Page 53 of Hell and High Water

And then the whole “I’m going to finish him off” business.

And finally, the “Shit, I can’t do it, at least not until I figure out what he has to do with everything going on in this crazy town and why my heart keeps fluttering every time I think about him.”

My head hums as I careen around another mountain road corner, that old flicker of images, the fugue state that hits me when I haven't been sleeping enough.

Like a waking dream, a flash of nostalgia so strong you’d swear you could hear it, taste it, smell it. But it’s just flashes, a sinking feeling in my gut, a rush of quick breaths and a sensation that I forgot something.

Then it fades.

Thank goodness it was a mild one. I’ve laid out my bike before having one of those sweet, stupid seizures on the road.

Pulling onto another back road, I cut across private property, heading for the overlook where I left my truck and trailer. I need to regroup.

Which means I’m heading to another marker on my map, a snippet of land that actually, technically, belongs to me. Or the woman I used to be a few name changes ago.

I haul ass down the mountainside, letting the thrill and the focus of navigating the rocky terrain distract me. It’s like autopilot, muscle memory.

It lets me check out and go into limbo for a minute.

My thoughts click into order, deleting the unnecessary and lining up the important shit. I can’t keep fucking around, hemming and hawing over what to do.

It’s time to make a move.

Loading up my gear, I head down off the ridge, off toward Severance, to the land we’ve owned near Sanctum for as far back in my family as I know of.

The old trailer my family kept for hunting trips appears around the final bend after a bumpy ride out past a derelict cattle gate.

Same as I left it years ago. Hope critters haven’t gotten in.

“Honey, I’m home,” I mutter, needing to hear a voice, any voice to settle my frayed nerves.

I wince as I say it, rubbing a hand over my bruised, possibly cracked ribs.

I shake my head, chastising myself as I let myself into the old trailer. “Dipshit. Like picking a fight with a tank.”

Inside, it’s musty and worn down, but still holding up well enough to stay in.

Dropping my things by the old kitchen table, I slump down, flipping off my boots and jacket. “Let’s see how bad it is…”

My skin is already purple right in the center of my chest, tender.

Prodding lightly, I flinch, taking a few deep breaths. “Wow. Nothing broken.”

I lean back, replaying the fight in my head.

I slam into the wall, dust puffing around me as I land.

Gav looked almost identical to when I saw him last, a little grayer, a little more worn. If anything, the rugged years have accented his features. He’s still just as fucking sexy, just as powerful.

I swear, if he had cracked a smile in the middle of that fight, I would have been done for. And just like that, I’m turned on like nobody’s fucking business. Those arms, tossing me like I weigh nothing…

“Dammit,” I moan, dragging a hand down into my crotch. “What am I going to do about you, Gavin?”

The pressure of my palm helps ease the ache between my legs.

I need a shower and a vibrator.

Killing him was kind of the point. Discovering that he still lived here and that he was alive had me all set. It’s black and white when you have a vendetta against someone.

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