Payton (Dreamcatchers Romantic Suspense Series Book 3)

by Jamie Garrett

  The man dragged her back behind a Dumpster, ignoring her cries. All she could manage from behind the hand wrapped around her neck was a hoarse whimper. No one in the shops out front was going to hear her.

  Fuck, this was going to happen, and there was nothing she could do about it. She’d gotten free from the man at the bar only for some other bastard to find her. Fate truly was out to fuck her over.

  The Krav Maga lessons had made her feel so strong, but there she was again, brought to her knees by nothing more than a large, bulky asshole. Tears stung in the corners of her eyes, and Payton closed them, blocking out the world.

  “Please.”

  The man laughed and behind her closed eyes, Payton saw red. Her muscles tensed as the world changed around her. She may not be able to see him, but with her eyes closed, her senses sharpened. She could still see the man in her mind. Yes, he was there, and so was the light growing inside of her.

  Payton went still, ignoring the sound of the man grunting in her ear, ignoring his hand wandering over her breasts and the sound of his zipper lowering. She ignored the world as the power built inside of her, until it glowed with a light brighter than she could stand. Her eyes flew open and Payton felt the energy flood through her and slam into the black void that was the man’s psyche.

  The man dropped to one knee, screaming, pulling her off balance and she nearly fell, gasping at the force of her mental explosion. Grabbing the wall to steady herself, Payton didn’t wait to rustle through this guy’s head. There would be nothing there but evil. Wrenching her arm free of his loosening grasp, she turned and ran.

  She let her feet move quickly as she dashed past the shops along the sidewalk, ignoring people’s stares as she frantically searched for any sign of danger. It had happened again! Someone had grabbed her—a random asshole this time—and she’d frozen. Helpless, unable to fight, and it was her own damn fault. She had to work out whatever the fuck was happening inside her mind, and she had to do it now. Today was her own damn fault for not doing it sooner. The minute he grabbed her, she should’ve been ready to turn him into a vegetable.

  Payton twisted and turned, moving automatically. She’d already memorized the layout of the streets, so it was easy to run through them, even though she was paying absolutely no attention to where she was going. Her mind was on the stalkers, the people who wanted to hurt her. They were everywhere—around every corner. She forgot who she was and what she was capable of doing. The mundane world didn’t have to matter any longer, not when she could channel her power and use it to her advantage. This losing streak was over.

  Somehow, she found her way to the bar and leaned against the wall next to the door. Payton clenched her fists and took a deep breath, letting the power flow through her. She’d had enough of playing nice. She was not just a plain girl walking helplessly down the street, and she had to stop acting like it. The world was a dangerous place, but it wasn’t going to be for her. Not ever again.

  No man could ever hurt her again, because she wouldn’t let it happen. She might have taken charge over her body, but she’d neglected her most powerful weapon—her mind.

  I’m such a fucking fool.

  She had a psychic power, that much was fucking clear. But she’d held off on using it because she didn’t want to hurt anyone. That was fine when it was Cole or an innocent at the bar, but Green Eyes or her fucking wannabe rapists? No, all bets were off with them now. She could still feel the power almost bubbling along under her skin, but she had no idea how it worked and she certainly hadn’t flexed that muscle enough to strengthen it.

  She’d start small. She’d been able to pull the power back with Cole, consciously enter his mind and control it . . . mostly. Had their emotional connection made it possible? Payton had no idea. If she was going to survive, then she needed to try that again.

  15

  Payton pulled open the bar door and harsh guitar music blasted into her ears. Rita was behind the bar and a bum was leaning against the wall just inside the door, a can of beer in his hand. She pushed the light out, allowing it to envelop the man. He didn’t even seem to notice, but his day flashed into her head like a river torrent. He was living in an underpass in a cardboard box, and had picked up soda and beer cans all day to get the twenty dollars in his pocket. Payton pulled back and continued on to the bar without the man even lifting his head to glance her way.

  “Damn, Girl.” Rita shook her head. “You look amazing, but what happened to your shirt?”

  Payton walked around the side and opened a beer from the cooler. “Asshole tried to mug me. Does it look okay?” She turned around, looking over her shoulder.

  “Yeah, it’s holding together,”—Rita looked her over—“as are you, it seems. You good?”

  “Yep.” Payton chugged the rest of her beer and threw the can in the trash. “Are we busy tonight?”

  Rita nodded. “On and off; you know the drill.”

  It looked pretty dead at that moment. No one was sitting at the bar. A fat guy wearing tight jeans and a belt buckle the size of her head sat at a table near the back. He was nearly asleep, judging by the way his eyes were drooping, and so Payton saw no harm in taking a dive into his head.

  No less than an hour before, he’d bought black tar from a woman near his own house, and then he’d walked over to get a drink and smoked the entire thing in the bathroom of the bar. He wasn’t falling asleep, he was nodding out because he was high as a fucking kite, but he could hear everything going on around him.

  Rita tapped Payton on the shoulder. “You there?”

  Payton jumped. “Sorry! I was somewhere else for a minute.”

  Or someone else, whatever.

  Rita eyed her critically. “So what the fuck happened back there? Are you sure you’re okay?”

  Okay, time to sell this.

  “I was so fucking pissed. Son of a bitch walks up behind me and covers my mouth with his hand, then pulled me into the alleyway.”

  “Oh, my God. Fucking asshole. How did you get away?”

  “I stomped down on his foot and then kneed him in the balls when he let me go.”

  That’s what happened. Totally. No psychic mind fuck, I promise.

  Rita made an ‘O’ with her mouth and covered it. “Geez. I hope he’s dead.”

  “I don’t think he is. Unfortunately, the prick was still breathing when I ran.”

  “Damn.” Rita turned back to the customers and Payton looked around, trying to find somebody to experiment with.

  “Miss?”

  She turned to find a young guy with slicked-back black hair and a white tank top. “Yes?”

  “Pitcher of Bud, please.” She looked over and saw several other men were with him at their table.

  “Sure.” She went to get his beer and glasses and the guy handed her a twenty.

  “Keep the change.”

  Payton took the money, but then had an idea. She reached into his head, found the memory of him tipping her, and wiped it away.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Here.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out a five-dollar bill. “Thanks for looking after us tonight, Darling.”

  Payton took it happily and grinned to herself as she got on with the night’s prep. A woman walked in and flopped into a seat at the bar.

  “Hey, what can I get you?”

  “Shot of Jack.”

  “Sure.” Payton turned around to get her the drink. When she turned around, the woman was fiddling with the coaster and tapping her nails against the bar.

  “Here.” Payton handed her the shot. “Three dollars.” The girl threw some money down on the counter and downed the shot, holding the empty glass out for a refill.

  Quickly pouring her the shot, Payton pushed her mind outward, delving as deep as it would go. She found a spot in the woman’s memory that was radiating stress and pulled at it. It felt like she was stretching out taffy in her mind. Something in the woman’s head gave way, and Payton wasn’t in the bar any longer. The experience was real,
stronger than it had been even with Cole. The woman was kneeling on the ground with her crying mother as they buried the woman’s father that morning.

  Payton snapped back, unable to stand the intensity of the vision. A dim ache started in the back of her mind. Had Rita noticed anything? Payton glanced over, only to find her run off her feet. Apparently the bar was now “on” again. The crowd standing at the bar was getting thick, and as Payton poured and served, her focus started to waver.

  The first few times she’d let the light loose, she’d been in control, but now, getting stressed herself and still half stuck in the memory of the mourning woman, her control was failing. The light was taking on a life of its own, flashing snippets of images and half thoughts of others into her mind even as she worked behind the bar. Thoughts that weren’t her own darted in and out and she swayed a little on her feet as dizziness set in.

  Sweaty liaisons and bitter households, children screaming and lovers’ quarrels—each image surrounded her, threatening to pull her in. Panicking, Payton stood dead still and slammed her eyes shut. The stream of voices became waves, pulling her into the tide, drowning her in a sea of images. The emotions, each one more extreme than the last, tugged her in every direction, from grieving to overwhelming excitement.

  She was laughing under her breath, then pulled into a scene that made her want to tear her hair out. There was no pulling away from it, no escaping. She nearly collapsed as her body jerked back and forth, moving along with the voices that were drilling into her head.

  There had to be something that could keep her there, her anchor. She was losing herself and she nearly forgot who she was, but deep down, far below the images, she was there, fighting.

  I’m Payton. I’m here.

  The weight of the voices was strong, too strong. She had to remember who she was and pull herself out of everyone else’s head. She searched desperately for her own inner voice, and eventually she found it. The fighting spirit that Cole was so sure was in there was pushing back, shielding her from the barrage. She grabbed a hold in her mind and pushed, as the blinding light dimmed ever so slightly, then a little more, and more, until the only voice inside her head was her own.

  And Rita’s, who was currently proclaiming loudly enough for the neighbors to hear, “What the hell are you doing?”

  Payton’s eyes flew open and looked directly into Rita’s, the light flying into Rita’s head. It all happened in a flash, a second, but to Payton it could also have been an eternity.

  Rita walked into the tiny apartment. Her husband was sitting on the couch, wearing a stained white shirt and holding a rolled cigarette. “You get the food?”

  “Restaurant said I can’t take any more, but I made some tips.”

  “Bitch.” Her husband stood up, knocking over a forty bottle filled with half smoked butts and flat beer. He half leaned, half fell over their coffee table and stood in front of her. “How the fuck am I supposed to eat? You know I need those tips to pay Drew back for that front.”

  Rita shrank back and huddled into the corner. “Maybe you could get a job, too?” she whispered, unable to raise her voice. She was too damn scared.

  He picked up the bottle and threw it at the door she was leaning against, drenching her in tepid beer. “That’s why you wait tables.” He took a step toward her, and another, and she shrank back.

  This had happened before. He wasn’t going to hurt her again.

  Rita picked up a shard of glass from the smashed mess on the floor. The shard was more than three inches long and she held it out in front of her. Her husband just laughed and took another step forward.

  “Don’t come any closer. I swear, I’ll do it this time!”

  “You don’t have the balls. You never will.”

  He reached out and slapped her across the face, and something inside her snapped. Instead of staying down, as she’d learned to do after so many times before, she pushed up and gripped the glass, stabbing him in the chest.

  Time passed. The house changed. It got cleaner, and slowly things got easier. A man in a suit came in and sat down on the couch, where she was sitting wearing a black skirt suit. “Rita, I am so sorry to hear about your loss.”

  She didn’t flinch. “It’s okay.”

  “Well,”—he reached into a briefcase on the coffee table and pulled out a rectangular piece of paper—“I’m sure you’re aware of your husband’s life insurance policy.”

  “No.” What the hell had that sorry bastard had to protect?

  “I hope that this will come as some consolation to you.”

  She snatched it up and her eyes widened at the figure on the piece of paper. “It will. Thank you.”

  “You’re very welcome.”

  It was time to move on, get her life back. And maybe one day she’d use the cash to help another woman who needed help as badly as she had.

  When Payton came back, Rita was still standing in front of her. Payton threw her arms around Rita’s neck and hugged her fiercely before pulling back.

  Rita was staring at her with her mouth hanging open. “What’s wrong?”

  Real subtle, Idiot. You’re going to have to get better than this.

  “Oh, nothing. Sorry.”

  Payton turned back to the front of the bar and used the customers as a distraction until Rita gave her a last suspicious look and moved on. She found a grove, a place where she could move her mind beyond the distractions of the people around her and just work, but it was still hard to focus. Once she’d unleashed her power without a specific target, it had come more easily, but it had also been incredibly hard to control. Learning how to rein it in was going to take just as much practice as letting the light out in the first place.

  After the rush ended and the last few drunken patrons staggered out, Payton started clearing tables while Rita wiped off the bar.

  “Payton.” Rita’s voice was low and quiet. “Take five and sit down with me.” She motioned to a table in front of the bar.

  “Rita, I’m sorry.”

  “No,” Rita barked. “You’re not sorry.” She strode over to the table and sat down across from where Payton was sitting. “Don’t apologize. You should never have to apologize.”

  Payton nodded her head, her mind racing. Did Rita suspect what had been up with her all night? How had she figured it out?

  “I know what’s going on with you. I can see it in your face. I saw it when I first met you.”

  Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.

  “Something happened to you. It stuck.”

  Both relief and fear crashed into Payton at the same moment. A flash of Rita’s memories echoed in her mind, her husband morphing and melding with Payton’s kidnapper’s face in a grotesque dance.

  “You’re strong. You’re very strong, and I think you know that’s why I hired you.”

  “I do.”

  “But things are getting to you, and I know after what happened today, and whatever else, that you’re fighting it.”

  “But I’m strong, stronger now than I was before.”

  “I know you are, but there’s a way to do it—a way to let it go. When I was your age, I was fighting myself every single day. The man I was with wouldn’t get a job, used to throw me around, and I was so fucking dumb. I put up with it. I put up with the mess, the beatings, the drugs, and I stuck by him because I thought I loved him.” Her lips curled up in disgust. “I tried so many times to get away but I couldn’t. I kept coming back, until one day it was too much and, well, he’s not around anymore.”

  That was one way to put it. “You got through.”

  “It took me a lot longer than I hoped. It haunted me. I still hear his voice sometimes.” Rita let out the smoke and shook her head. “He’s still here.”

  “How’d you get past that?”

  “See, you feel it. I know you do.”

  “Yes.” Payton looked down at the table, hiding her eyes. Admitting anything still went against every instinct she had, but she’d seen enough in Rita’s mind
to know that Rita understood, just like Cole.

  Cole. . . .

  Wherever he was, Payton hoped he was okay, too.

  “What you do is you think about it, you process it, and you talk to people—people you can trust.”

  Time to grow up, and fight back, for real.

  Payton nodded and locked eyes with Rita, earning her a smile. “Okay.”

  16

  The manic fever of the night before remained inside Payton’s mind. It was a soft afterglow that swirled through her head, drawing her attention to every face that passed her by on the way to the juice bar. They all had secrets and desires and nobody could hide them from her. Not anymore. It was both empowering and fascinating.

  Walking into the bar, she waved good morning to Lainey, who dropped the cloth she was wiping the bar with and ran over, embracing Payton in a hug.

  “Hello!” Lainey said, squeezing her enthusiastically. “How are you?”

  “Still waking up. I worked late last night.”

  “Well you could have fooled me. You look wonderful.”

  Payton smiled. “I feel good.”

  “Well, you look amazing. You almost have this glow about you.”

  Oh. Fuck.

  Payton had just started frantically trying to access her inner light while still keeping eye contact with Lainey and not changing her expression when Lainey spoke again.

  “Okay, be honest with me. Who is he?”

  Relief flooded through Payton to the point she struggled to stay upright. “What? No!”

  “Oh, damn.” Lainey frowned before breaking out in laughter. “And here was I hoping I could live vicariously through you for awhile. Smoothie and a bagel?”

  “Yes, please.” Payton handed Lainey the money and Lainey returned behind the counter to put together her order.

  Payton turned to find a table and stopped dead. Everything ceased—moving, blinking, hell, she didn’t even draw breath. Sitting at a table directly by the door was the woman with the green eyes. There was no way to leave without walking within ten feet of her. She felt a touch at her elbow and turned to find Lainey holding her order. She frowned when she looked at Payton.