Payback: A Vigilante Justice Novel

by Kristin Harte

  To get rid of problems.

  “Got more of these?” I asked as I sighted down the barrel.

  “A few, but I’ll place an order.”

  “Never figured you for a gun seller.”

  “Never figured you for a murderer, but we all do what we have to do.”

  There were no words truer than those. And what I had to do was eliminate the threats to my town and my girl. Fast.

  So I tucked the Beretta away and held out my fist. “Thanks, man.”

  “I got your back. Now go take care of your girl, and don’t leave her alone again. I’m not picking your sorry ass up off the floor if they get to her.”

  “Not happening.” Ever. No matter what. Shye would be safe, whether she liked my methods or not.

  Chapter Eight

  Shye

  I hadn’t meant to wait up for Alder, but sleep had been impossible. I knew he was out doing something about the Soul Suckers even if he hadn’t told me anything. Not that I’d let him. I’d been ignoring him for days, and after the funeral, I’d pretty much barricaded myself in the room he’d moved me in to.

  But then he’d left to “handle some shit to do with Leah,” and I’d known what that had meant. I hadn’t told him to be safe, to be careful, to hurry back… I hadn’t even told him goodbye. My regret had grown strong as the hours alone passed, so when he walked in the door just after three in the morning, there I sat. Waiting. For him.

  He eyed me warily. “Everything okay?”

  I wrapped my hands around my now-cold mug of even colder coffee. “Yeah. Just…couldn’t sleep.”

  He locked the door behind him before heading toward me. Steps slow and precise, he crossed the blue-gray wood floor that had stunned me the first time I’d walked through that same door. The colors created rolling patterns and curved shapes where there should have been nothing but straight lines. Smoky blue battling with the honey tan in a way that made the floors a work of art. Gorgeous, stunning, completely unique. Just like the man who had harvested, milled, and installed the lumber to create the vision.

  But something in Alder’s gait caught my attention more than the floors, an unnatural hitch I hadn’t seen before. He lacked his usual grace. In fact, he seemed almost…stiff.

  “Are you okay?” I asked, noticing the angry look in his eyes and the twitch in his jaw. Everything about his body screamed restraint, the edge of his temper showing through in the blaze of his eyes. The man appeared to be on the edge, even if he wouldn’t admit it.

  “I’m fine,” he said, looking anything but fine. “It’s been a long day is all.”

  Understatement. The funeral had been enough to exhaust anyone, but then he’d gone to work and out late into the night to deal with “stuff.” Of course he was tired.

  As I watched, Alder opened the refrigerator and peered inside, not moving to grab anything. Not moving at all. I knew that specific sort of stillness—I’d cooked for men for most of my life. Had soothed them with food when there was nothing else for me to say or do. The man needed to eat but was too overwhelmed to deal with something as simple as choosing what, let alone cooking anything. And after three days of silence, three days of him bending over backward to make me feel comfortable and protected, it was time for me to quit being silent and do something to help him.

  I hopped up from my seat and hurried over, pushing him out of my way before stepping in front of his hulking form. “Why don’t you let me make you something to eat? Omelet sound good?”

  “You don’t have to cook for me.”

  I shot him a look as I grabbed the eggs. “And you didn’t have to give me a place to stay, but you did.”

  I didn’t mention the fact that he’d forced me to move in with him, that he’d refused any argument I’d had about not wanting to be a burden or not being able to pay him back. He’d simply taken care of something for me, asking for nothing in return. It was my turn to be grateful.

  But when I closed the refrigerator door and turned, all thoughts of anything other than how damn handsome the man was fled. How…how had he gotten so close? He’d practically pinned me against the appliance, his body eating up the space between us. Looking down at me as if he couldn’t believe I stood before him…holding a dozen eggs.

  “I didn’t give you anything, Shye. I took you. I know you’re pissed about that, and I know I deserve every bit of your anger. But as much as I want to be sorry, I’m not.” He brushed my hair off my shoulder, his fingers sliding along my neck as if to hold me in place. Or to simply hold on to something. “I’d do anything to keep you safe, my sweet girl. Anything to protect you from what’s out there.”

  He would, and I knew that. Knew it with every fiber of my being. He’d never hurt me, but I’d been hurting him by being stubborn. Something that needed to end.

  “You’re a good man.” I set down the eggs and grabbed his face when he snorted, forcing him to look me in the eye. “A good man. One who wants to take care of others, even when there’s no one to take care of you. So sit down, Alder Kennard, and let me take care of you for a minute.”

  Those blue eyes burned into me, setting something on fire. Something dark and dirty, maybe a little lustful. But I hadn’t been kidding about taking care of him, and right then, that meant getting him fed before he fell over.

  “Why don’t you sit at the counter while I cook?” When he didn’t answer, too busy staring at me like I was the meal he needed to have, I raised an eyebrow and cocked my head. “Alder, please let me feed you.”

  Maybe it was the please that broke him, or he was simply too tired to fight me. Whatever it was, he sighed, his hands coming to rest on my shoulders and his big body leaning into mine. Pulling me closer. Enveloping me in a slow hug that warmed me to my very soul. “Thank you, honey. An omelet would be amazing right now.”

  He held me in place for a long moment, so comforting and warm. So strong and yet so very close to collapse. I could practically feel the exhaustion rolling off him, so I probably should have pulled away to start cooking. But I couldn’t. I had a feeling he needed me in his arms more than eggs in his belly. So the hug continued, lasting longer than any I’d ever had and quickly becoming one I’d never forget. But eventually, we had to break apart, albeit reluctantly.

  “Go,” I said, pulling out of his arms. “Sit and relax while someone else takes care of you for once.”

  He brushed his lips against my cheek and whispered a soft thanks before letting me go. I took a deep breath when he walked away, trying to regain my composure. To ignore the need to follow him. When he touched me like that, all soft and kind—when that tough exterior broke and I was able to see the man beneath it—I got ideas. Ones involving the two of us getting naked, getting closer, getting intimate with more than just our bodies. Ideas that could never, ever happen.

  But I could make him an omelet.

  I set about chopping vegetables and meats, picking through leftovers for something to bulk up the meal while I warmed a skillet on the stove. Once I had the pan with the onions and green peppers on the heat, I began breaking eggs into a bowl for whipping. All while ignoring the man behind me. But I felt him—knew he watched me work. And I sort of liked it.

  “You look good in my kitchen,” he said suddenly, his slow smile spreading when I spun and stared. “Comfortable. You look comfortable cooking…in my kitchen.”

  That’s not what he meant, and we both knew it. Still, I shrugged and turned back to the eggs, hoping he missed the flush I could feel spreading up my neck and cheeks. “It’s an easy kitchen to look good in. Your wood floors are amazing.”

  “It came from one of our first harvests of beetle kill pine. We used my house for some of the mill’s promotional pictures when we moved into that niche.”

  “What type of pine is that—your beetle kill? And why is it blue?”

  “It’s pine, honey. Ponderosa pine, to be exact. At least, that’s what we try to focus on.”

  “Why Ponderosa?”

  “The wo
od holds moisture better than lodgepole. The beetles introduce a fungus into the tree, and that smoky color is the stain from it. The more moisture in the wood, the better the fungus grows and spreads, the better the color variations when we mill it.”

  “Huh. I’d never heard of it before I moved here, though there wasn’t much logging going on where I grew up.”

  “It’s become something of a trendy product. One we specialize in. Harvesting can be a bitch, though.”

  “Because the trees are so dry?”

  “Yeah. Ponderosas in our area tend to be centuries old, and they need to stay on the mountain for a handful of years after their death to give the fungus time to stain the wood. Forest fires, falling trees, and landslides as the roots that held the mountains together give way aren’t uncommon. Harvesting those trees takes a lot of time and planning, more than most other sorts of trees.”

  I frowned over my shoulder at him. “How do you deal with all that and still make any money?”

  His lips kicked up into a smile that made me catch my breath. “I’m a military man, honey—we plan for all the things that can go wrong and surround ourselves with the best people.”

  Right. Soldier Alder. No, more than soldier…so much more. Alder had been a Green Beret. I turned back to the skillet and added the rest of the veggies and meats to warm through. “I knew you were in the Army but not…that. Not a Green Beret.”

  “That was a long time ago.”

  “How long?” I’d never asked his age. Maybe I should have, but it hadn’t seemed to matter. Suddenly, I was curious about all things Alder.

  Thankfully, Alder didn’t seem to mind. “I joined the Army right after high school. Spent fourteen years in it. Been home for five.”

  “But it stays with you—the training and stuff?”

  He sighed, a heavy sound. One that made me turn again to look him over. He sat with his hands flat on the counter in front of him, a heavy frown marring his handsome face.

  “You don’t have to answer me.” I turned back around, adding the eggs to the pan. “I didn’t mean to push.”

  “You didn’t push, I just… Yeah, the training stays with you, as does the memory of some of the missions. Good or bad, that sort of thing leaves an impression, especially after so many years in it.”

  “So fourteen years in the Army and like five home. So you’re…” I did some quick math in my head as I folded his omelet. “Thirty-seven?”

  “Thirty-six. My birthday’s in October.” He paused, the silence heavy. Weighted almost. I’d known he was older than me, but not how much. I couldn’t help but wonder if he thought I was too young for him.

  Apparently, he assumed I was wondering if he was too old for me. “Why? Does my age bother you?”

  “Nope. I’m twenty-three, by the way. I’ll be twenty-four in a few months.” I turned again to face him, needing to see his face as I added, “Does my age bother you?”

  He shook his head, his eyes staying on mine. His smile appearing slowly. “Not in the least.”

  “Then I think we’re fine.” A bold statement considering we weren’t anything. Not really. And yet I’d opened my mouth and practically implied we were together.

  “Only twenty-three and knows how to make an omelet?” Alder said, sounding more awake than he had moments before and thankfully ignoring my assumption. “You’re way ahead of where I was at your age.”

  “I doubt that.” I removed the pan from the flame to give the omelet a chance to set up as I found a plate and fork for him. “My mom made sure I could take care of my family from a young age.”

  “How old were you when she passed?”

  Thoughts of my mom’s death—of her murder at the hands of a rival MC while working at the shitty strip club the Soul Suckers ran—always caused an ache in my chest. “Nine.”

  “Only nine and you had to cook for your dad?”

  “Stepdad, technically.” I slid the food onto a plate and grabbed a fork, giving the unease of talking about my past a chance to settle so Alder wouldn’t see it on my face. “My dad left before I was born, and my mom remarried when I was still a baby. I never knew any other father, so I tend to think of him as my dad. At least I did…when he was alive.”

  “I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have brought up family.”

  “It’s okay. I know how much of a mess I come from—there’s no getting past all that.”

  He smiled up at me as I set the plate in front of him. “Are you joining me?”

  “You eat. I’m fine.”

  God, the way he looked at me—as if he could see right into my thoughts. It made me want to confess my sins and beg for absolution. Luckily, the only sin he wanted to know about seemed to be about my eating habits.

  “Did you have dinner?”

  I shook my head, unable to look away from him. Unable to think when he stared at me as if I meant something to him, as if my failing to eat personally offended him and was something he needed to take care of. What I wouldn’t give for a man who cared so much about something so basic.

  A man exactly like Alder Kennard.

  “No dinner? Then you can share this omelet with me.”

  “I made it for you,” I said, my voice barely more than a whisper. The tightness in my chest making it hard to breathe. But Alder heard me. He always seemed to be paying far more attention to me than I expected.

  “And I want to share it with you.” Alder stood and headed to the row of cabinets, grabbing a second plate and fork before coming back. “Have some.”

  “I shouldn’t.”

  “Shye.” His blue eyes held mine, his face so very serious. So very intense. “Have a meal with me. Please. You’ve been avoiding me for days, and I’d really like that to stop now. I’ve missed you.”

  Was there a woman on earth who could refuse him when he looked at them like that? With eyes on fire and a longing on his face unlike any I’d ever seen? If there was, she was a stronger woman than me.

  “Okay.” My surrender earned me a smile. I followed his lead and took a seat at the dining table, accepting the plate with the chunk of omelet on it that he handed me. “Thank you.”

  He took a bite, closing his eyes and groaning as he chewed. “I should be the one thanking you. This is amazing.”

  I shrugged and bit my lip, trying not to preen at his words. “Eat up, then. Though I’m sorry you’re having to eat eggs again after your dinner at the truck stop.” I frowned. “I didn’t think about that when I offered to make you an omelet.”

  “I didn’t have dinner at the truck stop.”

  “But…you eat there every night.”

  His fork froze halfway to his mouth, just a pause. One that piqued my interest. What was he thinking?

  It didn’t take long to find out. “I don’t eat at the truck stop every night, honey. Only the ones when you’re working.”

  That was…what? “But…you’ve been coming in every night for years.”

  He nodded, his movements slow again. Looking almost nervous. “Three years, but only on the nights that you work. Since the first time I met you.”

  My heart thumped, his admission a punch to my system that I wasn’t prepared for. I had no idea what to say to that. No idea whatsoever. He’d been visiting the truck stop five days a week for three years. Eating that food and drinking their horrible coffee.

  Oh. My. God. The coffee.

  I sat back, sure I had to have the most shocked look on my face. “You don’t actually like the coffee at the truck stop, do you?”

  He shook his head, silent. Watching me as the puzzle pieces slipped into place.

  “But you drink so much of it.”

  He coughed, turning away from my stare. “You filling up my cup gives me a chance to talk to you.”

  Flabbergasted. That was the only word I could think of to explain my reaction to his confession. He ate out five nights a week and drank horrible coffee by the gallon. All to see me.

  “Alder—”

  “Eat, honey,�
�� he interjected. “Don’t think so much about it, just eat with me.”

  How could I not think about it? About the fact that he’d suffered night after night through horrible coffee and spent so much money on greasy food to be close to me? To talk to me. What man would do such a thing? For three long years?

  Alder Kennard would. And at that moment, he wanted me to put aside his sweetness and eat with him. So I ate. No words necessary, no conversation required. My thoughts, though, stayed busy. Focused on him, of course. On his kindness, his care, his actions around me. Every interaction we’d had that I’d thought was just Alder being himself, I reevaluated them all, looking for a pattern. For some sign of his interest in me that I’d missed.

  And there were hundreds of them.

  The tension built within me, my blood running hot under my skin as my new reality formed around me. As the truth that Alder Kennard wanted me for more than a friendly chat truly settled in. My body responded to his nearness without intention. Heating and throbbing in all the right places. The silence between us felt comfortable, though. Easy. So I pushed all that desire and lust down to be dealt with later. Right at that moment, he wanted us to enjoy a meal together. I could give that to him.

  Having someone to sit across from was definitely something I’d missed these last few years. I hadn’t really allowed myself to admit my loneliness, though. I’d simply accepted it as part of my penance. One meal with Alder and the idea of eating alone again seemed like another version of my own personal hell. So I did my best to enjoy every second, to stay in the moment and be with him. Because it could all end in a matter of hours. Seconds, even. All it took was one Soul Sucker coming to Alder’s door, and the blissful feeling of eating dinner with the man would be gone forever.

  If it weren’t so late, I would have stayed at that table for hours. But neither of us seemed to have the energy even if we both definitely appeared not to want to leave. We sat with empty plates, not moving. Staying together as the minutes ticked closer and closer to dawn. At least until the exhaustion became too much to bear.