gets a break from him.

  My husband saunters over and tugs me in for a kiss. I melt at the feel of his lips on mine, wishing the kiss would last a little longer.

  I’ll admit, I’ve been struggling for the past year or so. It’s not that I don’t love Deacon—I do. It’s just that something’s…missing. Our marriage makes me think of when you tour a home for sale, one that’s beautifully staged but lacking true personality. The walls aren’t adorned with photos of a smiling family, and finger-painted artwork doesn’t hang on the refrigerator door. There isn’t an old frayed blanket folded and draped over the back of the couch that we can’t bear to get rid of because it holds so many memories and is perfectly soft.

  I’ve been feeling like my marriage’s gauge is precariously tipping toward E, and I’m at a loss on how to remedy it. I understand there’ll be ups and downs, and after being together for nine years, the idea of divorcing Deacon and disrupting Willow’s life—making her split time between her parents—sears my heart. But I’m feeling exceedingly more despondent, like a third-party observer in my marriage.

  “Marriage counseling is for people with cheating spouses. It’s not for people like us.”

  That’s what Deacon told me when I worked up the courage to talk to him about it a few months ago. Then he insisted I was overstressed and promised to give me more back rubs and foot massages.

  It made me feel like an awful, ungrateful wife because as much as I appreciated him offering those favors, it’s not what I needed or wanted. Before I could try to explain, Willow had burst into our bedroom in tears from a nightmare, effectively cutting our conversation short.

  Never to reconvene again.

  I just want to be wanted. And maybe it’s a weird stage I’m going through in life, or maybe I’ve been reading too many romance novels and set my expectations too high, but a traitorous little voice in my subconscious has been whispering, What if Deacon isn’t the love of my life?

  As terrible as it sounds, it’s the reason I’ve continued to tuck money away from my part-time job. For that just in case I do the unthinkable and file for divorce moment.

  So, I’ve continued cleaning the investment banking firm’s offices twenty minutes away in Wilmington, which isn’t hard labor, by any means. I’d started working there on weekends when I was a junior in high school, and they’d asked me to continue working for them while I was home on summer breaks from college.

  Deacon calls it my “fun money” and has always insisted I keep it separate from our joint account, but I’ve never been the type to spend money on myself. At the rate I’m going, I’ll be able to cover the cost for all of Willow’s textbooks when she eventually attends college and even graduate school.

  One bonus of working at the firm, though, is that I sometimes get to use my computer systems analysis degree to help out one of the execs with a snafu. Sure, it’s hush-hush since I’m not supposed to be privy to the inner workings of their network and whatnot, but when you grow up in a small town, everyone knows everyone’s business. You know who’s trustworthy and who’s a snake in the grass, just waiting to strike and double-cross you. Thankfully, I’m among those they deem trustworthy.

  Deacon loops his arms around my waist. “Cash and I are golfing on Saturday morning down at Ocean Isle.”

  I grimace. “I told you Kenneth asked me to come in on Saturday. And Dad’s got plans with Doc, so I need you to watch Willow.”

  Deacon’s brows crease. “Can’t you take her with you?”

  I widen my eyes in exasperation. “Deacon. You know I can’t.”

  A sigh spills from his lips, laced with irritation. “Okay, sorry. I’ll tell Cash I need to cancel.”

  Disappointment swirls within me, intermixing with frustration and sadness. His priorities have become so skewed lately.

  Then, as if I’d simply imagined the trace of irritation from a moment before, his brown eyes lock with mine, and mischief shines in their depths. “Maybe later on tonight…” His soft lips sweep along my cheek before pausing at my ear as he murmurs huskily, “My wife’ll let me have my way with her.”

  I hum a sound of approval even as I wilt a little inside. “That does sound tempting.” Because even though the sex has stayed as hot as ever, there’s still that disconnect, like something’s shifted between us.

  What’s wrong with me?

  I miss the moments we’d make love and his touch simply felt different. It wasn’t two people using one another to get off. It was a husband and wife who knew each other’s bodies inside and out. Even if it was a quickie while Willow napped, there was still a unique tenderness in each touch, as if he savored each moment with me.

  Deacon leans back and briefly glances over at where Wil
low’s talking to Dad, animatedly detailing an anecdote from something that happened on the playground.

  “Ready to show our girl what we got her?” I murmur.

  “Absolutely.”

  I clap my hands together, and Dad and Willow turn to us. “So we’ve been talking, and we all agree that you’ve proven to be responsible and have a good head on your shoulders for our special gift. Especially after getting straight A’s on your report card and now getting the Student of the Month award for the character trait of honesty.”

  “A special gift?” Willow’s eyes widen, and she practically bounces on her feet with excitement. “Oh, Mama! What is it?”

  A moment later, the look on Willow’s face is everything.

  “A bow and arrow?” Wonder is etched on her face as she glances around at the three of us. “And a quiver, too?”