by S. E. Smith
He swallowed and shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “Jerry,” he confessed.
She stared at him in disbelief. That wasn’t Jerry’s style. Why would he—her eyes widened with rage as a truly horrible suspicion formed in her mind.
“My truck,” she breathed out as fear tightened her chest.
She ducked under the mare’s head and pushed past her brother. By the time she reached the door of the barn, she was running as fast as she could. She uttered a loud, frustrated cry when she realized that the UTV was still sitting at the upper paddocks. She had ridden the mare here and planned to hike back up or ask Mason for a lift later to retrieve it.
She looked at Gary’s truck with narrowed eyes. She ran to it, yanking at the door. Climbing inside, she breathed a silent prayer of thanks when she saw he had left the key in the ignition. Seconds later, the tires of the truck spun on the loose gravel as she gunned the engine.
“Hey! That’s my truck,” Gary shouted as he ran out of the barn.
Samara was too far gone to care. Her heart was hammering in her chest, and she felt like she was having trouble breathing. If Jerry took her truck, he would find the money box. Those two things were everything that she had.
She wiped the corner of her eye with her sleeve when a tear started to slide down her cheek. She would kill every last one of them. So help her, she would spend the rest of her life in prison, but she would kill every single one of her brothers if they did this to her, starting with Jerry.
She slammed on the brake petal with both feet. The truck slid several feet and fishtailed to a halt in front of the barn. A low, mournful cry of rage filled her until she couldn’t contain it. Pushing open the door, she slid out and looked at the spot where she had left her truck earlier.
Broken glass littered the ground where Jerry had broken one of the windows. Samara sank to the ground, her legs no longer able to hold her. Bending forward, she gasped for breath and choked on her sobs.
“NO! Damn you all to hell! NO!” she cried, wrapping her arms around her waist and rocking back and forth as she felt a mental trap of hopelessness closing around her.
Chapter Eight
Adalard was close to a mile into the five-mile trip to his transport when the first wave of uneasiness hit him. He had left to refocus on his mission and put some distance between himself and Samara. The way she had looked at him with a combination of fear, curiosity, and innocence shook him to the core. He didn’t want her to be afraid.
The area around him expanded and contracted as if he had unintentionally sent out an energy surge. He stopped walking and slid his hand under his coat to the laser pistol strapped to his hip. He scanned the area, searching for the anomaly. The second wave hit him with more intensity, causing him to swivel and crouch.
Something was wrong. The power inside him was surging uncontrollably. The ground under him shook and several trees groaned and creaked.
“What is it?” he growled, focusing inward.
“NO! Damn you all to hell! NO!”
Samara’s heartbreaking cry struck him like a bolt of lightning. The anguish in her voice caused the power surging in and around him to swell until his body bowed with the force of it. She needed him. He must protect her.
He didn’t remember giving the command. One second, he was more than a mile from Samara, and in the next, he was wrapping his arms around her.
She briefly struggled against his unexpected touch. He barely tilted his head back in time to miss her fist. Her voice rose, and she released a string of curses that would have made any warrior think twice about challenging her as she twisted around and faced him.
For a moment, everything around them was suspended as she recognized who was holding her and she looked at him with wide, angry, tear-filled eyes. Her body shook as she drew labored breaths. A low, animalistic sound of pain escaped from her throat, and she buried her face against his chest. He tenderly pulled her against his body and soothingly stroked her back.
“I… hate them,” she sniffed, shaking her head back and forth.
She hit him with her fist, not hard, just a small thump. His energy wrapped protectively around her, cocooning her in its warmth while his eyes scanned the area for the danger to her.
“Who hurt you?” he demanded in a deceptively calm voice.
She tried to pull away from him, but he kept one arm around her while he cupped her trembling chin, searching her face for any signs of injury. He was shocked to discover his hand was shaking.
“Jerry. He-he stole my truck. It-It’s the only thing I have. That and all my money. I’ll never get it back. They’ll never let me go,” she whispered, thumping his chest again with her fist.
“Which way did he go?” he asked.
She shook her head and wiped a gloved hand across her cheek. “I don’t know. He’s probably headed back to town,” she mumbled in a dejected voice.
He looked at the driveway. “Did he go in the direction that you came from earlier?” he demanded.
She looked at him in confusion. “Yes.” She quickly inhaled a breath and an expression of wild hope crossed her face. “If I take Gary’s truck, I might be able to catch him. He can’t have been gone long,” she said.
He caught her arm when she turned. “I will go with you,” he declared.
She hesitated a moment before she nodded. He followed her to a dark blue truck and climbed in. She was pulling away before he shut the door.
“Seat belt,” she reminded him.
He waved his hand and the seat belt secured him. She glanced at him with a frown but quickly returned her attention to the road. He reached up and gripped a handle above the door when she slid around a curve.
She slowed when she reached the highway, glanced back and forth, and then pressed the accelerator. Smoke billowed behind them from the rear tires spinning on the hard surface. He gritted his teeth to keep from distracting her.
If they were to catch this Jerry, they would need more speed. He placed his hand on the dash and focused. Energy pulsed through him into the engine.
“What the hell?” she breathed.
“You steer this vessel, and I will make sure we have the speed to catch him,” he vowed.
She glanced at him from of the corner of her eye. “We seriously need to talk once I get my truck back,” she said through clenched teeth before adding under her breath, “… if we don’t die first.”
Adalard chuckled. “We will not die, misha petite lawarrior,” he promised.
“What does misha whatever-you-said, mean?” she asked.
“Misha petite lawarrior. It means ‘my little warrior’,” he said.
She scoffed and shook her head. “You are a piece of work. You might want to work on your pickup lines—and your timing. Neither is particularly good,” she dryly replied before sitting forward as far as her seat belt would let her. “I see my truck.”
Her jaw was beginning to hurt from clenching her teeth. Between the speedometer being pegged out and her nervousness about the upcoming confrontation, she was surprised her teeth had not shattered from the pressure. While she never backed down from a fight, she also didn’t go looking for them.
“Pass him,” Adalard instructed.
She nodded and made sure there was no oncoming traffic before she swung over into the passing lane. Jerry glanced at them as they passed him. She grimly smiled when he did a double take as he first recognized Gary’s truck, then the driver.
The moment she passed her truck, she took her foot off the accelerator. She kept her eyes on the rear-view mirror, making sure that Jerry did not go around. She breathed a sigh of relief when he pulled over onto the shoulder.
“Ok,” she said to herself soothingly. She took a deep breath. “I wouldn’t be shocked if he tries to take off the minute we get out of the truck. If he does, let him go. The last thing I want is for my dumbass brother to kill you,” she warned Adalard, shifting the truck into park before she released her seat belt.
She blinked
when she realized Adalard was already outside, and she was talking to herself. A glance out the back window showed he was already opening the driver’s door of her stolen truck. Her mouth dropped open when Adalard pulled Jerry out and held him up in the air—by one hand around his neck.
“Geez, I’ve heard of adrenaline rushes giving people superhuman power but damn!” she muttered before she realized she better stop Adalard before he killed her brother.
She opened the door and slid out. Gary’s truck was higher off the ground than hers and she had to brace herself when her boots hit the hard pavement. By the time she walked over to her truck, Jerry’s eyes were bulging and beginning to roll back in his head.
“Adalard, let him go,” she grudgingly ordered.
The look in his eyes when he glanced at her sent a shiver down her spine. She rubbed her hands along her thighs before she reached out and wrapped her fingers around Adalard’s bulging bicep.
“Adalard—you really need to let him go,” she firmly repeated. “You can’t kill him.”
“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t,” Adalard bit out, staring at Jerry with fire in his eyes.
“Because… he’s my brother,” she sighed. “I want to kill him, but even I can’t give in to that impulse, no matter how much he tries my patience.”
Adalard turned his hot glare on her. She wrinkled her nose and gave him a crooked smile while nervously observing Jerry’s face. Yep, her brother was definitely turning a Smurf blue.
Jerry’s strangled gasping filled the air when Adalard suddenly released him. Her brother’s feet hit the ground a second before his butt did. She winced when she heard the impact. Jerry’s ass was going to be almost as bruised as his throat.
“Wh-wha-what the fuck?” Jerry groaned, leaning his head back against her truck.
“I could ask the same thing, asshole. You should be thanking me for stopping him,” she growled, looming over her brother.
Jerry rubbed his throat and warily glowered up at Adalard. She ignored the irritation on both men’s faces. She wasn’t in the mood for a pissing contest. She wanted her truck, and she wanted her money.
She stood and bent forward, feeling under the seat. Her fingers grazed the metal money box. She gripped it, pulled it out, and opened it. A low growl of frustration slipped from her and she had to restrain herself from hitting Jerry on the head with the heavy metal box.
“Where is my money?” she demanded.
Jerry glanced up at her with a nasty smile. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he retorted.
She raised the box above her head, seriously thinking of clobbering her brother with it, when Adalard reached out and stopped her.
“You said you could not kill him,” he reminded her before he continued. “Perhaps I should have a man-to-man discussion with your brother.”
She took a breath and nodded. “If you need to add a few more bruises in order to get him to cough up my life’s savings, go for it,” she stated in a cold, hard voice.
“What the—! Hey!” Jerry yelped when Adalard reached down and yanked him by the arm to his feet. “You’re crazy! You can’t do this!”
Samara watched as Adalard unceremoniously forced her brother off the road toward the tree line. Once they were out of sight, she focused on the damage done to her truck. Bits and pieces of glass littered the driver’s side mat. It looked as if Jerry had brushed most of it off onto the floorboard but there was still some in the seat as well.
She pulled her heavy leather gloves out of her pocket and put them on, grabbed the small trash can she kept behind the seat and a heavy horsehair brush, and swept the glass into it. She kept looking toward the area where the guys had disappeared, but she didn’t see or hear anything. She was picking the last pieces of glass out of the seat when the sound of a diesel truck approaching drew her attention.
She scowled when she saw Gary sitting in the passenger seat before she noticed Mason in the driver’s seat wearing a grim expression. Her stomach clenched with fear at the thought of him firing her. She couldn’t blame him if he did. After everything that had happened today, nothing would surprise her.
Well, almost nothing. Adalard has a lot of explaining to do about the glowing supercharge thing he did to the truck, she warily thought.
“Are you okay, Samara?” Mason asked as he emerged from his truck.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” she replied.
Gary looked around with a wary expression. “Where’s Jerry? You didn’t kill him, did you?” he asked, paling.
She shook her head and had to turn away when Mason stifled his laugh. Her five-foot four inch, one hundred and twenty pounds was no match for Jerry’s almost six-foot, two-hundred-pound frame. Oh, she could probably put any of her brothers on the ground. The more difficult chore would be dragging their asses out and burying them deep enough so that they couldn’t dig their way back out.
“No, I didn’t kill him. He and the Alien Prince Rock Star are having a man-to-man in the woods,” she retorted, picking out more glass. “You and Gary owe me a new window.”
“Alien Prince Rock Star,” Gary repeated in a confused tone.
“Here they come,” Mason hastily interjected before Gary could ask any more questions.
Samara looked up. Jerry didn’t look any the worse for wear. He was pale and was stumbling a bit, but that could have been the after-effects of almost being strangled. She raised an eyebrow at Adalard when Jerry walked to Gary’s truck and climbed in without saying a word.
“Who’s that?” Gary asked.
“Why don’t you ask Jerry?” she replied with a saccharine-sweet smile.
Gary nodded. “I—okay. Um, about the money you promised…,” he began.
“There will be no money to you or to any of your brothers,” Adalard coldly stated.
“Uh—alright. Maybe we can talk… later tonight when you get home,” he stuttered before hurriedly retreating to his truck when Adalard took a menacing step toward him.
She looked at Mason with a sense of dread. “I’m sorry about the drama. It won’t happen again—at least, I hope it doesn’t,” she apologized.
Mason smiled kindly at her. “You have nothing to apologize for, Samara. Your brothers’ reputations are well known. Besides, it added a little excitement to an otherwise—” he paused and looked at Adalard, “… let’s just say it added a little more excitement to an already exciting day.”
She smiled in relief. “I still have a few things to do. After I finish, I’d like to talk to you about a personal matter, if you don’t mind,” she said.
“That’s fine. Since I’m already halfway to town, I might as well go pick up a few things I need at the hardware store. I should be back in a couple of hours,” he replied before he looked at Adalard. “Do you want to ride in with me?”
Adalard shook his head. “There is another matter that I need to take care of near here,” he said.
“Oh—alright, then. Nothing too dramatic I hope,” Mason replied with a wary expression.
“Nothing that concerns you,” Adalard answered.
Mason nodded. “Call me if you need anything, Samara,” he instructed.
“I will. Thanks, Mason,” she replied, trying to decipher the strange look Mason was giving Adalard.
A minute later she lifted her hand in a wave as Mason pulled away. Lowering her hand to her side, she shivered and looked up at the sky. The temperature was beginning to drop, and she still had a lot of work to finish back at the ranch.
“Tell me he gave it to you, every cent that he stole from me,” she whispered.
Adalard held out a bundle of cash.
“Your brother swore that this was everything. If it is not, I promised him we would have—another talk,” Adalard said.
Samara’s shuddering breath caused tendrils of steam to rise. She took the money and slowly counted it. It was all there—plus another hundred. That would cover her window repair plus her time.
“You and Jerry must�
�ve had one hell of a talk,” she breathed, holding the cash to her chest and looking at him with wide eyes.
Adalard smiled. “We came to an agreement,” he said.
“Thank you—for this,” she said, holding up the money, “and for coming with me and doing whatever you did with the truck.”
She swallowed when he stepped close. Standing this close to her, she realized just how tall he was compared to her. She tightened her grip on the cash when he traced his fingers lightly down her chin.
“A kiss—would be a nice thank you,” he suggested.
She looked back at him with a skeptical expression before she shook her head and gave him a sassy grin. Far from feeling intimidated by his request, she found it humorous. She had heard that pickup line down at the bar—about once a week. If he wanted to talk payment, it worked both ways.
“Mm, it doesn’t quite work that way. You see, if you wanted payment for doing a good deed, you should have negotiated the price before you did the job. Besides, in case you’ve forgotten, I gave you a lift earlier and saved you from hypothermia, so I’d say we’re even,” she pointed out.
He frowned. “But I want a kiss,” he persisted.
She raised an eyebrow at his almost pouty tone. “Well, I want a million dollars. Just because I want it doesn’t mean I get it. Besides, I don’t know you well enough to kiss you. You still have a few things to explain before we get to first base,” she retorted.
Pushing her shoulder into his chest to make him step back, she retrieved her metal box, placed the money inside it, and slid it behind her seat. He was still standing behind her when she finished. She climbed into the truck and gave him a pointed look.
“Time to go. Daylight’s burning, your Majesty, and I’ve got work to do. It’s going to be a cold ride home tonight if I don’t get some plastic on this window before dark. In the meantime, you can explain the ghostly glow and truck possession thing on the way back to the ranch,” she said.
“Are you always this obstinate? Surely one little kiss wouldn’t hurt,” he stubbornly muttered.