Payback: A Vigilante Justice Novel

by Kristin Harte

  Alder’s stormy eyes met mine when I yawned, his head cocked. “You don’t need to stay up with me, Shye. Go on to bed.”

  I didn’t want to, but I couldn’t keep my eyes open another minute.

  “It is late.” I stood, grabbing my dirty dish. “I’ll clean up my mess—”

  His hand on my wrist froze me, his eyes locking me in place. “I’ll take care of it. You go get some rest.”

  “I can—”

  This time, he grabbed my hand, weaving his fingers through mine before bringing them to his lips. His kiss searing my skin and making me shiver. “I don’t say things I don’t mean, Shye. Go on up to bed. I’ll clean up.”

  I nodded, hanging on to him a moment too long. Letting my imagination run wild. This was what it would be like to be with him—late nights, me taking care of him, and Alder looking at me like I was his world. I never wanted to let go.

  But there was no way I could hold on to him, no way to make up for what I’d done so that I could even deserve him.

  “Goodnight, Alder,” I said as I pulled my hand away. Severing our connection once again.

  “Goodnight, honey. And thank you for the omelet.”

  Tormented and knowing I was too confused to sleep, I slipped up the stairs, my skin still burning from his touch, my heart full from his presence. But deep down? There was no way. He’d never understand, and on the off chance he did, he’d never stop trying to seek vengeance for me. He could not know my past, so this chemistry was nothing but a distraction. A temporary one. Once he found out why the Soul Suckers were after me, how I’d helped them protect their business in the woods, he’d hate me.

  But I likely had a few more days, at least. A little more time to pretend I had a chance with him. To imagine a future we’d never have. I could take care of him, and he could continue looking at me like I mattered.

  Soon enough, though, it’d all end.

  And I’d never see him again.

  * * *

  Alder

  Shye had made me food. Sitting in my quiet kitchen, the one that still showed signs of her presence, I stared down at my empty plate and tried to wrap my head around that fact. I couldn’t remember the last time a woman had cooked for me. Maybe never, really. Definitely not since I’d moved back to Justice after the Army. And she’d done it with a smile on her face, so beautiful I could hardly breathe.

  I’d come home from my meeting at Deacon’s ready to throw something through a wall, pissed and exhausted and running on empty. The needs around me had all piled up—the need to search out that fucking meth lab, the need to safely burn the place to the ground, and the need to harvest some fucking wood to pay the bills. All while fighting to keep my town safe. So many pieces to manage—something I had years of experience with, and yet the idea had still given me a headache. I’d needed a snack, a good wank session in the shower while I imagined my own personal blonde angel doing devilish things, and a solid night’s sleep.

  I’d figured Shye would be asleep when I walked in, but finding her awake, as if waiting up for me? In my kitchen? That sight had brushed away everything bad about my day. Had made me feel like a fucking king coming home to his queen.

  And then things had gotten even better, because she hadn’t run away and hid like she’d been doing the past few days. She’d stayed. Seeing her smile as if she were glad I’d walked through the door, getting to touch her, having her cook for me. I could almost pretend she truly was mine. That maybe after a late dinner, I’d take her upstairs and kiss every single inch of her. Sink inside her and pump her full of my cock. I’d been dreaming of it for days, ever since I’d licked her pretty pussy. I’d held myself in check for the past three years, waiting for her to give me a sign. That night in the truck stop kitchen, I’d finally broken down and taken what I wanted. Or started to, at least. And she’d liked it. Had responded with no hesitation or awkwardness—just full-on need and desire.

  Tonight, I’d been given a different kind of intimacy. The kind that spoke of connection. Sitting in the quiet and enjoying a meal my girl had prepared, with her sitting across from me, the simple act of eating with one another in a comfortable, casual situation. I never wanted to eat alone again.

  I needed to convince her to give us a chance.

  Exhausted but too regimented not to clean up after myself, I washed the dishes and put them away, wiping down the counters once I was done. When I had the kitchen back to rights, I turned off the lights and headed upstairs. I had to pass my guest room on the way to my own. Usually, I didn’t even glance at the door. A man could only be tempted so much before he caved. Tonight, though, I didn’t just look…I stopped. I leaned in and listened.

  The soft, rhythmic lilt of her voice slipped through the wood door. Singing. She was singing in there. I hoped that meant she’d found a moment of happiness in all this chaos. Maybe she was growing more comfortable in my house. Maybe even with me.

  A man could dream.

  Not wanting to be a total creeper—or to kick down her door and pull her into my bed—I headed the rest of the way down the hall. It was harder to do than ever before. I didn’t want to leave her alone, didn’t want anything in between us. But she deserved her privacy, and I had yet to earn my place in her bed. So I trudged, grumbling under my breath the entire way.

  My cell phone rang as I reached my bedroom. Deacon. With a sigh, I swiped to answer.

  He didn’t wait for a greeting. “Our boy just left.”

  Our boy…which meant Camden. And, this late? That could only mean he’d needed some serious sobering-up time. “How bad?”

  “Bad enough for me to want to call you and make sure you knew.”

  Fuck. “I’ll send Finn over in a few hours to check on him and remind him what’s at stake. A little come to Jesus and coffee might be in order.”

  “Agreed. I like taking the guy’s money, but he’s been here every single night since Leah’s death, often well after closing time. No one wants to watch a good man collapse under his grief, and he’s heading down a path that’s hard to come back from.”

  Same as Finn had—which meant we needed to watch my youngest brother as well. This loss would leave a scar too deep to heal if we didn’t get in front of things. “I’ll take care of it.”

  “Good. And one more thing? There’s chatter about the Soul Suckers, concerning you and Shye.”

  “What sort of chatter?”

  “The sort that makes the talk seem casual but probably means they’re looking for her and know you’re somehow involved.”

  A violent rage burned through me. “They won’t put their fucking hands on her.”

  “I get that, and I understand it, but you gotta look at this from the other side. Why are they looking for her? What’s she mean to them that they’d put any sort of priority on finding her? Because I doubt it’s your tie to her that’s bringing her into the conversation. If anything, I think it’s the other way around. We need to figure out how she’s tangled up with the Soul Suckers before we get too deep into this, you know?”

  I did know, but I didn’t have answers for him. In fact, I hadn’t thought too much about Shye’s involvement with the club, or even if she’d ever had any. But she’d known they were a national club, and her trailer had been awfully close to where Camden had run into those members. Plus, if the meth lab really was in that area, her place was practically sitting on top of it.

  I hated when Deacon made so much damn sense. “We’ll get the info. We’ve hit roadblocks no matter which way we go with trying to get intel on these guys—it’s like they’re all fucking ghosts—but I’m calling in a few favors. And I’ll be getting a team together to head out to the Hansen woods to search for anything that could be considered a kitchen since Parris thinks that’s what the deal is out there. Might take me a few days—I don’t want to send anyone in unprepared, so we need to acquire a few pieces of hardware.”

  “Whatcha need?”

  “This shit’s just chemicals mixed together, r
ight? I figure each man needs some sort of breathing mask in case of fumes. I don’t want anyone coming back with jacked-up lungs because I sent them out to hunt down a meth lab.”

  “I’ll take care of the equipment. Give me a day or two to figure out exactly what we need, and I’ll get it here.”

  Deacon always came through, so that was definitely one thing off my plate. “Thanks. I’ll prep the guys on what we’ll be looking for while we wait.”

  “Seems like a solid plan.” He breathed out, the whoosh coming through the speaker. “And man, I hate to say it, but I wouldn’t be a good wingman if I didn’t. I know you’ve got your heart set on that girl, but be careful out there. Until we know how all these pieces come together, she might be more dangerous than we think.”

  Shye…dangerous? No fucking way. But Deacon and I had worked together for a long time, and I trusted him. If he said I needed to look, I’d fucking look. I’d hate it, but I’d look.

  Even if it killed me to do so. “I can take care of things out here. Anything else?”

  “Yeah, you owe me ten bucks for the bourbon.”

  “I’m good for it.”

  “You always say that.”

  “And I always mean it.”

  I hung up and tossed my phone next to the bed before falling back on my mattress and closing my eyes. Such a long fucking day. A long week. The fires, Leah’s death, Shye’s silence and anger with me, the meeting with the biker Marine, Camden’s likely fall into alcoholism… I didn’t know if there was anything else I could take.

  But no matter what Deacon said, thinking about Shye only brought about good feelings. My instincts were solid, and she’d never given me reason to think she was anything other than what she appeared to be. She ignited no worry or distrust with me. Just the warm sensation when she smiled my way, or how hard I got when she laughed. I’d look into her past because it made sense, but I doubted it would matter unless I were so far off base about her that I had a murderer in my house.

  I almost laughed at the very idea of that.

  Besides, whether she was tangled up in the Soul Suckers or not didn’t matter. There was no badness in her, no trickery or ill intention. Shye Anderson was as sweet as they came, and she was mine. I’d do anything to help her or to keep her safe. Anything to keep her with me. Anything to finally get those dark eyes looking at me with want instead of worry. I could picture it—she’d looked at me that way after our kiss. Just for a moment before I’d carried her into the office and ate her pussy like a starving man. That picture—the memory of those big eyes of hers so heated and hungry—was something to fight for. Something to yearn to get back. Didn’t hurt that it also made my cock positively leak.

  “Fuck.” I groaned as I got to my feet and headed for the bathroom. I tugged my clothes off as I went, tossing them in the hamper and turning on the hot water before shutting the door. I needed a shower and a shave so I could think or sleep, whichever happened first.

  Good or bad, though, standing naked under the stream of hot water only made my thoughts of Shye come back. And they turned dirtier. My cock jutted out from my hips, painful and thick with my need for the little blonde. I couldn’t imagine her being a danger to me. She was a desire, a want that simply wouldn’t release me. I couldn’t consider her to be something detrimental to my life. I could only focus on how much I longed for her touch. How badly I wanted to keep her with me, to sleep in her bed every night or hold her in mine. I’d fuck her in my shower every morning if she let me, would drop to my knees on the tile and bury my face between her thighs before making her come on my tongue over and over again. All of it—I wanted every part of her.

  But for tonight, I only had my hand.

  It took me fewer than ten strokes of my cock to hit my peak—three years without the touch of a woman had earned me a first-class masturbator medal. Shye deserved better, though. She deserved to be teased and touched, to be brought to the edge again and again before falling over so her orgasms would be the best she’d ever had. If I got her in my bed, I’d spend half the night with my face in her pussy. Make her come on my tongue and my fingers until she begged me to stop. I’d wring her out good—make sure I had my stroke game on point so she’d crave my cock as much as I craved her touch. It’d take some time, but I’d work my ass off to make sure my girl was always satisfied.

  Hell, if I got her in my bed, I’d never let her out.

  Chapter Nine

  Shye

  Five days after I stopped with the silent treatment and I nearly felt at home at Alder’s place. A sort of habitual comfort had settled over me as I’d gone from mute and stubborn to accepting and thankful. But while eating dinner with him every night made my heart practically sing, sleeping down the hall from him was temporary. No matter how much he seemed to want me to stay.

  So I did my best to earn my keep no matter how much he protested. I cleaned each day from the ceilings to the baseboards, making sure every inch of his home sparkled. Whenever he noticed, and he definitely noticed, he’d huff and puff and tell me I was a guest, but I felt better knowing I’d done something for him. And of course, I cooked. Breakfasts, dinners, I even packed him lunches. And every day, as I handed him that brown paper bag with whatever food I’d put together for him inside, that hard face of his would soften, and his blue eyes would positively burn as they held mine. I lived for those moments, for the sweet kiss he’d place on my forehead before he whispered thanks. For the way he made me feel needed. Wanted. For the way he simply noticed me. A woman could get used to being noticed and appreciated.

  “Another amazing meal, honey.” Alder pushed back from the table, setting his napkin on his empty plate.

  I bit back a smile. “It’s just meatloaf, but I’d hoped you’d like it.”

  “I loved it. How could I not when you made it for me?” He stood and gathered the plates, brushing off my objection before I even had time to make it. Alder was an equal-partner type of guy—if I cooked, he took care of clean up. Something I’d never experienced before. My father had treated me like a scullery maid at times, claiming he worked to pay for everything, so I needed to do the rest. My stepbrother had been worse. Of course, all the men I’d met in their circle of biker friends tended to see women the same way—as their own personal staff. Cooks, maids, and whores…what else could we be?

  Alder never behaved the way they had. But it wasn’t just Alder’s sweetness that attracted me. He was hot as sin. Tall and muscled, with that dangerous air about him. The one that warned others he could and would take them down if they crossed him. Why that was such a turn-on, I had no idea, but it was. My soaking wet panties and the long, hot showers I took every night with the handheld showerhead between my legs were a testament to that fact.

  Five days—I’d been living in a hell of desire for five long days. If only I could stop watching him, but that was an impossibility. The man was a study in human musculature. Alder’s entire back clenched and released as he rinsed the dishes and moved them to the dishwasher, his arms bulging at the movements. And his ass—so very bitable—seemed to be a magnet for my eyes. His thick thighs filled out his jeans in a way that spoke of pure strength, and I’d already rubbed myself against what sat behind the zipper. Every long, hard inch, ready for—

  Those types of thoughts weren’t helping my situation.

  “I’m going to run and take a shower.” Alder turned, completely distracting me from my pervy thoughts about biting his ass. And a few other places. “How about we watch a movie after I’m done?”

  “Sure.” I coughed, my voice too deep and breathy for casual conversation. “Sounds good.”

  Alder cocked his head, still watching me. Inspecting me again. “You okay, Shye?”

  Of course not. I could normally keep my mind off the idea of him bending me over the table long enough to have a conversation. “I’m good. Great. Just…worried about my job.”

  Because I hadn’t been back since the night he pulled me out of there. The night of Camden�
��s house fire. The break felt a bit like a vacation, to be honest. One I couldn’t afford.

  Alder frowned. “I know this is inconvenient, but I need you safe. I’ve got your boss holding your spot for another two weeks.”

  “I know.” And I did. But it seemed like so much trouble.

  “Good.” He walked past me, running his hand over my shoulder and sending shivers up my spine. “I’ll be down in ten. Why don’t you pick something out to watch? We’ll see if you can stay up long enough to finish it this time.”

  “I can’t help it if you picked a boring movie last night.” I grinned as his laugh boomed through the house, his bitable ass heading up the stairs. But my smile fell quickly as my thoughts turned to the farce between us. If only this were real. If only I truly belonged to him and this was how my life played out. Sweet hugs when he came home, dinners together, and cuddling on the couch afterward as we watched a movie. Normal couple stuff.

  Or would we do that stuff if we were actually together? Maybe instead, he’d take me upstairs right after dinner and shower with me, or throw me on his bed and fuck away the frustration of the day. Maybe all our time would be taken up by out desire for one another—a not-at-all-unpleasant thought.

  Impossible, though. A dream. A motherfucking fairy tale, but I was no princess in the tower. And there was nothing I could do about that.

  But I could pretend…for now.

  My non-princess ass finally left the dining chair I’d been planted in for half the evening, and I turned off the lights in the kitchen before heading for the den. Alder had an extreme movie addiction, both in physical and streaming formats. Action, mystery, comedy, classics—his tastes ran the gamut. He even had some rom-coms and romantic tragedies in his collection. Something that had surprised me the first time I’d seen them. Tonight, I might actually make him watch one.