by Hamel, B. B.
It also helps that we’re paying Dean and his father a lot of money.
I smile and join my mom in the kitchen. “What’s for breakfast?”
“Pancakes,” she says.
I laugh. “It’s always pancakes.”
“I know, why’d you ask?”
I shake my head. “I’m going to go wake my lazy husband up.”
“Good. Tell him pancakes are almost done.”
I laugh and walk over to the stairs. Case and I got married after a year of living together. He figured we shouldn’t wait, and I agreed.
Why bother when this is so clearly forever?
I open the door to our bedroom. He’s still in bed, sprawled in the middle, the sheets a tangle around him.
“Hey, you,” I say, curling up against him.
“Hey,” he says, his voice low and muffled with sleep. He leans over and kisses me softly. “What time is it?”
“Nearly nine,” I say. “Dean already called for money and the pancakes are almost ready.”
“Another typical day.” He smiles and rolls around to face me. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m good,” I say. “How’s one of the last mornings you get to sleep in going?”
“Better now.” He grins and kisses me.
“Yeah, yeah,” I say, kissing him back.
We lay like that for a little while. We need to get up and go to meetings, but we’re in no rush.
I love that he’s sleeping in now. He never used to, not right after it all happened. He barely slept two years ago, barely did anything. But he’s such a different man now. It’s like all his best qualities are slowly overtaking all of his worst.
He’s lighter now. I like to think I have a lot to do with that.
And he brings out the best in me. Together, we’re doing some amazing things.
Case and I started the Jessamine Foundation out here in Seattle as soon as we got settled. Our goal is so help young, troubled teens with mental issues find the help they need before it consumes them. He likes to joke that it’s a serial killer prevention program.
But it’s not really a joke. That’s exactly what we’re doing.
We find kids that are at risk, that show signs, symptoms. We find them and we try to help them. Some were too far gone, but some are still normal people.
Still not killers.
I never thought this would be my life and my job. I never thought I’d be working with the love of my life to help save kids from becoming killers. I never thought I’d marry a rich, handsome, beautiful man.
But here I am, pregnant with his baby, and very, very happy.
“Come on,” I say. “I’m starving.”
He kisses me and gets up with a grunt. I roll out of bed, because that’s how you do when you’re pregnant.
I watch him get dressed, brush his teeth, and run his fingers through his hair.
“It’s not fair, you know,” I say. “You don’t need to try and you look like… that.”
He flashes me that smile, the smile that still gives me butterflies.
“You love it.”
“I know.”
He kisses me and we walk downstairs together.
“Food’s up!” Mom calls out as we come into the kitchen. She lives in her own little suite down on the ground level. We have the second and third floors, and she has the first, although most days she comes upstairs and cooks for us, just because.
We sit down and we eat. We talk about the coming day, we joke, we smile, we laugh.
It’s normal. It’s so normal, I could cry.
Every day I’m so thankful for normal. No more bodies, no more murders. Just the rain and our foundation and our growing family.
Fox is somewhere out there. We don’t know where and we don’t talk about him. I know Case left the man money, lots of money. Every penny he made from the sale of Hammett’s End and then some. Fox took it and disappeared. I hear rumors about him still staying in town, but I’m not sure I believe it.
That’s fitting. He was always a mystery to me, so he might as well remain one. Case says he’s dangerous, but I don’t know. It doesn’t matter anymore, not to me, anyway.
We don’t need the past anymore. We have each other. We have the future.
I have Case, my man, my everything. That’s all I could ever ask for and so much more.
THE END
* * *
Looking for your next new series? Try my Dark Daddies, lots and steamy Daddy action to keep you hooked!!
Or keep reading for the next Pine Grove book!
Sign up for my no-spam newsletter and get awesome bonus material plus a FREE novella! http://www.bbhamel.com/signup
Follow me on Amazon and like me on Facebook!
If you liked this book, please consider leaving me a review. That really is the best way you can help new readers find my work, and I would seriously appreciate it!
I want to hear from you! Message me any time: [email protected].
His Demand: Pine Grove Book 2
1
Celine
It’s late and the locals are freaking drunk.
It always happens like this, every single night. There’s really no other decent bar in town so everyone comes to Hammy’s, drinks way too much, and gets wasted as hell. Apparently, nobody cares about drinking and driving here, either, which is a shame. But I’m not the police.
I’m just the bartender. I pour their drinks, listen to them complain about how awful and boring Pine Grove is, and I take their rare tips.
I’m leaning up against the bar, feeling bored, tired, ready to get the heck out of here, when the front doors open. I frown a little, since we’re closing soon, and people don’t normally come in this late. But the man that walks inside immediately wipes that frown away.
He’s tall and muscular with a sharp look to his bright green eyes. His hair is thick and dark, short on the sides and pushed lazily back. He has a short beard, more like a late shadow. I’d guess he’s thirty, maybe thirty-five.
And he’s absolutely gorgeous.
He stands out like the sun in the middle of the night. Pine Grove is a small town, tiny really, and I haven’t met many guys I’d be interested in. There are a bunch of small-town types, farm boys with broad shoulders and easy smiles, but none of them ever draw my eye.
This guy, though… I can’t look away.
He’s wearing broken-in boots and jeans that fit him just right. The sleeves of his Henley are pushed up, showing tattoos on his forearms, and a peek of ink on his chest. As he walks over and sits down, I can tell that everyone in this place is eyeing him up, some warily, some with open interest.
He watches me and for a second, I forget that I work here.
But I come to my senses. “What can I get you?” I ask him.
“Whiskey,” he says softly. “On the rocks. Please.”
I smile and get his drink, feeling a buzz in my stomach the whole time.
There’s something about the way he looked at me. Not in a hungry way, like some of the guys in town, like they’re desperate to touch a woman they didn’t grow up with. No, he looked at me like he knows I’m looking back.
And he doesn’t mind it one bit.
I put the drink down and he shifts his weight, picking it up and taking a long sip. “Never seen you before,” he says finally, putting the glass down.
“I’m new in town,” I say. “Moved here about a week ago.”
“You just started working at this place?”
“Yeah, a few nights ago.”
“Lucky. Not a lot of jobs left around here.”
I sigh. “I know, that’s what everyone tells me.”
He laughs softly. “Guess I’m starting to sound like a local.”
“You’re not?”
He shakes his head. “Moved here six months ago.”
“Well, a fellow transplant. Where are you from?”
“New York,” he says, but he doesn’t say whether he means the cit
y or the state, and I don’t press him. “You?”
“Out near Milwaukee.”
“Midwestern girl. Should’ve known.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“You seem nice. It’s always easy to tell a Midwestern girl.”
“That’s such a crappy stereotype.”
He laughs again. I like his laugh, low and gentle, like the rumble of thunder. “You’re not nice then?”
“I’m nice when I have to be.” I give him a sweet smile. “But I don’t always have to be nice.”
He grins and sips his drink. I don’t know what I’m doing, flirting with this man, but I can’t help it. Before he can ask another question, the silver-haired man at the end of the bar flags me down, and I have to leave my stranger behind.
“One more, please,” the silver-haired man says to me. I don’t know his name, but he comes in all the time and everyone seems to know him. I can’t tell if he’s thirty or sixty, but I’d guess older rather than younger if someone made me bet. You can see it in his eyes and the way he drinks, like every drink is his last.
In this instance, it really might be, since we’re closing. “Gin?”
“Please.”
I pour his gin and tonic and hand it back to him. “We’re closing up soon,” I say.
He nods but says nothing.
I can feel the new stranger’s eyes on me as I go about the closing routine. “Last call, everyone,” I call out and a few men groan. “No complaints, now. Church will open for worship again tomorrow.”
I get a few laughs at that one as I start closing out tabs and cleaning glasses. I can feel the man’s eyes on me the whole time, those glass green eyes like two perfect bottles.
When I’m nearly finished and the place is cleared out, I stop in front of him. “You plan on staying here?” I ask.
He shrugs. “If you’ll let me, I’ll follow you home.”
I shake my head, unable to stop myself from smiling. “That’s the creepiest pick-up line I’ve ever heard.”
“This is Pine Grove, darlin’. That’s the least creepy thing you’ll ever hear.”
I roll my eyes but I’m still smiling, and he knows it.
“What are you doing after this?” he asks me.
“I don’t know,” I say. “Probably going home and sleeping. It’s after two in the morning.”
He shrugs. “Night’s young.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” His gaze bears down at me, like weights.
I feel myself squirming a bit. “It’s been a long shift.”
“How old are you?”
The question feels so random. I’m a little taken off guard, so I answer. “Twenty-two.”
“You ever bartend before?”
I nod. “For a few years back home. I was eighteen when I started.”
“So, you know how it goes then.”
“I don’t think I do,” I say, leaning near him. “Why don’t you tell me?”
He gives me that laugh again and finishes his drink. “Back where I’m from, all the bartenders and food servers go out later, after their shifts. That’s when the real fun starts.”
“Not much to do after hours here, though.”
“No, maybe not,” he says softly. “But I know a place.”
I frown a little. I hadn’t heard of any after-hours places, and I did actually ask Mae about it. She just shrugged and shook her head and said that Pine Grove doesn’t do after hours.
Pine Grove is full of honest, hardworking folks, she said.
I didn’t really believe her.
“Where is it?” I ask.
He gives me an appraising look. “I’m not sure you’d like it. You’re a fine, upstanding Midwestern girl, after all.”
“Try me.” I don’t know why, but I suddenly feel like this guy is testing me.
And I want to pass his test.
“It’s a place on the edge of town, one of the old warehouses that closed down after the factories went bust. Some enterprising youths snatched it up and run a late night place out of there.”
I purse my lips. I hadn’t heard of this, but then again, I’ve only been in town for a little while.
“You keep talking about people being young,” I say to him. “How old are you, anyway?”
He grins. “Don’t try and change the subject.”
“I’m not. But if I’m going to some sketchy illegal warehouse club with a stranger, I might as well find out how old he is first.”
“Fair enough. I’m thirty-five.” He pauses. “And my name’s Dawson, by the way.”
“Celine. Nice to meet you.”
We shake hands, and that smile comes back. It’s a little spark in his eye and it sends a shiver down my spine.
He releases my palm. His hand was rough, like he labors all day, but he doesn’t look like a worker. He’s muscular and lean like one, but he’s missing that brokenness. He’s not worn down like all the other men in town.
“So, what do you say, Celine? Want to see the finest after-hours bar Pine Grove has to offer?”
I laugh a little and sigh. “Okay, fine.”
His grin gets bigger. “I thought you might.”
“I need to close up first, okay? Wait outside for me. I won’t be too long.”
He shrugs. “I can help.”
“That’s okay. I got it.”
“Okay then.” He puts a twenty down on the bar. “I’ll see you out front, little Celine.”
I glare at him for that, but he just smiles and leaves through the front door.
I hesitate, standing behind the bar. I take the twenty and make change, pocketing what’s left. Not many people tip well in Pine Grove, let alone tip like that.
Which means he either has money or wants to appear like he has money.
I can’t tell which it is. I don’t know Dawson well enough to say yet. He could be a hustler, full of bullshit and bravado, but I don’t know. I’ve met guys like that before, back when I was tending bar in my hometown. There were plenty of assholes that thought they were hot shit even though they leased fancy cars they couldn’t afford and lived with their parents still to save on rent.
Dawson seems different somehow. There’s an edge to him that I like, almost as if he’s more alive than anyone else I’ve met so far, and I’ve barely talked to him. I probably shouldn’t go, it’s probably not safe, but I just don’t care about that.
I’ve had enough of safe. I know what safe gets me.
That’s why I moved to Pine Grove. I want to escape my old life. I want to start completely fresh.
The old Celine would’ve said no, would’ve gone home alone and gone to sleep. But I’m not the old Celine anymore.
Besides, I need to make friends here. I don’t know if Dawson’s looking for a friend or something else, but I’m willing to find out.
So, I go through my closing routine, and when I lock the door for the night, I find him sitting in the front seat of a nice, black truck, smiling out at me.
“Ready?” he asks.
I take a breath and let it out. “Sure,” I say, and climb in.
2
Dawson
I glance at the girl riding in my truck and can’t help but feel like I’m making a fucking mistake.
I’ve kept a low profile these past few months, ever since leaving the city and coming out here. I haven’t gone looking for trouble, although trouble always seems to come looking for me. Even still, I’ve kept to myself, avoided any major mistakes.
I’ve been fucking good.
I knew all that good was going right out the window when I saw Celine, though. Dirty blonde hair, wide blue eyes, full, perky tits, easy smile, wide hips. She’s everything I look for in a woman and maybe a little more.
I’m not surprised she came with me. It’s not her fault, not really. I have this effect on women, always have. I don’t know if it’s a blessing or a curse, and sometimes it feels like both. Right now, it feels especially rough, considering. I’ve tried so hard to
keep to myself, been so fucking good.
And now, with this girl in my truck, I want to be bad.
I want to be very fucking bad.
“So where is this place?” she asks me as I drive through town.
“Over near the Wendy’s,” I say. “You know that old gas station over there?”
“Sure.”
“There’s a warehouse down the street, at the end of the block. Looks rundown and abandoned, because it is.”
“But it has a club inside?”
I nod. “I met these two guys during my second week here, young guys, came from somewhere in California. They’ve been trying to get me out here for a while now.”
She laughs a little. “You’ve never been?”
I shrug. “I don’t normally go out this late.”
“Oh, and here I thought you were so cool.”
I smirk at her. “Only in comparison to you.”
That makes her laugh. “Please. You don’t know me at all.”
“True. Guess we’ll find out.”
She gives me this look across the cab and I know she’s sizing me up. She’s wondering what kind of man I am, wondering if she made a mistake coming out here with me.
Maybe she did. I can’t tell yet. It depends on how bad I really want to get.
I find the club easily enough. There are a lot of cars parked along the block, more than usual. I find a spot and we get out, and right away we can hear the thumping bass coming from the warehouse.
“So much for being subtle,” she says.
I laugh. “These guys didn’t strike me as the cigar and whiskey bar types.”
“I didn’t think Pine Grove would let a club like this exist.”
“They probably don’t.”
“Why aren’t the locals complaining then?”
I purse my lips. “If I had to guess, I’d say they are. But the cops don’t care if they keep getting bribed.”
She frowns. “You really think they can bribe the police?”
