Payback: A Vigilante Justice Novel

by Kristin Harte

  “Want me to call the fire department in Rock Falls?”

  Wouldn’t do any good at that point, which was why Kennard Mills had as many water hauling trucks as we did. “No use, though you’d better call the sheriff.”

  “That useless piece of shit? What for?”

  Useless wasn’t the term I’d use—corrupt sounded better for the county sheriff we were forced to deal with. I didn’t have time to correct Camden, though. “He’ll throw a tantrum if he’s not informed. Knowing him, he won’t come out to investigate anyway. Just make the call.”

  “Yeah, got it…hang on.” Voices yelled in the background, and the sound of Camden moving fast created static on the line.

  “Cam?”

  “We’ve got a problem.”

  That phrase spoken about my girl’s place made me want to growl my frustration to the universe. “What fucking problem?”

  “There are motorcycle tracks in the dirt around her property. Lots of them.”

  Rage unlike anything I’d felt exploded in my chest. “Call the sheriff and put the word out—anyone sees a fucking Soul Sucker in Justice, I want to know about it.”

  I hung up and threw my phone across the bench seat before taking the switchback turn way faster than I should have. Not that the worry burning in my gut had anything to do with me—Shye owned that ache.

  Shye may not have known it, but she was mine. I’d do whatever it took to protect her.

  And if this fucking motorcycle club had threatened my girl?

  I’d gut them and leave their bodies for the predators.

  Chapter Two

  Shye

  Some days, you came home from running errands to a quiet living room, an overpriced frozen dinner, and a plan of watching bad reality television until it was time to leave for your night shift. Others, you came home to your trailer on fire. Or the charred remnants of one, really. The kind of ashy smokiness that indicated the heat had been hot enough to melt metal and destroy lives, not that mine hadn’t already been through the wringer once or twice. Mark this down as Life Destruction #4, Bob.

  Today was supposed to be the first kind of day—a lazy, easy, and totally normal Wednesday in Justice—but had turned into the second as soon as I’d started up the mountain road home. My trailer—the cheap, single-wide I’d been renting from my stepbrother for close to three years—had burned where it stood. Though, if I was being honest, it hadn’t just burned. That fire had devoured my crappy little place. It was a goddamned miracle the whole forest hadn’t gone up with it, what with how dry the mountain was. But as I took in the scene of destruction before me, I saw how it wasn’t so much a miracle as a well-trained, dedicated team of loggers watering the ground and keeping the fire from spreading.

  I pulled to stop at the end of my gravel drive, hopped out of my car, and rushed past the Kennard Mills vehicles half circling the spot where my trailer had once sat. It couldn’t be a good thing that the local sawmill team had made it to my place before any sort of firemen. Of course, being the town of Justice had no local first responders of our own and had to rely on other cities or the county for them, that delay shouldn’t have surprised me. Pissed me off, sure. Surprised, nope. The reality of living in the middle of nowhere. Justice, Colorado. Population 348.

  Maybe 347 after this fire. Where would I live now? I’d have to call my stepbrother and tell him what’d happened, but that idea sent rivers of ice up my spine. My boss would probably put me up for a few weeks while I figured everything out, but that meant moving to the next county over. Something I had no interest in doing. True, Justice was tiny and completely off the beaten trail, but I loved it. I also loved the fact that the Kennard family—who owned the sawmill just about everyone in Justice worked at—ran the place like a military base. Lots of rules, lots of big, burly men in flannel watching your every move, lots of people to keep each other safe. I couldn’t go a day without running into a Kennard Mills guy. I’d miss that sense of security if I left.

  The smoke blew on the breeze, burning my eyes and drying out my mouth as my thoughts turned to what I’d already lost instead of what I might if I left. Everything. I had lost every single thing that I wasn’t holding or wearing. From my furniture to my toothbrush…all gone. How did that happen?

  I hadn’t noticed stumbling toward the smoldering remnants of my life, had been too stuck in my thoughts about clothes and beds and those brand-new towels I hadn’t even used yet to realize I was moving forward. Yet, dumbass me did just that—moved closer to the hot, smoky mess emitting noxious fumes. But before I stepped foot on the dead grass of what I’d jokingly called my front lawn, a pair of strong arms wrapped around me. They pulled me off my feet and against a chest so big and solid, there were only a few men it could belong to. And only one man I both wanted and dreaded it would be.

  “Don’t go any closer, honey. There’s nothing you can save at this point.”

  Dread won out. That voice, that smell…I knew them. Alder Kennard—owner of Kennard Mills, biggest, toughest looking man I’d ever seen, and star of every one of my fantasies for the past three years—had me in his embrace. He surrounded me, carrying me as if I weighed nothing, making my entire body melt into him as he held me tight.

  How many times had I dreamed about that very thing? About him picking me up and carrying me off? Keeping me safe as he called me honey. Hell, he may have called every woman in Justice that endearment—I didn’t care. So long as he kept touching me, kept rubbing his thumb along my shoulder, kept those hard, hard muscles pressed against me.

  I shivered, heat pooling between my legs and my nipples tightening under my thin T-shirt. While my trailer burned to the ground.

  Bad timing, Shye.

  Reluctantly, I pushed out of Alder’s hold until my feet hit the ground again. I had to, because I needed to keep my wits about me. And because the idea of Alder being anything more than a concerned, protective neighbor was a pipe dream. One I couldn’t afford to entertain. If he seemed reluctant to let me go, well, that had to be his protective nature. The guy cared about his town and the residents. He might as well have been the mayor, the chief of police, and the fire department all rolled into one huge, handsome package. Him not wanting to see me burned alive had nothing to do with me in particular, no matter how much I wished it did.

  Turning, I met those steely blue eyes that seemed to pierce my soul every time he looked my way. And with as much as I stared at him, he tended to look my way a lot. I sucked at covert glances.

  “What happened?” I asked, fighting not to fall under his spell.

  Alder seemed to reach for me but then checked himself—dropping his arm before he could touch me—something shadowy passing over his face. “Camden called the office about smoke on the mountain. When we got here, your place was already burning. We notified the sheriff, but—”

  “How long?”

  He didn’t need clarification. No one in Justice would. “I’d guess fifteen minutes before Camden would have been able to see the smoke. Probably close to an hour since we called the sheriff.”

  Which meant my place had probably been burning for over two hours at that point, about the same length I’d been gone. A hundred and twenty minutes to go from a trailer full of shitty junk to nothing at all.

  If I thought tears could do anything other than make me feel worse, I would have cried.

  “I didn’t realize I’d been gone that long,” I said, my voice weak.

  Alder looked about as sick as I felt. “Jesus, honey—you had me worried when we couldn’t find you. Where’ve you been?”

  “Rock Falls. I was running errands.” The reality of my situation slammed into me like a freight train, and I nearly doubled over. “All my stuff. My whole life was in there.”

  A frown marred the perfectness of his mouth. “Your stuff can be replaced.”

  That was easy for Alder to say. He’d never wanted for anything. Me? All I did was want. But what could I expect? The Kennard name meant something around
these parts.

  According to Justice history, the Kennard family had settled this land centuries ago, setting up a sawmill to process the abundance of pine on the hillsides around us. They’d made a fortune right up until the lumber market crashed, then the mountain pine beetle epidemic had almost put them out of business. Almost, until Alder had returned from his stint in the Army and turned the business around.

  But really, how he ended up so wealthy didn’t matter. He had money, and I had nothing but a debt I doubted I’d ever finish paying off, a body no one would want to touch if they saw the damage to it, and a rental agreement for a trailer older than I was, sitting on a rocky, scrubby mountainside. Used to have that trailer, at least. Now I had nothing. Except the scars and the debt that led to them.

  A massive boulder of a man came around one of the trucks, and I took an instinctive step back, bumping into Alder in the process. I would have been thrilled by the way Alder’s hand settled on my hip to support me if it weren’t for the fear screaming through my brain. Gage Shepherd—every bearded, muscled bit of him—pounded the earth as he walked, his steps heavy and distinct. His moves harsh. Dark hair, eyes too light to seem real, and ink running from wrists to throat and everywhere in between completed the picture of the scariest man I’d ever met.

  Gage’s dog, Rex, followed behind him like always, practically skipping over the rocky ground. The two of them went everywhere together, including a fire, apparently. Rex looked to be a mutt of indeterminate heritage, but he had a quick tail wag for just about anyone and a demeanor that made you want to drop to your knees and rub his belly. Totally opposite of his always-scowling owner.

  Next to Alder, Gage almost seemed normal human-sized, though that really said more about Alder’s build. Both tall, wide, and thick all over—but opposite as well. Gage’s dark hair and beard contrasted with Alder’s lighter hair and clean-shaven jaw. The differences weren’t simply aesthetic, though. While Alder’s size intimidated, he didn’t scare me like Gage did. At least, not in a he’s going to hurt me way, more in an if I let go for a second, I’d probably fall in love with him way.

  Gage, though, was a different story. The man looked positively lethal, like death coming to snatch you if you so much as put a toe out of line. You could feel the danger clinging to his skin as he walked past, sense the predator in your midst. Gage terrified me in the same way a shark would, and for the same reason. I wasn’t top of the food chain with him around.

  Gage didn’t even bother to flick a glance my way, focusing on Alder instead. “Char marks along the back indicate an accelerant.”

  Alder’s jaw ticked, his eyes going hard. “A fucking arsonist in Justice?”

  “We figure out who set the fire, and I’ll take care of it.”

  Alder held Gage’s ice-blue gaze with ease, obviously comfortable with the threat by his side. “Camden said he had a run-in with a couple of guys earlier today up on this road. Members of that motorcycle club, Soul Suckers. That’d be my guess.”

  My blood had never turned so cold so fast. Soul Suckers…the motorcycle club with a brand-new clubhouse in Rock Falls. The group I knew far too well because of who my stepbrother was. Who my father had been to them. Up until that point, I’d figured my trailer burned because of some sort of electrical issue. The place would have been called a dump a decade before I moved in, so it seemed a logical assumption. But Soul Suckers hanging around not long before the blaze? That definitely seemed like a warning. A punishment, even. Something I knew too much about.

  Shaking, I took a step away from the two hulking men, putting space between us. “How did Camden see them, and this? What was he doing up here? This isn’t technically Justice land.”

  Alder’s heavy brow furrowed as if wanting to argue my point. “Camden’s been prepping a new lumber site up the road.”

  Which meant he’d been out in the woods, the ones I was supposed to keep a watch over. The day kept getting worse. “New site?”

  “Miss Hansen sold us fifty acres of her eastern slope.”

  Most likely because of the trees on that isolated, deeply forested piece of property. The dead ones—the Kennard’s current moneymaker. Under Alder’s guidance, Kennard Mills took what should have been seen as worthless and made something out of it, from what I understood. Alder saw opportunity in those dead trees.

  I saw more death coming, more negatives. Like the fact that all the forests the Kennards harvested were a major forest fire threat because of how dry the dead trees were that clung to the hillsides. And the ugliness of the brown pine needles on what should have been a green slope. But that was all neither here nor there—I had bigger things to worry about, as always.

  “How long has your team been coming up here?”

  “We’ve been surveying for about a week.” Alder’s frown deepened, and he went from seeming concerned to looking almost ready to fight. “Shye, what’s going on?”

  I couldn’t control the head shake I gave him. Couldn’t stop it from spreading into a tremble that wracked my body either. I’d fucked up somehow. Completely, totally, undeniably. I hadn’t paid attention like I was expected to, or I would’ve known the land up the road would be harvested. I’d have noticed the Kennard team in the woods. I had one job, one task to complete so they’d leave me alone. And as much as I hated the job I’d been assigned—had always hated it—I’d promised to complete it as a way of paying what I owed. With barely six months left on my sentence, I’d failed, and I’d be forced to pay a price. Again.

  “Shye?” Alder’s use of my name tore me from my thoughts, reminding me I had a part to play. Lies to tell.

  “Sorry. Just…there’s nothing to save here.” There never had been, not really. Of course, he didn’t need to know that. “I should go check in to the motel at Deacon’s before it gets too late. I have to work tonight.”

  But Alder wasn’t stupid. “Honey, your home burned down today. I’m sure you can take the night off to deal with all this stuff.”

  “I have no stuff left, and if I’m going to replace any of it, I need to work. Thanks for your help.”

  “Shye, stop.” Alder grabbed my arm, gently trying to stop me from leaving. But that hold, that demand—no matter how sweet it might be—reminded me of the men who hadn’t been gentle or sweet. The ones who hurt. That touch threw me into a place too dark to see past, and something inside of me snapped.

  “No,” I yelled, yanking my arm away. “Let me go, Alder.”

  He froze. I’d never seen anything shock Alder Kennard—never seen him as anything other than confident and sure. He didn’t look like either of those things anymore. In fact, he almost looked hurt.

  “Okay, honey. Whatever you need.” And with that, he walked away, heading back toward the fire with Gage at his side.

  Heart hurting, stomach sick, I turned and headed to my car. I knew when to retreat. I needed to find a place to hole up, to settle, to breathe. And it wasn’t on that damn mountain in front of my burned-out trailer. Or in front of the sheriff, who rolled into the driveway just as I reached the hood of my car. Too late. Always too late, that man.

  “What’s going on here, Shye?” Tall but thin, Sheriff Baker unfolded himself from his cruiser, his dark boots crunching on the gravel. The same style of boots the cop had worn the night he came to tell us my mother had died in a shootout at a strip club outside of Boulder. The same boots that had brought another cop into the house five months later to arrest my stepbrother for manslaughter, a charge later dropped after a hefty payment from the Soul Suckers. The same sort of boots that had nudged me awake after the accident that had destroyed what little sense of normalcy I’d known at that point.

  I hated those fucking boots.

  Refusing to look him in the eye, I hurried to my car. “My place burned. Probably the electrical—the kitchen outlet tended to spark a bit if you didn’t put the plug in just right.”

  “Electrical fire. I’m sure the insurance will believe that.” As if we’d had insurance on th
at old hunk of junk. “You leaving us then, girl?”

  I doubted he meant leaving the clearing in the woods where we stood. “I have to work tonight. I’ll figure out what to do about all this tomorrow.”

  He stared at the trailer for a long minute before turning his head my way, his shrewd eyes catching mine. Searching. Judging. “Okay, then. Nothing we can really do since the fire’s burned itself out already.” No thanks to him taking so long to get there and obviously not calling for fire support since he’d arrived alone. “I’ll come track you down if I need anything.”

  Of that, I had no doubt. I nodded and slid into my car, slamming the door behind me. My hand shook as I tried to insert the key, and my eyes burned, though not from smoke or fear. No, I didn’t cry when I felt scared—I cried when I felt angry. And right then, I was pretty damn livid with myself for screwing up. Three years—down the drain.

  But there was no use in worrying about how bad my next punishment would be. I had to secure a safe place to stay, someplace to hide out for a few days.

  Before I could leave, though, Alder Kennard caught my attention again. I stared at his confident stance, the way his arms bulged as he crossed them over his chest. At the angry, focused stare on his face. I thought I was safe behind the windshield of my car, but he turned before I looked away. Catching me looking.

  I was always looking, it seemed.

  Alder held my gaze, brows lowered, a deep frown marring that handsome face. Gage stood at his side, leaning in and whispering to him, but Alder didn’t appear to be giving him a bit of attention. Instead, his eyes stayed locked on mine. Slicing through me. Seeking something I already knew I couldn’t give him. In another world, another lifetime maybe, I’d hand over whatever he wanted. I’d give him everything—body, mind, heart. But in my current situation, I had nothing for him except danger. I owed a debt to a motorcycle club, most likely the same one who’d burned my trailer to the ground. There was no escaping that threat.