#normalize stopping in the middle of the highway suddenly and without warning for pictures

[nicotinepigeon-911]

Listen, when you date me, you automatically become the designated driver. Not because I hate driving, but I have to take my lil pictures of all the sunsets and cool clouds

You understand.

[pepper-up-potion]

Little miss spontaneous (Fred Weasley x Fem!reader)

Summary: Reader tries to be spontaneous for a day and fails miserably but her boyfriend Fred helps comfort her.

Warnings: Food and like, maybe some insecurity of not being spontaneous enough?? Idk if that makes sense but I think I should still put it in case. Also some stress but there’s comfort too.

Word count: 1778

A/n: This is my first time writing Fred Weasley and I‘m not sure I got it right?? But he just screams spontaneous to me. Like I don‘t think he‘s capable of planning anything other than pranks. So I found him quite fitting for this. Also the middle picture is not mine, credit to this person. The other two are blurry pics I took last summer holiday. Anyways, hope you like it :)

Fred groans as he is abruptly woken by a loud horn. Someone on his street is continuously honking their car horn. It’s been going on for over a minute before Fred grumpily sits up in his bed and places his chin on the bottom frame of his window.

He spots the source, a teal green convertible with cream leather seats. He groans and slides the window up to not to so kindly tell the driver to sod off. He fills his lungs in preparation to shout when the person beats him to it.

“Fred!” Shouts the driver. Fred gasps and quickly bundles up his firsts to rub at his sleepy eyes. Three floors down (y/n) is waving so vigorously, Fred fears she might lose her hand. She’s sitting in the driver's seat of the car smiling wide.

“(y/n)?” He calls back confused and slightly concerned.

“C’mon hurry up! Get dressed and let’s go!” She yells enthusiastically.

Fred gapes, unable to keep his jaw from dropping. Fred is convinced he’s dreaming this up. This is nothing like (y/n), she’s the type to whisper in libraries and spend nights planning for the days to come instead of attending parties.

“What?” Fred has a multitude of questions but that ones seems the best one to start with.

“Ughhh stop asking questions Freddie! Just do as I say.” The sudden order and dismission makes Fred knit his brows and dive deep into contemplation. He’s never seen her like this. (Y/n) is the type to plan every single part of her day even to last second. To his recollection, this was not something that they’ve planned and she would never leave him out of the loop.

“Fred? Are you coming?” Ask (y/n) slightly annoyed. Fred makes a small sleepy nod before getting out of bed with a grunt and putting on some clothes. He walks out of his apartment, rocking a very messy bedhead as he covers his yawn with a hand and carries his shoes in the other. He opens the door to the car and sits in the passenger seat. He starts lacing up his first shoe and without shooting a glance to (y/n) asks “So where are we going?”

After a long silence, he looks up. (Y/n) has her hands on the steering wheel, she’s looking forward with a look of deep thought. Fred can practically see the gears turning in her head. She turns her head to look at Fred and slowly says “Well, I don’t know actually. I hadn’t thought that far.” She dives back into her head trying to rack an idea for a destination.

Fred shrugs, “then drive.”

(Y/n) develops an even more confused look, something that Fred did not imagine possible. “Just drive.” He explains simply.

“Oh.” She stuns. “Yeah, okay, let’s do that.” She shakes her head vigorously the words giving her a little strength. This really isn’t like her, Fred thinks. She normally has a smart and definite answer to everything. But today she seems confused and dares Fred even think, distraught. She starts the car and drives towards the end of the street.

“Uh (y/n), sweetie, it’s that way. This street has no exit that way.” Fred points his thumb behind him to indicate she’s driving in the wrong direction. She harshly steps on the break and Fred silently thanks himself for putting his seatbelt on a couple seconds earlier. “Right!” She exclaims remembering the street she has visited many times over the year that she and Fred have been dating. “Sorry.” She mumbles with red cheeks as she uses a neighbour's driveway to turn around.

They drive in silence for a very long time. Fred is scanning her face as she goes through nervous, calm, and confused states. He looks at her fidgety hands that can never remain in the same place on the steering wheel for more than a couple seconds. He turns his attention to her outfit. It’s nothing like what she normally wears, the opposite of what he would expect to see her in. She never looks at Fred, she just stares at the winding road ahead, sometimes mumbling things to herself, too quiet for Fred to understand. They are driving on a picturesque highway, the mountains on the left and the ocean on the right. Neither of them knows where they are or where they are going.

Fred spots a small building to the right of the street. Next thing he knows he’s pointing to it and ordering (y/n) to pull over in the small parking lot. The sign is small but it’s a little diner that states to be open 24/7. They’re the only car in the parking lot and (y/n) stops the engine.

“Let’s eat, yeah? Have you had anything today? I’ve got a hankering for waffles drenched in syrup with just a little whip cream on top.” He uses his index and thumb to represent the small amount of whip cream he’s thinking of. His eyes are bright for the first time since he woke up. The thought of the sugary breakfast gives him energy. (Y/n) laughs for the first time that morning.

She orders a plate of a dozen eggs and four cheese toasts. Fred thinks it’s the most absurd thing she’s ever ordered given that she doesn’t like fried eggs and isn’t a quidditch player on a training diet.

When the food arrives he finally asks, mouth full, “So, are you going to tell me what’s going on?” He gestures to her with his fork.

She pushes at the eggs on her plate with a look of disgust. “What do you mean?” She looks at him with wide eyes.

“This isn’t you love.” He points out simply. She sighs in defeat but doesn’t say anything. Fred gives her an encouraging nod and she sits up a little.

“Well, I overheard Harry and Ron talking about how much I plan things and I’m never spontaneous and while I’m flattered they said they would want me to plan their wedding, I realized they’re right. I mean, when have I done something without planning it?”

Fred chuckles. “Well you sure proved them wrong today”

“This morning I woke up and put on an outfit I hadn’t planned the night before. I think that would have been enough maybe. But then I walked out my door and the next thing I knew I hoped in a car and drove to you.” She sighs again, evidently uncomfortable with the lack of planning.

Fred drops his fork which creates a loud noise in the otherwise quiet diner. “Do you mean to tell me you stole that car?” Fred asks in a whisper, his eyes lighting up.

“No!” She disputes. “Well, depends.” She mumbles.

“Merlin (y/n)! You stole a car?” He exclaims. Fred sounds much too excited for a stolen car.

“Would you keep your voice down?” She snaps. “It’s my friend’s uncle’s car and while I didn’t ask if I could use it I knew he wouldn’t be and one time my friend said I could borrow it.”

She suddenly goes pale. “Godric, Fred.” she says slowly as she slumps in her seat and covers her mouth with her hand. “I stole a car.” The guilt on her face makes Fred want to laugh. Of course, he understands this is the end of the world for her but he couldn't be more proud.

She hops out of the booth and gestured to Fred to do the same. “We have to go Fred. We have to put that car back!” She exclaims. Her voice is laced with panic.

Fred turns in his booth to face his horror-struck girlfriend. He grabs her hands in his and looks straight into her eyes. His eyes are soft and warm and most of all calm.

“How are you calm Fred? I’m a criminal! You’re having breakfast with a criminal!” She blurts. Fred worries she might pass out. She’s gone pale and her hands are cold as ice.

“(Y/n), sweetie, let’s finish breakfast first. We have no clue where we are or how we’re going to get back so let’s start with getting some food in our bodies okay? Then I’ll help you return the car.” He’s so calm when he speaks, it convinces (y/n) to move back to the booth. Fred makes a whiny sound and pulls her back by the wrist.

“Come sit next to me.” He scoots further into the booth to give her space. She squeezes next to him as he pulls her plate to their side of the table. He laces his hand with hers and starts eating again.

“You know I love you even if you plan everything.” He states. (Y/n)’s cheeks turn red and her face suddenly contorts into a big pout.

“Really?” She asks weakly. She turns to look at Fred who smiles softly.

“Yes.” He states simply. “We balance each other out. Haven’t you noticed how much more spontaneous you are when you’re with me? I’ve noticed how much more I plan things when I’m with you. We’re helping each other. It’s no good to be only spontaneous or only organized. Together we can become both.” He moves back to his plate as if he were just talking about the last quidditch match he saw, leaving (y/n) stunned.

“Though I must admit I love what you did today. I won’t let you forget this one.” He chuckles and plants an adoring kiss on her cheek.

(Y/n) laughs again for the second time that day. It’s much longer and fuller. Fred can practically hear the stress escaping with it. He smiles to himself, happy he could help her.

She grabs at her cheesy toast and finally starts eating. “I hadn’t thought about it that way. I knew I felt calmer with you but I never realized how good we were for each other.”

Fred nods happily. “The perfect match.” He says proudly.

They take up a light conversation as they finish eating. Once back in the car they create a plan to get back. It’s not planned out to the second but it’s good enough to get them back into town. Fred holds (y/n)’s hand as she drives back up the winding roads.

“Cute outfit by the way.” He teases, smirking at her.

She grimaces. “Maybe I’ll keep planning that part of my life.” She offers.

Fred bursts into laughs and soon they are laughing together, the wind blowing in their hair, the radio blasting. It might be one of their best memories yet.

[bamby0304]

The Hart II: Highway

Summary: Off on her own, without the Winchesters, Bobby, Ellen or Jo, Lizzie tries to get back to what she does best… hunting. But time is running out, Dean’s soul is on the line, and now everyone knows Lizzie is psychic like Sam. Can the brothers and Lizzie work through their problems? Or will they lose everything?

Bamby’s Masterlist

The Hart Masterlist

The Hart II: Highway Masterlist

Part Ninteen: Just Sleeping

Warnings: Normal stuff. Some angst, bit of violence.

Bamby

SPOV

I sat at a bar, Long Train Running by the Doobie Brothers played in the background as I looked down at the half full glass of whiskey in front of me. I tilted the glass back and forward, in deep thought. All the hope I'd had the last few months seemed to have come to an end.

Dean's time was coming closer and I didn't know what to do anymore. I didn't know how to save him.

"There you are." Speak of the devil. I turned to see Dean walking up to me, worried. "What are you doing?" he asked.

I gave a simply shrug. "Having a drink."

"It's two in the afternoon. You're drinking whiskey?"

"I drink whiskey all the time."

"No, you don't," he argued.

"What's the big deal? You get sloppy in bars, you hit on chicks all the time," I noted. "Why can't I?"

He took a look around at the bar, noticing the older waitress and another woman, neither of which either of us would be interested. "It's kind of slim pickings around here." He turned back to me. "Liz and I have been looking all over for you. What's going on with you?"

Shaking my head, I didn't say anything right away as I looked down at my glass for moment or two before speaking again. "I tried, Dean."

"To do what?" Dean asked, clearly confused.

"To save you."

Sighing, Dean took a seat next to me as he nodded to the bartender. "Can I get a whiskey? Double, neat."

I shook my head at him again. "I'm serious, Dean."

"No, you're drunk."

"I mean, where you're going... what you're gonna become." I felt my eyes begin to water. Scoffing to hide my emotions, I went on. "I can't stop it." Looking down at my drink I admitted something I'd been trying to deny for a while now. "I'm starting to think maybe even Ruby can't stop it. But really, the thing is, no one can save you."

He shrugged. "What I've been telling you."

I looked to him again. "No, that's not what I mean. I mean, no one can save you, because you don't wanna be saved. I mean, how can you care so little about yourself?" When Dean scoffed and smiled, I sighed, getting agitated. "What's wrong with you?"

Before Dean could answer his phone started to ring. Answering it, he didn't hesitate to talk. "It's fine, Liz, I found-" He stopped, frowning as he began to stand up, something clearly wrong. "Liz, slow down. What's wrong?" There was another pause. His eyes locked on to mine as he spoke again. "Pack up the room. We'll be there in less than ten minutes," he told her before hanging up. "Liz just got a call from a hospital. Something's wrong with Bobby."

That's all he had to say. I was suddenly sober as I got up and we headed for the exit. Bobby was family. It didn't matter where the hospital was, if there was something wrong we'd be there.

EPOV

I stood next to Bobby's bed, looking down at his sleeping form. His unmoving, un-waking form. Everything I was feeling in that moment... I hadn't been that scared in years. Bobby was the only father figure I'd ever really had, he wasn't just my surrogate father, he was my father. Losing him... I'd never be the same.

"So, what's the diagnosis?" Sam asked from where he and Dean stood at the end of the bed, looking to the doctor.

The doctor shook his head. "We've tested everything we can think to test. He seems perfectly healthy."

"Except that he's comatose," Dean noted, a tone in his voice that told me how worried he was. Bobby meant as much to Sam and Dean as he did to me.

The doctor turned to me. "Miss Snyderson, you're his emergency contact. Anything we should know? Any illnesses?"

"No, he-he..." I found it hard to speak, feeling my throat get tight as I tried not to cry. "He n-n-never gets sick."

"He doesn't even catch cold," Dean added as he came over to wrap an arm around my waist comfortingly.

Sam looked over at me and then at Bobby before turning to the doctor again. "Doctor, is there anything you can do?"

"Look, I'm sorry, but we don't know what's causing it... so we don't know how to treat it. He just... went to sleep, and didn't wake up."

DPOV

Sam and I walked into Bobby's hotel room. We'd left Liz back at the hospital. She hadn't wanted to leave Bobby's side. Honestly, none of us had wanted to leave him, but we all knew the only way to figure out how to help him is to figure out what happened to him, and the only way to figure that out is to go digging.

"So, what was Bobby doing in Pittsburgh?" Sam asked.

I shrugged. "Unless he's taking an extremely lame vacation..." Closing the door behind me, I moved to stand in the middle of the room with Sam.

"I mean, he must have been working a job, right?"

"Well, you think there'd be some sort of sign of something, you know?" I noted as I headed over to the chest of drawers. Sam was right behind me, but as we opened a drawer up each, we found they were empty. In fact, the whole room was spotless. "Research, news clippings. Or a frigging pizza box or a beer can."

Sam stepped away from the dresser and over to the wardrobe, I watched as he opened the door and found some clothes hanging up. Pushing them aside, he nodded, having found something.

"How 'bout this?" He flicked on the wardrobe light.

As I moved over to check it out we found that the inside wall was covered in newspaper clippings, maps and pictures. The pictures were of roots, mushrooms and seeds. A map had to word 'Pittsburgh' written in big letters and underlined- I recognised Bobby's handwriting. There were post-it's with addresses and numbers. There was all the information a hunter might need.

I chuckled lightly. "Good old Bobby, always covering up his tracks."

"You make heads or tails of any of this?"

Reaching forward, I took one of the papers about plants and began to read. "'Silene capensis', which of course means absolutely nothing to me."

"Here." Sam grabbed a newspaper clipping. "Obit. 'Dr. Walter Gregg, 64, university neurologist'."

"How'd he bite it?"

"Um... actually, they don't know. They say he just went to sleep and didn't wake up."

I took the clipping from him and read it, seeing a lot of similarities. "That sound familiar to you?"

"All right, um... so, let's say Bobby was looking into the doc's death. You know, hunting after something-"

I cut him off, "That started hunting him."

He nodded. "Yeah."

"All right, stay here. See if you can make heads or tails of this." I gestured to the closet. "I know at least one person who might be able to answer some of our questions."

"Lizzie," he noted. "But what are you gonna do?"

Turning away from him, I started for the door. "I'm gonna look into the good doctor myself." I called over my shoulder as I left.

...

Walking into Dr Gregg's office, I found books and boxes cluttered all over the room. It was clear everything of his was already being removed despite the fact he only passed away recently. I found it a little insensitive but at the same time didn't really care.

"So you're Dr Gregg's lab assistant?" I asked Miss Sanders as she followed me into the room.

She gave a short nod. "That's right."

"Well, his death must have come as a shock to you," I noted, moving to his desk.

"Yeah, it did. But, still, go in your sleep, peaceful... that's what you wish for, right?"

"Yeah. Right." I grabbed a book from the desk, taking a look at it. "Dr Gregg uh... studied sleeping disorders? Dreams?" I asked, showing her the book.

Her face changed, going from polite to uneasy. "I don't understand. I went over all of this with the other detective."

I looked to her curiously as I put the book back down on the desk. "You already spoke to another detective?"

"Yes. A very nice older man with a beard."

"Well, I'd love to hear it again if you don't mind."

"Thing is, I'm sort of busy. Maybe we could do this later?"

It was obvious that she was trying to dodge me and my questions. But I wasn't letting her go that easily. "Sure. Yeah. Just bring you down to the station later this afternoon," her face fell as I went on, "and get your statement on tape, do it all official-like."

"Look, okay, I didn't know about Dr Gregg's experiments. Not until I was cleaning out his files."

"His experiments, uh...? The ones he was conducting on... sleeping?"

"No one knew, okay? Not the university, not anybody. I already spoke with a lawyer and he told me I can't be held liable for anything."

"Maybe you couldn't, but that was before the new evidence came to light," I lied through my teeth.

She suddenly looked more nervous. "New evidence?"

"Mm-hm."

"What new evidence?"

I thought of a quick answer. "I'm not at liberty to say."

She gave a sigh, clearly annoyed by the whole situation. "Look, I'm just a grad student. This was a gig to cover tuition."

"Maybe so. But, uh, still, this- this..." I gestured around the room. "This could go on your permanent record. Unless you hand over the doctor's research to me. All of it."

SPOV

I walked into Bobby's hospital room, finding Lizzie sitting next to him, holding his hand as she looked out the window deep in thought. I wasn't really sure how the two met, but it was clear they meant a lot to each other. She was his emergency contact, that meant something.

Clearing my throat, I got her attention. "Hey." I offered her a smile as she turned to me.

"Hey." She gave a small, half smile that didn't reach her eyes. "What did you guys find?"

I knew Lizzie enough to know that she didn't like beating around the bush. If I was here for help, she'd want me to get to it. So I did.

Walking over to stand by her, I offered some of the research I'd brought along. "I was wondering if you could help me with Silene cap-"

She cut me off, looking at the papers. "Silene capensis? It's an African Dream Root. I haven't seen the stuff in years. It's rare, expensive, and powerful."

Listening and watching Lizzie, there was a second there where I understood how Dean felt... Lizzie did seem to know a lot. At least she seemed to know a little about a lot of things. Either way, she usually had some helpful information, just like now.

"African Dream Root?" I asked, hoping she'd go into detail- she did.

"It's a plant you digest and gives you abilities in dreams. You can make bad dreams good, and vise versa. It may not seem so bad, but it's dangerous. If Bobby was researching a case involving the stuff..." She shook her head, looking up at me. "It's not good."

DPOV

Still dressed as a detective- only now for the Pittsburgh police department- I showed my badge to Jeremy Frost, one of Dr Gregg's patience.

He moved out of the way so I could step into his apartment. "Look, I don't know what the RA said, but, ah, I was growing ferns."

I chuckled lightly, walking in to stand in the middle of the room. "Take it easy, Phish, that's not why I'm here."

"Really?" he asked, when I turned to give him a reassuring nod he relaxed a little. "Oh, thank God. Okay."

"I wanna talk to you about Dr Gregg's sleep study."

"Yeah. Dr Gregg just died, right?"

"You were one of his test subjects, right?"

"Yeah." He turned and opened his fridge, pulling out two beers and offered me one. "Unless you're on duty or, whatever?"

I looked to the offered drink for a moment or two before making my mind up and taking it. "I guess I can make an exception."

Taking the bottle, I opened and brought it to my lips, enjoying the cool and refreshing taste. If Sam had been here he would have stopped me. If Liz had been here she would have shaken her head and grinned at me. But I was on my own, and I was gonna do whatever I wanted.

After another moment, I turned back to Jeremy, getting on with the interview. "Now, Dr Gregg was testing treatments for a, uh, 'Charcot-Wilbrand syndrome'? Which means...?"

"Um... I, uh... I can't dream." When I looked surprised, Jeremy went on. "I had this bike accident when I was a kid and banged my head pretty good and I haven't had a dream since. Till the study. You know. Sort of."

"What'd the doc give you?"

"It's this yellow tea. It... it smelled awful, tasted worse."

"What did it do? "

"Just passed right out. And uh, I had the most vivid, super-intense dream. Like a bad acid trip, you know?"

"Totally." Remembering that I was meant to be a cop, I corrected myself and go back into character. "I mean, no."

"That was it. I dropped out of the study right after that. I didn't... like it. To tell you the truth... it kind of scared me."

SPOV

"How is he?"

I looked over to see Dean walking into Bobby's room. "No change," I answered.

Dean looked around, confused. "Where's Liz?"

"I convinced her to go get some food. Thought it would do her some good."

He nodded, seeming to agree. "So, what you got?" he asked, moving over to me.

He'd called me on his way to the hospital and filled me in on everything he found out about Dr Gregg and the experiments he doctor was performing. During the conversation, we also agreed it would be best to keep the fact the doctor was dead from Lizzie. She wasn't dealing with Bobby's condition as well as Dean and I were. If she thought Bobby was in more danger than she already suspected, it wasn't going to help.

Getting straight to it, I began to tell him everything Lizzie and I learnt. "Well, considering what you told me about the doc's experiments..." I sighed, "Bobby's wall is starting to make a hell of a lot more sense."

"How so?"

I held up a picture of the Silene capensis plant. "This plant, Silene capensis, is also known as African Dream Root. It's been used by shaman and medicine men for centuries."

"Let me guess. They dose up, bust out the didgeridoos, start kicking around the hackey."

"Not quite. If you believe the legends, it's used for dream walking. I mean, entering another person's dreams, poking around in their heads."

"I take it we believe the legends"

We shared a look before I answered, "When don't we?" Never, by the way. We always believe them. "But dream walking is just the tip of the iceberg."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, this Dream Root is some serious mojo. You take enough of it, with practice, you can become a regular Freddy Krueger. You can control anything. You could turn bad dreams good, you could turn good dreams bad."

"And killing people in their sleep?"

I gave a short nod. "For example. So let's say uh, let's say this doc was testing this stuff on his patients, Tim Leary-style."

"Somebody gets pissed at him, decides to give him a little dream visit, he goes nighty-night."

"But what about Bobby?" I asked, looking over at Bobby as he 'slept' in the bed nearby. "I mean, if the killer came after him, how come he's still alive?"

Dean shook his head. "I don't know."

DPOV

Walking out of Bobby's room, we started for the vending machines, hoping to find Liz on the way.

"So how do we find our homicidal sandman?" I asked.

Sam shrugged. "Could be anyone."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Anyone who knew the doctor, had access to his dream shrooms."

"Maybe one of his test subjects or something?" Sam suggested.

"Possible. But his research was pretty sketchy. I mean... I don't know how many subjects he had, or who all of them were." When Sam scoffed I looked at him confused. "What?"

He gave a loud sigh. "In any other case, we'd be calling Bobby and asking him for help right now."

An idea occurred to me then, causing me to stop in my tracks. I grabbed Sam and stopped him too. "You know what? You're right."

It was his turn to look confused. "What?"

"Let's go talk to him."

Now he looked even more confused. "Sure. I think we might find the conversation a bit one-sided."

"Not if we're tripping on some Dream Root."

"What?"

"You heard me."

"You wanna go dream walking inside Bobby's head?"

I gave a simple shrug. "Yeah. Why not? Maybe we could help."

"We have no idea what's crawling around in there."

"Well how bad could it be?"

"Bad."

"Dude, it's Bobby."

He considered it for a moment before giving a short nod. "Yeah, you're right." He hesitated as if realising something. "One problem though. We're fresh out of African Dream Root, so unless you know someone who can score some..."

One name came to my mind then. "Crap."

"What?"

"Bela."

"Bela?" He looked confused again before his face fell as he understood. "Crap. You're actually suggesting we ask her a favour?"

"I'm feeling dirty just thinking about it, but yeah," I noted before I started walking down the hall again to find Liz.

EPOV

I sat on the couch in Bobby's hotel room. Dean sat across from me, his hand absentmindedly massaging my ankle as my feet rested in his lap, while his were stretched out onto the bed across from us. We were going through some information on the Dream Root.

On the other side of the room was Sam, who'd fallen asleep at the desk and was now drooling as he moaned and mumbled. He was enjoying himself, whatever the dream may be about.

"Hey." Dean's hand moved to my calf. So maybe it hadn't been an absentminded massage... "You got anything?"

Sighing, I shook my head as I reached down and put the papers on the floor. "Nothing I didn't already know."

"Maybe we need a break." He grinned, moving to place his papers down as well, his other hand slowly running further up my leg. His intentions were blatantly obvious.

"I'm not having sex with you in Bobby's hotel room, with Sam right at the desk. It's weird."

Dean gave a slight shrug. "He's fast asleep. We'll be quite."

"When are we ever quiet?" I couldn't keep myself from grinning back. "You're always trying to make me moan."

"And scream." He shifted so his knee was on the couch as he started to move himself on top of me. "Screams from you are rare. Makes me feel good."

"Sex makes you feel good," I noted with a raised eyebrow. "And don't think for a second that this," I gestured between us, "is happening. We're still in Bobby's room, and Sam is still-"

His hand slid to the inside of my thigh, mere inches from my underwear. Heat was radiating off both of us as I fell silent and closed my eyes, forgetting why I didn't want anything to happen.

All thoughts were focused on everything Dean was doing as he massaged my inner thigh, fingers inching closer and closer to my underwear. All I could think about is how much I wanted him to do more. I needed more. Sex was a great way to relieve stress, and lately we'd all been stressing out…

I let out a gentle sigh as he leaned closer and pressed a kiss to my neck. He was hovering over me now, his own body heat pressing against me as his hand moving closer and closer...

A moan from Sam brought me back to reality.

My eyes snapped opened just as Dean pulled away and looked over at his brother with a groan. "Son of a..." Looking at me again, Dean knew there was no way anything that might have happened would happen now.

I reached over and pressed a quick kiss to his lips before pulling back quickly. "After we fix Bobby and everything, we'll do whatever you want."

His eyes went wide, surprised and excited. "Really?"

I laughed lightly, nodding. "Really."

With a smug smile, he pulled away and got back onto his spot before looking over to his brother. "Sam, wake up!"

It took a moment before Sam woke and sat up, wiping the drool off his face. Both Dean and I chuckled at the sight as we got back to research. It was as if the sexual heat that had been pressing on me moments ago, hadn't been here at all.

Dean grinned. "Dude, you were out. And making some serious happy noises. Who were you dreaming about?"

"What? No one. Nothing," Sam answered a little too quickly.

"C'mon, you can tell me. Angelina Jolie?"

"No."

"Brad Pitt?" Dean asked, earning a gentle nudge from my foot as it rested in his lap again.

Sam turned around, almost looking at Dean and I as he snapped. "No. No! Dude, it doesn't matter."

"Whatever." Dean shrugged. "Liz called Bela."

It took a moment or two before Sam awkwardly responded. "Bela? Yeah? She- what'd she... You know, say? She... gonna... help us?"

"No. Which isn't much of a surprise," I sighed.

"That puts us back to square one," Dean added. "We've been trying to decipher the doctor's notes. Unfortunately, he has worse handwriting than you do." When Sam stayed where he was and said nothing more, Dean looked over at him again. "You gonna come help with this stuff? "

Sam shifted, stretching a little. "Yeah, yeah. Just give me a sec."

Is it just me, or is Sam being... odd? I watched him, wondering why he was acting a little strange. Was it about the dream he'd been having? Or had he heard Dean and me?

A knock on the door pulled my attention away from the youngest Winchester.

"I got it." Taking my feet off Dean's lap, I moved to answer the door. Before opening completely, I looked through the crack and sighed. "Bela." Letting her in, I watched as she moved to stand in the middle of the room and turn to me.

"You called me. Remember?"

"I remember you turning me down."

She grinned. "When have I ever turned you down."

Without a word, Dean got up and moved to stand next to me. I couldn't help but feel a little bit of jealousy and protectiveness coming from him.

From over at the desk, Sam spoke up. "Hey, Bela. What's going on?" He gave her a little wave.

Dean and I looked to him, confused for a moment, before we both turned back to Bela, waiting expectantly.

"I brought you your African Dream Root." Reaching into her handbag, she pulled out a jar of the stuff and handed it to me. "Nasty stuff, and not easy to come by," she noted as she began to take off her coat.

"We know," I told her as I handed Dean the jar.

He took the jar, looking at the contents before asking, "Why the sudden change of heart?"

"What? I can't do you a little favour every now and again?"

"No. You can't," Dean and I answered at the same time.

A smile formed on her lips as she looked from me, to Dean and then back. "Aren't you two adorable?"

Dean ignored her comment, pressing for a genuine answer. "Come on, I wanna know what the strings are before you attach them."

"You said this was for Bobby Singer, right?" When I gave a nod, she went on. "Well, I'm doing it for him. Not you."

I frowned. "Bobby? Why?"

"He saved my life once," she answered. "In Flagstaff."

"Why don't I know about this?"

She sighed at my question. "I screwed up and he saved me. I begged him not to tell you. It would be too embarrassing, and that was back when I cared about what you thought of me, okay? Are you satisfied?"

"Maybe." Dean shrugged, walking past her and towards the wardrobe where a safe sat.

She watched him, changing the subject. "So when do we go on this little magical mystery tour?"

"Oh, you're not going anywhere. I don't trust you enough to let you in my car, much less Bobby's head. No offence," Dean told her as he placed the jar in the safe where the Colt sat.

Bela sighed. "None taken." She waited until Dean finished with the safe before she turned to me expectantly. When all I did was shrug, she sighed again. "It's 2 am. Where am I supposed to go?"

"Get a room," Dean suggested with a short grin. "Ah, they got the Magic Fingers, a little Casa Erotica on pay-per-view. You'll love it."

"You-" Shaking her head, she grabbed the coat and handbag, storming to the door.

Sam jumped out of his seat, calling out to her as she left. "Nice to- Seeing you-" He was cut off as she slammed the door, ignoring him. "Bela," he finished with a sigh.

One again, Dean and I looked at him confused.

...

Sitting next to Dean on one of the beds, I watched as he grabbed two cups from Sam who had just finished making the three of us some tea out of the Dream root.

"Here." Dean handed me one of the cups.

I offered him a quick smile. "Thanks."

Turning to Sam just as he sat down, Dean looked down at the yellowish-brown mud-like looking drink. "Uh, should we dim the lights and synch up Wizard of Oz to Dark Side of the Moon?" He grinned.

"Why?" Sam asked, clearly clueless as to what Dean was going on about. I couldn't help but chuckle a little.

Dean looked genuinely disappointed. "What did you do during college?"

When Sam just looked at Dean as if to say, 'huh', Dean shook his head before moving to take a drink.

"Wait!" I lifted my hand to stop him, putting my hand in between his cup and lips- which ended in his lips lightly pressing against my hand.

Pulling back- a smug look in his eyes- Dean looked over at me. "What?"

"Here." I pulled a small envelope from one of my leather jacket's pockets. Reaching a few fingers inside, I pulled out some hair and moved to sprinkle a little in each of our drinks. "It's Bobby's hair. " I answered their questioning looks. "In order to control whose dream you're entering, you gotta drink some of their body."

Dean looked down at his drink as the hair floated on top. "Well, guess the hair of the dog is better than other parts of the body." Giving a light shrug, he lifted his cup in somewhat of a toast. "Bottoms up."

Sam did not look ready for this. "Yeah. "

The three of us clinked our glasses together before we downed the liquid as quickly as we could.

It tasted awful. I mean, I have never ever had anything like that. It was as if I was eating an old, mouldy sock, that had been stewing in a pot of sweat, dirt and ass. Just a whole lot of ass. There were also indistinguishable flavours, but they were the worst and I was trying really hard not to think about them.

…

After lowering his cup and waiting a moment or two, Dean spoke. "Feel anything?"

"No." Sam shook his head and looked to me. "You feel anything?"

"Nope," I sighed.

Dean lifted his cup, looking at the remaining contents which consisted of a few drops or so. "Maybe we got some bad shwag."

Thunder in the distance was heard, drawing our attention to the fact that it was now raining...

Sam looked over at the window, confused. "Hey, when did it start raining?"

Dean and I looked over at the window as well. It was Dean who got up to check though. He stood and handed me his cup as he moved to go check outside. But as he pulled the curtain back, what we all saw was extremely odd...

The rain was 'falling' up.

Sam and I stood as Dean turned to us again. "When did it start raining upside down?"

As Dean turned, the room changed. We were no longer in the hotel room, but instead in a dull and dim living room.

Looking around, Dean seemed to be freaking out the most. "Okay, I don't know what's weirder, the fact that we're in Bobby's head... or that he's dreaming of Better Homes and Gardens."

"Guys..." I moved to the wall and ran my hand over the paint. "Imagine the place without the paint job. More cluttered, dusty, books all over the place..."

Both brothers realised what I was getting at, at the same time. "It's Bobby's house."

Smiling lightly, I nodded. "Yeah."

"Bobby?!" Dean called out, walking closer to me.

Sam went the opposite way, moving to the opening of the living room by the stairs. "Bobby?" he whispered. "Guys?" He turned to us, no longer whispering. "I'm gonna go look outside."

Dean shook his head. "No, no, no, stay close."

"Dude, I'll be fine," Sam insisted. "Just, look around in here. Look, we gotta find him."

Seeing that his brother wasn't going to listen, Dean didn't bother arguing. "Don't do anything stupid."

With a simple nod from Sam, he walked out the front door. A moment or two later he closed the door behind him.

SPOV

After I stepped out into the porch, I was more confused than ever. Instead of a dark a dreary junk yard, the yard in front of me was bright, colourful and lively. The sun was shining, birds singing, colourful flowers in the garden. It was a technicolour, white picket fence cliché.

Behind me, the door suddenly slammed shut.

I turned and tried to open it, but it wouldn't budge. "Dean!" Walking to the window, I looked in to see Lizzie and Dean still in the living room. "Lizzie!"

Try as I might, they couldn't hear me yelling. They couldn't even hear me banging my fist on the wall.

Great...

EPOV

"Stay close," Dean told me as he grabbed the handles of the kitchen doors before sliding them open.

The whole house seemed so... normal. Clean, painted, furnished. It was as if a real family. Like ordinary people lived here. Bobby's place now was a bit of a mess- a huge mess if I'm being honest. But it was him, and I loved it. Walking in this home... I did not feel right at all.

Dean moved through the kitchen and towards the hallway on the other side. I was a step or two behind him, watching our surroundings closely. Since appearing in Bobby's dream, I hadn't been able to shake the feeling that we were being watched.

"Bobby?" Dean called in a hushed voice as he walked into the hallway and turned to me. He gestured for me to come closer, a look in his eyes telling me he was on edge as well. "Bobby!"

"Who's out there?" The voice was faint, and scared, but it was Bobby's.

We both turned to the door closest to us. The hallway closet door. I step closer to it, running my fingers over the many scratches running along the wood. It looked as if someone had made these marks with their nails.

Resting his ear against the door as he reached for the doorknob, Dean spoke. "Bobby, you in there?"

"Dean?"

"Yeah. It's me, Liz too. Open up."

Bobby opened the door and looked slightly relieved for a moment before he looked over our shoulders. He was quite clearly terrified. "How in the hell did you find me?"

"Sam, Liz and I got our hands on some of that Dream Root stuff," Dean answered.

Bobby looked confused. "Dream Root? What?"

"Dr Gregg, the experiments?" Dean tried to remind him.

Bobby threw him a glance. "What the hell are you talking about?" Before Dean or I could answer, the lights began to flicker. "Hurry." He grabbed my arm and rushed for the closet again.

Dean grabbed Bobby and stopped him quickly. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. What's going on?"

"She's coming." Was all Bobby said, in his scared and shaking voice.

I rested my hand on Bobby's. "This is a dream, Bobby. You know that, right?"

"What are you, crazy?"

"It's a dream, Bobby! None of this is real!" Dean snapped.

But as he spoke, a door opened behind him. My eyes went wide as I watched a woman dressed in white with blood on her chest, walked into the hallway. It took a moment or two, but I recognised her from some photos I'd seen before... it was Mrs Singer, Bobby's wife.

Bobby pointed over Dean's shoulder and to his wife. "Does that look made-up?"

As the three of us looked to the woman who was slowly stepping closer and closer, the closet door slammed shut behind us. Bobby turned and tried to open it again, but there was no use, it wouldn't budge.

Knowing there was no exit, Dean turned to the woman, needing to know what we were dealing with. "Bobby, who is that?"

Bobby's voice shook more as he answered, leaning against the door as much as he could. "She's... she's my wife."

DPOV

"Go." I grabbed Liz's arm and pulled her towards the kitchen. "Go!" Both Bobby and Liz moved for the kitchen as I backed up, keeping an eye on Mrs Singer. My priority at that moment was to keep Bobby and Liz alive. "Get to the living room," I told them.

Turning, I moved to rush as well. Reaching the doors of the living room just as Mrs Singer spoke.

"Why Bobby?" she asked, causing Bobby to pause and turned to her. "Why did you do this to me?"

"I'd rather died myself than hurt you," Bobby assured her.

"But you did hurt me. You shoved that knife into me. Again, and again. You watched me bleed. Watched me die."

Moving closer to Bobby, I grabbed a hold of his arm. "Bobby, she's not real."

"How could you?" Mrs Singer continued.

Bobby was close to crying as he shook his head at his wife. "You were possessed, baby. You were rabid. And I didn't know what I know now. I didn't know how to save you."

"You're lying. You wanted me dead! If you'd loved me," she was yelling now, getting more and more worked up, "you would've found a way!"

A small sob escaped Bobby. "I'm sorry."

"Come on!" Being more forceful as I grabbed him this time, I pulled Bobby into the living room.

Mrs Singer screamed as she started for the doors, but just as she was about to reach them, Liz lifted her arms and closed the doors with her mind.

...

Liz was still keeping the doors closed, but I could see it was taking a toll on her, which is why I was now leaning on the doors trying to help her keep them shut. Bobby on the other hand was still very clearly scared and unable to do anything as his wife continued to scream on the other side.

"I'm telling you, all of it. Your house, your wife, it's a nightmare!" I tried to get it through his head.

"I killed her," Bobby cried.

Sighing, I moved away from the doors in the hopes that Liz could handle it as I grabbed Bobby's shoulders. "Bobby! This is your dream. And you can wake up. I mean, hell, you can do anything."

"Just leave me alone. Let her kill me already."

"Look at me." I shook him. "You gotta snap out of this now! You're not gonna die. I'm not gonna let you die. You're like a father to me. You gotta believe me, please."

Bobby hesitated a moment, looking from me, to the door, to Liz and then back. "I'm dreaming?"

"Yes!" I snapped. "Now take control of it."

Turning to the door, Bobby closed his eyes tightly as if he were thinking hard, and suddenly, the banging and screaming stopped.

Liz didn't move at first, still holding the door until I let go of Bobby and moved to open them. Sliding the doors open I cautiously looked out, ready for Mrs Singer to jump out at any moment.

But she didn't. She was no longer there. Instead, all I found was Bobby's empty kitchen.

"I don't believe it." Bobby was completely shocked.

I turned around, breathing heavily, slightly out of breath. "Believe it. Now would you please wake up?"

SPOV

Walking around Bobby's garden, I came across the clothesline where clean, white sheets were hanging. The whole place was surreal. It was all so clean, and bright and oddly perfect. It felt more wrong than Bobby's dull living room had felt.

As I turned, I wasn't prepared to see a guy standing there. I also wasn't prepared for him to hit me with a baseball bat. I fell to the ground, holding my shoulder, groaning in pain as I looked up at him standing over me.

"Who are you?"

"Who are you?" he asked back, oddly clam. "You don't belong here."

"You're one to talk. You're in my friend's head."

"You got a poor choice in friends. This is self-defence. He came after me. He wanted to hurt me."

"That may be because you're a killer," I countered.

"You should be nicer to me. In here... you're just an insect. I'm a god." The guy lifted the baseball bat, aiming at my head. "Sweet dreams."

I lifted my arm, flinching, waiting for the hit as the bat began to come down hard and fast...

Bamby

[momscookingthebooks]

Chapter Reveal

Title: Payback

Series: Vigilante Justice #1

Author: Kristin Harte

Publication Date: January 25, 2018

#ChapterReveal #Payback #NewRelease #VigilanteJustice #KristinHarte 

Add to Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/36549869-payback

Synopsis:

In Justice, Colorado, the Kennards run everything, including the only big business in the area. Their sawmill employs most of the town, and the Kennard brothers live up to a long family history of keeping their neighbors and coworkers safe—until a motorcycle club comes to town and starts causing trouble. Big trouble. The kind that ends in funerals. The kind no law enforcement can help them with.  He carries the burden of protecting an entire town Being the oldest Kennard brother, I’ve got a centuries-old promise to uphold—run the family business to give the townspeople jobs and the sort of security they can only find in Justice. When a motorcycle club blows that plan apart, I’ll do anything to make them aware that they picked the wrong town to target. As a former Green Beret, I know just how to sabotage an enemy. The only weakness in my armor is my obsession with a five-foot-nothing blonde who unknowingly holds my heart in her hands. My attraction to her could cost me my life, but I’d sacrifice it all to save hers.  She owes a debt that could cost her life I’ve spent three years hiding out in Justice and paying off a debt to the Soul Suckers, one they’ve decided to collect whether I’m ready to pay or not. When danger lands on my doorstep, one man jumps in to help. Alder Kennard—former Special Forces soldier and current object of all my fantasies. But the Soul Suckers won’t let a debt go unpaid, and with the price on my head rising every day, it’s only a matter of time until they come back for me. Alder would put his life on the line to save mine, which is something I simply can’t afford.  Everyone has a debt to pay, and the only currency I have left is my body. So when the time comes, I’ll trade my life for his.

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Chapter 1

“We’ve got a problem, boss.”

If I hadn’t already been in a foul mood, those words would have gotten me there.

“What is it now?”

“Motorcycle gang up on Widow’s Ridge.” Camden Reese—born and bred in Justice, friend of my youngest brothers, and former Marine sergeant—launched into a speech about his team running into some bikers up by the Hansen property. We’d recently signed a contract with Miss Hansen to harvest eighty acres of dead Ponderosa pine on that hill, so anything getting in our way was definitely a problem. A big one.

As Camden laid out the events of the altercation, I checked over the satellite images of the area on my desk, making notes and marking locations. A star on the house to the west where the elderly Miss Hansen still lived, another to the east on the patch of earth where a trailer sat, all alone. The only two residences up that long, rough stretch of road leading to a drop-off on the far west side.

That rocky piece of land sat just outside the city limits, so things like road maintenance were all but forgotten unless the two residents brought them to my attention. No biker would intentionally ride up such a rutted, gravel road without a reason—too hard on their bike and their face if they were trailing someone else.

“He tried to call out Finn, but I squashed that shit,” Camden said, securing every bit of my attention for the moment. Finn—my second youngest brother, one of a set of twins, and the only Kennard ever to spend time in prison. He was also a recovering addict, and I had vowed to my dad that I’d keep him in recovery and not let him backslide. That had been ten years ago, and I still worried about keeping that vow every fucking day.

“What the fuck was Finn doing on a job?” My brother didn’t work for me except for the occasional project, and I knew for a fact he hadn’t been assigned to the Hansen job.

“He’d driven with me to check in on Miss Hansen. We never made it out there, though, because we ran into the bikers on the way up. One guy said some shit about Finn’s drug days, how they missed him over at the strip club in Rock Falls.”

Jesus. “You get a name?”

“Patch on his vest said Spark.”

“Spark.” I sat back, balancing my chair on two legs. “As in plug?”

Camden blinked, a cocky smile breaking across his face. “Yeah, like plug. I didn’t see the other guy’s name.”

“So Spark knows Finn from what…ten, twelve years ago? He look familiar to you?”

Cam shook his head. “Never seen him in town.”

That caught my attention. Justice was a small town planted squarely between two slightly larger towns, all in the middle of fucking nowhere. People didn’t happen into Justice—they came here for a reason.

And if that reason was named Finn Kennard, Spark and his friend needed to be dealt with and quick. “How’d my brother handle the run-in?”

“Finn ignored the bullshit from Spark. I wasn’t as restrained.”

Not surprising. Cam always did have a bit of a temper. “If the sheriff gets called again on you—”

Camden waved me off. “I knocked his legs out from under him and put him on the ground.

Didn’t even leave a mark, I don’t think. But I made my point.”

“And what point was that?” Not that I needed to ask.

“That Kennard Mills would be harvesting the lumber on that side of the hill, and their club had better not have any business up there. They drove off after Spark picked himself up out of the dirt, the other guy saying something about bigger fish.” Camden frowned. “I recognized the other guy.”

“Local?” I couldn’t think of anyone in Justice who rode with an MC, but I might have missed someone. Three hundred plus people were a lot to keep track of.

“No. He came into the truck stop one night when Leah and I were there for dinner.” He blew out a breath and shifted his weight. An almost unconscious gesture, but one that stood out. Normally almost confident to a fault, Cam suddenly seemed nervous, which meant I wouldn’t like what he had to say.

“Yeah?” I prodded, wondering how a night out with his wife would piss me off.

“Leah noticed something was up when she went to the restroom and came to get me. The asshole had Shye cornered in a back hallway and wasn’t letting her pass.”

The snap of the pencil I’d been holding breaking in two might as well have been a gunshot. “And you let him walk away?”

“I had Leah and Shye looking on. I had to.”

Picturing perfect little Shye—at least ten years my junior and so damn sweet, every one of her smiles would give you a toothache—watching as I kicked the shit of some asshole was about as unappealing as a thought could get. I probably would’ve wanted to do the same as Camden and let the guy walk with a warning if I’d been there. I wouldn’t have, but I’d have wanted to.

Because I wanted her, and the idea of Shye being scared of me made my gut sink like a rock. I needed to stop thinking about Shye Anderson. An impossibility as of late, which directly correlated to why my mood had been so foul all day.

I sighed, rubbing my forehead and sitting deeper into my chair, bringing all four legs back to the floor. “All right. So they rode off after you knocked Spark to the ground. Any indication they’d keep hassling you or come back for Finn?”

He shrugged. “Not really, though you never know with these types of guys.”

Lawless, clan-like, arrogant. Yeah. You never knew a damn thing with them. “Did you recognize the club logo?”

“Definitely the Soul Suckers.”

Of course. I’d heard they’d added a clubhouse not too far over the county line to the west. I probably wouldn’t have thought twice if I’d seen their bikes on the highway through town or heading toward the new restaurant on Main Street. I would now, though.

“Might be time to set the club straight on what they can and can’t do as they ride through Justice. I’ll talk to Deacon, see if he knows anyone. Head back to the ridge, and get the Hansen site plot worked out so we can start cruising and marking trees. This might be our last big harvest before the rains come, and I want to take advantage of the summer weather while we have it.”

“We’ll get it done.”

“Good. And if you see Bishop on the mill floor, have him call me.”

Camden nodded, then left without another word, leaving me to stew over this new mess.

Fucking messes all over the place lately, it seemed.  

I looked over my satellite images again, tracing roads and logging paths I’d known my whole life. Acres of Widow’s Ridge pine forest stared back at me, a mottled brown and green landscape. Half the trees stood dead or dying, a sign of the mountain beetle infestation that had nearly bankrupted my late father and destroyed Kennard Mills. But the bug that had nearly killed us had instead left us flush with jobs and cash. The droughts hadn’t stopped this mill, the industry collapse hadn’t either, and the fucking plague of beetles killing the forests around us had actually been a boon instead of a death knell. Everyone in Justice had enjoyed the bonuses beating our sales plans every month brought, and no fucking bikers would make us end that streak. I had a town to employ.

But Justice, Colorado was more than a town to me—it was my responsibility.

The place my ancestors had set down roots. Where they tended to each and every resident over the years, giving families time to grow good, strong roots. Kennard men had run Justice like a homestead for nearly two centuries with the mill as the central business fueling everything else, and I’d live up to the legacy set before me as the oldest living Kennard. That meant making sure people had jobs, food, shelter, and that they felt safe.

Another thing bikers wouldn’t be taking away from us, even though it seemed as if they were trying just that.

An annoying, robotic song interrupted my thoughts. The words “Bishop Kennard”—name of my closest brother who also happened to be my VP of sales and marketing—flashed on the screen of my phone as it played that stupid song again. I swiped to answer and brought the device to my ear.

“Bishop.”

“Camden said you wanted me,” he said, not bothering with a greeting.

“We’ve got trouble on Widow’s Ridge.”

“I heard. Finn all right?” Because, as the second oldest Kennard brother, our family would be the first thing on Bishop’s mind. As it should be.

“Camden thinks so. Let’s run by the bar tonight and be sure, though. And I’ll need you to check in on Miss Hansen—make sure she’s okay out there.”

“Sounds good. I’ll call as soon as we hang up. Anything else?”

“Sell some fucking lumber, Bishop.”

“On it, boss. I’ll be ready to go at six.”

I tossed the phone back onto my desk, the maps snagging my attention again.

One spot in particular, actually, and not the one belonging to Miss Hansen. I ran a finger over the east side of the hill, circling the little trailer on a barren, flat piece of rock. Just outside the city limits, it technically sat beyond my protective net, but Shye Anderson lived in that trailer. New girl in town at only three years since she moved to the area, waitress at the truck stop over in Rock Falls, and the only woman I’d ever met who could drive me mad with frustration and desire all at once.

I’d been ultra-aware of Shye since I first met her. Slightly obsessed, really. The girl captivated me; stole all my attention with her sweet little smile and never let me go. It didn’t hurt that she looked like a damn angel—long, blond hair and big, dark eyes, a tiny little body that I wanted to get my hands on more than anything else. Sweet as honey, that one, but she lived up to her name. She blushed and stuttered around me, avoided my eyes when I tried to catch her gaze. If I pushed too much, she ran, so I held back. Made myself available but waited for her to come to me.

Which is how I ended up eating at the truck stop five nights a week—all on Shye’s shifts. I’d had to up my workouts to keep from getting soft on all the grease and baked goods, but seeing that smile every night was worth it. The coffee—man, that was a harder pill to swallow. How a restaurant could have such bad coffee—especially one based out of a truck stop—was beyond me. I drank cup after cup of the foul brew so she’d come to my table more often to pour me refills. Without the coffee, I didn’t get much time with Shye, so I suffered.

And when I worked? I sent my guys in there. Shye had no family in Justice, so I made sure everyone understood they were to treat her as they would a Kennard. Making my men see her as mine kept them watchful around her. Hell, I paid Bishop to eat his lunches there so he could keep an eye on her, and everyone on my team headed that way at least once a day if I had to go out of town. They mocked me relentlessly for chasing her around like a damned puppy, but I didn’t give a shit. I needed to know she was happy and safe. That she had everything she needed…even if she wasn’t ready to willingly take things from me yet. We’d get there. Three years I’d waited for her to come around, and she would. Eventually. I just had to figure out the right plan.

As I pondered honey-blond hair, sugary smiles, and how many times I could use the excuse of working on the ridge to stop and see her at her place, my phone rang again—Camden, this time.  

I swiped to answer and hit the button for speakerphone. “If you tell me we have another problem, I’m going to toss a grenade in your truck.”

“So I shouldn’t tell you we’ve got a fire on the mountain?”

Motherfucker. The trouble with harvesting the blue-stained wood left behind by the mountain beetle infestation was the trees needed to cure standing for a number of years. But dead trees meant dry trees, and with the droughts of the past few years and the mild winters we’d had, that meant trouble. Big, dry, tinder-type trouble. A single lightning bolt could ignite an inferno, while a forest fire could destroy the whole damn town.

And apparently, we had one to deal with.

“Where?” I grabbed my keys and pressed the mill-floor alarm to get the team’s attention.

“Eastern slope. Just past the Hansen property.”

My steps stumbled, then sped. “That’s by Shye’s place.”

An engine roared in the background. “I’m already on my way there. Two minutes out.”

She could be hurt in two minutes. Dead. Jesus fuck, I was too far away. “Drive faster.”

I hung up and stormed down onto the mill floor. My team stood ready, looking at me expectantly, ready to fight the fires we knew could ruin everything we’d all built here.

“Fire just east of the Hansen site. Let’s get two water trucks up the eastern side of the ridge and send one up to the west side to be safe.” I met the eyes of Gage Shepherd, former Navy SEAL like Bishop and current heavy machinery engineer of Kennard Mills. “It’s close to Shye’s place.”

Without another word, Gage began issuing orders to the team. He understood the severity of the situation from every angle—the loss of our product, the potential for destruction in the town, and the possibility that the woman I had my eye on could be in danger. He’d get shit done for me.

As Gage loaded the water trucks with oxygen tanks and medical equipment—something that made my gut churn—his dog Rex trotted after him, looking as if he was headed for a joyride instead of into a fire. Wouldn’t be the first time he’d been on site at a fire, though. Gage never went anywhere without Rex.

While Gage made sure the team knew where to go and what to do, I raced to my truck. My heart pounded as I started the engine and peeled out of my spot, heading for the ridge where smoke was beginning to turn the sky black above the tree line. Fuck, if Shye was up there, if she was hurt—

I didn’t get to finish my thought because my phone rang right as I turned onto the highway heading toward the mountain. Camden again.

“Tell me good news.”

“She’s not here,” Camden said, sounding slightly out of breath. “It’s her trailer on fire, though.”

“The water trucks are on the way.”

“Don’t think they’ll do any good for her, to be honest, but we need them for the tree line. It’s so dry up here, a single spark could set the whole mountain on fire.”

Confirming my earlier thoughts. Fuck. I yanked the wheel sideways, making a sharp turn onto the road that would take me up to Shye’s place, looking over all the dead, brown pine on the hillside as I flew over the rutted, gravelly road. “Gage had the team rolling out right behind me. I’m four minutes out, though.”

“Want me to call the fire department in Rock Falls?”

Wouldn’t do any good at that point, which was why Kennard Mills had as many water hauling trucks as we did. “No use, though you’d better call the sheriff.”

“That useless piece of shit? What for?”

Useless wasn’t the term I’d use—corrupt sounded better for the county sheriff we were forced to deal with. I didn’t have time to correct Camden, though. “He’ll throw a tantrum if he’s not informed. Knowing him, he won’t come out to investigate anyway. Just make the call.”

“Yeah, got it…hang on.” Voices yelled in the background, and the sound of Camden moving fast created static on the line.

“Cam?”

“We’ve got a problem.”

That phrase spoken about my girl’s place made me want to growl my frustration to the universe. “What fucking problem?”

“There are motorcycle tracks in the dirt around her property. Lots of them.”

Rage unlike anything I’d felt exploded in my chest. “Call the sheriff and put the word out—anyone sees a fucking Soul Sucker in Justice, I want to know about it.”

I hung up and threw my phone across the bench seat before taking the switchback turn way faster than I should have. Not that the worry burning in my gut had anything to do with me—Shye owned that ache.

Shye may not have known it, but she was mine. I’d do whatever it took to protect her.

And if this fucking motorcycle club had threatened my girl?

I’d gut them and leave their bodies for the predators.

About the Author:

Kristin Harte started off as a chemistry major in college but somehow ended up writing romances featuring ex-military heroes and the women who knock them to their knees…literally and figuratively. She likes drinking in the shade, snuggling under a warm blanket on a cold evening, and researching how to blow things up. Her children know nothing of what she writes, and her husband just hopes he’s not at their Chicago-ish home the day the government shows up to confront Kristin about her Google search history. When not writing good men doing bad things, Kristin can be found writing paranormal romance as Ellis Leigh or co-writing naughty novellas as London Hale.

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