Vengeance On the Run

by Wylder Stone

  Owen smiled at the reference. “He sure is something, kid.”

  Trista dropped her head. “Crap. I’m getting a dog.”

  “Affirmative,” one of the brothers answered.

  Trista slapped her hand over her face when Owen turned to Tyson and said, “We’ll take him.”

  “And what name will I be yelling when he does all the stuff he’s not supposed to,” Trista asked sarcastically.

  Owen shrugged. “We should name him something serious. Tough. Like Bronco or Tank.”

  Mason gave Owen an odd look. “He already has a name. Uncle Tyson says it all the time. I’m just not allowed to say it.”

  Tyson let out an uncomfortable chuckle, feeling on the spot. He usually called the dog a few choice colorful words that summed up his behavior. “That’s not really his name. Just a nickname. You should call him something else so you don’t get in trouble.”

  “Good idea, Uncle Tyson,” Trista said with a sharp side-eye for her brother-in-law. “Let’s pick something Uncle Tyson hasn’t called the dog.”

  Owen went from laughing to straight-faced and bewildered. “ Yeah, I can’t go around calling him…any of those! I’ll get banned from every park that has a kid in it when I’m chasing a dog yelling profanities. I think we’ll go with something safe, like Killer.”

  “Killer? Yeah, sounds safe, Owen.” Trista didn’t care for the name but found it more appropriate than anything Tyson had called him out of frustration. There was something about Killer that might be off-putting to anyone with less than good intentions too. Maybe Owen was right, and it was a safe name.

  She looked at her son. “Remember, Mason, this is Owen’s dog. When Owen goes home, the dog will go with him. You understand that, right?”

  “Yep!” the boy replied happily. “Can he sleep in my room?”

  Owen shrugged. “Sure, why not.”

  “Mason? He’s Owen’s dog,” Trista said one more time.

  Mason looked up at Owen, grabbed his hand, then looked at his mom as they walked away to drive home the point that he understood. “Let’s go, buddy. We need to take your Killer home!”

  “My Killer.” Owen laughed. “Maybe we should think about that name a little longer after all.”

  “Why?” Mason shrugged. “It’s a good name.”

  6

  Late in the evening, Mason had fallen asleep on the dog while watching a movie. Owen scooped him up, taking him to his room for the night. Killer, the dog, followed and cozied up on the large rug next to Mason’s bed and went to sleep. So much for being his dog. Killer clearly chose Mason.

  He closed the door part way and walked across the hall, leaning against the spare room doorway where Trista was making up the bed with fresh linens for him. Owen offered to take the couch again, but she insisted he take the bed in the spare room, following up with something about the uncleanliness of sleeping on a couch, and she wasn’t going to let him ruin it. Trista was opening up to him but still remained guarded, hence following a nice gesture with a jab. It was to be expected.

  “You’ve become very domestic,” Owen said, startling Trista while she was tucking in blankets.

  “I like having a simple life. It comes much easier. It’s good for Mason too. He gets to be normal. So different from how I grew up.” The idea of nannies and boarding school for Mason, like she had as a child, was distressing.

  “Well, it suits you,” Owen concluded, hoping it came across the right way.

  Trista leaned against the wall next to the bed with her arms and ankles both crossed. “I’m happy. This is not the life I ever dreamed of having, but dreams change and sometimes for the better.”

  Nodding, Owen could relate. “What’s your dream now?”

  A long pause sat between them before Trista pushed off the wall, and said, “My dream is for you to go to bed and stop trying to get into my head.”

  Trista started to walk away. Owen might have apologized and tried to make things right, but she wasn’t ready, especially given the looming danger. Trista wanted to trust him again but didn’t, at least not with her heart.

  Owen grabbed her arm as she passed him to leave the room. Pulling her close, he leaned in and kissed her. At first, Trista gave in, taking all he was offering, but then she abruptly stopped and pushed him away.

  “Just catch the bad guy, Force, so you can leave again.” Trista walked away, leaving her words to sting, then closed the bedroom door behind her at the end of the hall.

  Owen wandered around the house, checking all of the windows and doors one more time, but more than that, he was stuck on her words. He thought they’d made progress earlier in the day by the lake, but Trista pushed back when things got serious. It was understandable, to a point. She was afraid to let him in and risk another broken heart. She said it herself without really realizing it. Trista was afraid he would neutralize the threat and retreat again.

  He stood in the dark, staring out the front window, daring anything or anyone to make a move. The memory of leaving Bear Springs the last time raced through his head. The vision of her in his rearview mirror crushed him. No wonder Trista was reluctant to let him back in – even as a friend.

  His heart never changed for her, and Owen spent every minute of the past two years fighting for her. The problem was, during those two years, she just lived in pain, unaware of how hard he worked for her and continued to love her. He’d fix it. All of it.

  On his way back across the house and to his own room down the hallway, he stopped to check on Mason and Killer one last time. The dog lifted his head quickly at the sound of Owen but rested it again when he saw who it was. He had a dog. The idea of such and how it came about made him smile. Something he didn’t do often.

  Owen grinned, remembering the excitement Killer stirred in Mason. He liked the kid. Mason was cute, unintentionally funny, and called Owen his buddy. It was an endearing term that at one point would have made Owen do a quick one-eighty and head in the other direction. Not this time. He liked that the kid thought of him as a friend.

  Just as he’d made his way to his room and was about to close the door, something caught his attention. A sound. Not a scream, but something that spelled distress of some kind. There was something wrong, and it was coming from Trista’s room.

  Stepping into the hallway, Owen noticed Killer heard it too and was on high alert, guarding Mason’s doorway like he was trying to sort it out himself – trouble, but what kind?

  “Good dog,” he whispered as he passed the dog, who didn’t budge.

  Without even a knock, Owen let himself in Trista’s bedroom and went right to her side. He didn’t need to assess the situation before entering, but the minute the door opened and he saw her silhouette, it was clear what was happening. She was sitting upright, grasping at her chest, and he could hear her heavy breathing. She was sweating, panicking even as her body trembled in obvious fear. She was petrified. A nightmare or a night terror maybe. Either way, she was being haunted by a past she couldn’t shake and an invisible predator at present. Her tough exterior had boundaries, and they’d been crossed by everything wrong in her world while they preyed on her psyche while she attempted to rest. It wasn’t fair, and somehow, he felt responsible.

  Taking a seat at her bedside, he wrapped his arms around her and whispered words of comfort while she attempted to gather her thoughts and composure. When she finally relaxed in his arms, she began to cry as if she was letting out every fear she’d held harnessed and clung to for the past two years. Her haunting past was toying with her mind.

  “It’s okay,” he whispered over and over while stroking her hair. “You’re fine. You’re safe.”

  It pained him to see her this way. This wasn’t just a nightmare. This was torture, and she had been dealing with this for years on her own. Trista didn’t do this before he left.

  “Shhh… I’m not letting anything happen to you. It’s all over. It wasn’t real.”

  Her painful sobs were fading to silent cries. It was
hard to say if this was more because he was finally here and she could get it all out, or if Trista went through this process every time she was alone. It crushed him to think that it was the latter. Nobody deserved to live like that.

  “I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. Not ever again. I got you.” Continuing to reassure her was all he could do until Trista eventually calmed into a fitful rest as she leaned into him.

  After laying her down gently, Owen stood from her bed, ready to spend the night perched in the chair in the corner of her room. He wanted to be close, just in case. When he walked away, Trista stopped him with a soft whisper.

  “Will you stay? Just until I fall asleep?”

  It warmed him that she wanted him to stay. Trista was vulnerable, and her guard was down.

  He was ready to protect what she couldn’t right now. “Of course I will.”

  Owen slid into the bed behind Trista and pulled her close so he could hold her, and she could feel comforted by him being there.

  “Does that happen often?” Owen asked.

  “Almost every night,” Trista whispered back.

  Shocked by her admission, he stilled. Her words coursed through him and left an ache in his chest. It was his fault.

  “I’m so sorry.” That was all he could say because there weren’t words to properly represent how he felt knowing the state he had left her in.

  The danger she’d been in was put to rest – six feet deep, in fact – but the repercussions remained. Long after the threat had been neutralized. Long after he had left her. And now there was a new threat on the horizon. One with his name on it, headed straight for Trista. Mark was coming. Owen knew, and clearly, Trista’s nightmares knew it. Even at a distance, a predator was at play, wreaking havoc. Winning.

  When her body settled, her breathing calmed. Trista was back to sleep. He was only supposed to stay until then, but Owen had trouble leaving her side because her fear was now his to carry. He would stay and fight her nightmares for her.

  Trista woke with a smile on her face, feeling him behind her. For the first time in who knew how long, she felt rested in that familiar embrace that left her feeling happy and safe. Once fully awake, however, Trista suddenly remembered why he was behind her. This wasn’t a dream. Owen was there because of her nightmare. Bolting up from the bed, she pulled the covers over her body in a panic.

  “Owen.” She shook him. “Owen, get up. Hurry up. You need to get out of here.”

  “Hmm…I’m up,” he said, still half asleep.

  “Owen, I’m serious.”

  “So am I. Who could sleep with you barking orders like that?” he said, rubbing his hands down his drowsy face.

  Trista looked at the door and listened for any sign of Mason. He didn’t seem to be awake, but the dog certainly was, and he was sitting in her doorway, staring at her with his head half-cocked.

  “I think Killer wants out.”

  He responded in a throaty tone, “I’m sure he does.”

  Trista turned and shoved Owen’s shoulder so he would roll the other direction and off her bed. “Your dog wants out! Hurry up before Mason sees you in my room and in my bed.”

  Owen took to his feet and kissed Trista’s forehead before taking care of the dog.

  “Don’t. Don’t do that,” she scolded

  “Sorry. Old habit.” Owen pulled his shirt over his head, readying to follow the dog down the hallway.

  She scolded him so as not to break the pattern she started the day before with the boundaries she was setting and to remind herself she didn’t want anything to do with him. She didn’t want to trust him to stay, but she did trust him to protect her and her son, despite those boundaries.

  “Stop it. We’re not a thing. Last night was…” She was unable to finish her thought. She didn’t know how to define the night before. She’d needed him, welcomed the comfort, but not for any reason other than she had been feeling vulnerable. For the first time in two years, she wasn’t alone during one of her moments.

  “What? Last night…it was what?” Owen asked, fully aware of what he was doing to her. Forcing her to face her demons and come to terms with the fear she lived with.

  “Probably your fault. That’s what it was. You told me about Mark Thomas, and it brought back bad memories. What else could it be?” Confident in her argument, she got out of bed and followed him to the kitchen to let the dog outside.

  “Then why’d you ask me to stay?” The line of questioning had only begun, and Owen was tripping her up already. He watched closely and studied her body language while she filled the dog’s food bowl as a distraction from his interrogation.

  Trista didn’t have an honest answer. She didn’t have an answer at all other than fear and vulnerability, but for some reason, she couldn’t voice it. Not to Owen. It said far too much about how she felt about him – feelings she didn’t want to get into. “I was half asleep. Thought it was a dream and didn’t know what I was doing.”

  She finished with a shrug, sold on the idea herself.

  “At some point, you have to be honest with me, and that means being honest with yourself,” he fired back. “It’s okay to be worried and even afraid. It’s not okay to lie about it and pretend all is right in your world. You need to keep your guard up. You need to worry, and you need to be a little afraid.” Owen was testing her. He was pushing her to get an honest answer because she’d yet to be honest since his return. There is a dangerous man in their midst with a target on her, and she was more concerned with taking jabs at Owen and living in denial.

  “I am scared. I am worried. Okay? I was so scared, like I always am when I wake up from those nightmares. Okay? Happy?”

  He wasn’t happy. That wasn’t at all what Owen wanted to hear despite saying that was how she should feel. Provoking her as he did was supposed to draw strength from her. Make her stand up to him and fight back. The right kind of fight. He needed her to fight, not to live in that place she’d been in two years before. It was time for her to break free and actually live. It was awful, really. She had been living in painful fear for all this time, fighting it alone the wrong way – or at least from what he witnessed in his short time with her.

  Standing in front of her, he cupped her face in his hands and looked into her eyes, hoping she would feel the emotion of his words and let him help her through every last nightmare. “Tris, you’re safe. Mason is safe. Okay? I will breathe my last breath before I let anything happen to either one of you. I promise. I’m only trying to get you to stand up and fight back. Don’t sit here and take it because as long as you are, you’re living in the grips of your past and the control of present danger.”

  Locked in each other’s gaze, neither said a word and just let the words he shared sink in. Owen said he would die for them. Trista believed that, but it left little comfort because her heart would die right along with him if it ever came to that. Living up to the strength he was daring her to harness meant admitting more than just fear. It meant digging deep into feelings she’d rather leave dormant. She hated him for making her want to let him in completely and stand beside her. This wasn’t just her battle to fight. It was only her battle that initiated this. They’d waged her war and won. This was about Owen and Mark wanting him dead for being her ally. It was a new state of war, and she needed to decide if she could stand beside him once more, as he’d stood beside her, and help him take down his own demons.

  Like a train derailing, Killer ran right back through the door, knocking things over in his path and breaking their moment. “If that dog pees on my carpet or chews up anything but his bone, you’re both sleeping outside,” Trista warned, causing Owen to throw his hands up in surrender.

  Like thunder rolling through the house and down the hallway, it was easy to track the dog's movement by sound. He’d gone right back to his boy. He didn’t even stop to eat.

  Before she could react or make a comment, Trista’s cell phone rang, drawing her to the living room where she’d left it the night bef
ore to charge. Given the early hour and unusual time for casual calls, Owen assumed it was related to work. He started a pot of coffee and tried to listen in, but no such luck.

  “Well, there goes the morning,” Trista said, walking back into the kitchen, her frustration evident. “One of my people didn’t show up, and the morning shift is locked out.”

  “There isn’t anyone else with a key?”

  “No. Garret and I alternate opening and closing. Just the two of us,” Trista clarified. “Mason is going to be a bear. He was up so late.”

  “Then leave him. I’ll watch him,” Owen offered.

  Trista began to vigorously shake her head. “Uh, no. That’s a bad idea.”

  Sitting on a barstool at the end of the kitchen island counter, Owen crossed his arms and furrowed his brow, not sure if he should be offended or not. “Why? Why is that such a bad idea?”

  “Well…” Not able to come up with a good answer other than she just didn’t want him to, she tossed out the first thing that came to mind. “He’s…little.”

  “Little? That’s your reason? It’s not like he’s in diapers, or I’d be breastfeeding the kid.”

  An odd expression of disgust landed on her face. “That was weird, and yes. That’s my reason…he’s little.”

  In total disbelief, Owen straightened. “And?”

  “And you’re not.” Trista moved around the kitchen with her confident reasoning, poured herself a cup of coffee and pretended she didn’t find those excuses as lame as he did.

  “Isn’t that how it’s supposed to be? He’s small. I’m big…big one is in charge.”

  “Well, yes, but…this is different.”

  “Different how, Trista? What are you not saying here?”

  “Different because…” There was no real reason other than she didn’t want them building a relationship. Owen was here for a reason, and it wasn’t to bond with her son. “Because Mason doesn’t know you very well.”

  “He calls me his buddy, Tris. I think he likes me. Mason is an easy kid. I have a niece, remember? I have experience.”