Bastian
Bastian
A Rogue Enforcers Novella
Desiree Lafawn
Bastian
Copyright © 2019 by Desiree Lafawn
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from Desiree Lafawn, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Photographer: Tonya Clark
Cover Model: Travis Norwood
Cover Design: Dark Water Covers
Contents
Also by Desiree Lafawn
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Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
The Rogue Enforcers Series
About Desiree Lafawn
Also by Desiree Lafawn
Also by Desiree Lafawn
Paranormal Romance
Gods of the Mountain
Misfit Crow
Havenwood Falls
Havenwood Falls Legends: Kiss the Ashes
Havenwood Falls Sin & Silk: Chase the Flames
Mountain Mermaids (Sapphire Lake)
Shiny Dancer
Lost to the Deep
Romantic Suspense
Glass City Protectors
The Permanence of Pain
Finding Gabe
Uncovering Dino
Keeping Jesse
Holiday Stories
Beck the Halls: A Gallery B Christmas
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Chapter One
Jerica
“Cher, I don’t know why you’d be asking about Bastian Michaels, but if I can give you any advice, it’d be stay away from that guy.”
It might have been a friendly warning from a nice old man in front of the carry out right on the side of Route 66, if it wasn’t for the way he grabbed his crotch and adjusted it right in front of me, maintaining complete eye contact the whole time. He then took a swig from a half empty bottle of Coke, then set it down on a table next to a half full ashtray and two other, empty bottles of Coke.
“You like horses?”
Weird question, but okay. I nodded in an attempt to look interested. I liked his accent and the way he talked, and I wondered what a bona fide Cajun grandpa was doing this far out west in Arizona. While I was curious enough to want to ask him about it, what I needed was information on Bastian, and no one knew more about a small town than the old guys that sit outside the store and watch everyone come and go. If small talk would get me the answers I needed, I could pretend to be interested in anything.
“They’re okay, I guess.” Just kidding, they scared the hell out of me, but I tried never to tell anyone that.
“Well you won’t like his. He’s a wild boy and harbors the devil’s soul.” The old man stopped talking, his eyebrows raised underneath the brim of his ratty baseball hat sporting the Arizona Diamondbacks logo, and paused for a moment.
He paused for so long I thought maybe he fell asleep with his eyes open, but then he blinked and frowned, and I realized he’d been waiting for me to say something in response.
“So, his horse is mean?” I was sure all horses were mean, but if there was something particular about this one, I would need to know if I wanted to get close to the man who owned him. Unless he was one of those, in which case things would get a little more complicated. I’d have to cross that bridge when I came to it though. I had to tackle one part of the list at a time, and the first part was finding Bastian—and then making him listen to me.
And the most important part—getting him to help me before I ended up on a missing persons list.
“Mean?” The old man gasped, his dry lips parting, giving me a glimpse of very straight and very white teeth for all the dark soda the man had obviously been drinking from the cache of empties I saw on the table. “That horse is the spawn of da devil himself. Matter of fact, everyone in town calls him Satan. Cuz word is you’d have to sell your soul to the shadow man to break him. He doesn’t even belong to Bastian as far as I can tell, just wanders in and out of his gated yard whenever the mood strikes him. Biggest pain in the ass guard dog you’ve ever seen. Old Toby the mail man doesn’t even like to deliver mail—won’t even get out of his truck if he sees that bastard in the yard. Just drives up and slings the letters in the box and hauls ass out of there.”
“Sounds like a hell of a pet.”
“That mustang is wild, he ain’t no pet. Never gonna be anyone tame that boy.” For a second I wondered who the old man was talking about, Bastian Michaels or the horse. Then I decided it didn’t matter, because I wasn’t trying to tame anyone. I just needed some help. The last week had been the literal worst of my life, and all I wanted to do was find a safe place to park my camper. I had yet to go to sleep since I got the chain off my leg and hauled ass out of the cabin that had been my prison for almost an entire week. No one had registered me missing, and they probably wouldn’t. After all, I was one of many nameless and faceless young people in Colorado. I lived in an RV and I worked seasonal jobs to make ends meet. I lived small, and to some people that meant living like a bum.
I wasn’t homeless, and I wasn’t a bum, but that didn’t matter to anyone looking. If I disappeared, there was no one in Boulder, Colorado who would attempt to find me. Except for the psycho who kidnapped me. And I learned early on I couldn’t go to the police for help. It was clear from the minute I saw Shane Westley change his form from a man to an animal and back again, that this was a very…special situation.
“Girl, you like snakes?”
“About as well as I like horses.” I answered immediately, which wasn’t an answer at all, but Ritchie looked pleased anyway. He laughed, slapped his knee, sipped from his bottle again, then smiled like I’d given him a compliment.
“I like you girl. I’ll tell you how to get to Bastian Michaels’ place, but if he gives you a hard time, you come back and tell old Ritchie. I’ll set him straight.”
Just how big of a jerk is this Bastian guy anyway?
The GPS was worthless, just like Ritchie said it would be. And while I hated to admit it, his ass backwards directions were spot on.
“Go about five miles off the highway, the first right past the busted stop sign. The one with the wedge cut off on the left, what when Jed Ackerman’s boy nipped it with his boat trailer. You can still read the word stop on it though, so it works fine. Take that first right and follow till the pavement turns to gravel and the gravel turns to dirt. Then keep going all the way to house inside the fenced-in yard. The fence is white, the house is white, the soul of the man inside is darker than that. If that big brown bastard isn’t in the fence line go on ahead and knock if you want to. If it is…welp…go on ahead and knock if you’re brave—or stupid enough.”
Ritchie had been right. The house and fence were both white, but what he failed to mention was the fence encircled the entire property, and the house sat smack in the middle of it. There was a paved drive that ran around the side of the house to a detached garage and a separate barn, but I had to park my camper before I could get to them, because of the six-foot fence and monster gate blocking my way.
The fence was white, like Ritchie sa
id, but it wasn’t of the picket variety. The gate stood solid and unmoving, and it was electric, which I guessed from the distinct lack of latch or opening mechanism. To the left of the gate was a little box on a pole which I assumed was an intercom. I confirmed my hypothesis when I pushed the button and a short crackle greeted me.
“Hello?”
No response. Not even feedback. I pushed the button again.
“Hello?”
Nothing. Not even crickets. If it wasn’t for the short crackle when I pushed the button, I would think the dumb thing wasn’t even on. Either this guy wasn’t home, or he didn’t want visitors. Either way, I wasn’t getting in by pushing that button—but I jabbed it a couple more times just to make sure.
Everything about this place screamed “stay out,” but I didn’t get where I was in life by heeding warnings. I also didn’t stay out of trouble that way either.
“Bastian Michaels’ always does the right thing. He might grumble while he does it, but he won’t say no.”
That was what the man had said when I called for help. When I asked what I should do about my particular problem. About what I’d seen. I couldn’t call the police—they’d think I was nuts. I almost thought I’d hopped on the insane train, but my eyes didn’t lie. The crazy way I’d spent the last few days was no lie. And the notebooks I had containing the scrawling of a madman didn’t lie.
It was in those notebooks I found reference to Colton Alexander—and a slight glimmer of hope. I didn’t understand the first thing about people who turned into animals, but I saw what I saw, I read what I read, and I knew I wasn’t running from a figment of my imagination.
I was running for my life.
“Bastian Michaels’ always does the right thing. Get to Kettle Arizona as fast as your ass can get you there. I’ll call ahead so he knows you’re coming. Trust me—this is the guy you need.”
Those words rang in my head again, just like they had on repeat since I started this journey. Don’t be scared, Jerica. Being afraid gets nothing done. Being brave gets things done. And Jerica Bellefontaine gets. Things. Done.
Getting to the top of the fence wasn’t hard. My hiking boots had a pretty good grip, and the horizontal slats on the fence made for good footholds. Nope, the problem was getting over the fence, since my legs were short and stubby.
If I could just get a little momentum, I can swing — The scream ripped from my throat as my booted foot slipped on the top rung and the forward momentum of my ass sent me right over the side of the fence, arms flailing as I fell.
For about a second.
My scream and descent violently halted as a piece of metal from the fence grabbed the fabric of my button-down shirt and hooked me in place. A loud riiip tore through the air but I held fast to the fence like I’d been nailed there. I couldn’t even reach behind to feel where the cloth was stuck. It was too high up, and I had limited mobility with the cloth of my shirt pulled back on whatever was holding me up.
Well, sonofabitch.
I hung there, my shoulder pulled back and my arms splayed out like a scarecrow, my feet hanging about sixteen inches from the ground. I tried to wiggle, hoping to free myself and drop the last foot or so, so I could hang on to the last shreds of my dignity, but nothing happened. I was afraid if I kicked too hard, I’d rip my shirt clean off, or worse, feared whatever snagged my clothing might snag my flesh as well. So, I hung there like a rag doll, contemplating the poor life choices that lead to that exact moment.
Well, this probably won’t get any worse.
And that’s when I heard it. The slow clopping steps of something heavy walking across the hard-packed dirt. I didn’t want to look. I was afraid to look. So of course, I looked. Slowly, painfully slow, I tore my eyes away from the ground below my feet and across the yard, toward the sound.
Holy hell, it was the biggest damn horse I’d ever seen. And they’re all big, aren’t they? Full-grown horses are huge. But this one—this one was massive. Even if I was inclined to ride horses, which I was not, I doubted I could have gotten on this one with a step stool and a hand up. I’d need a pole vault to mount that beast.
Not that I would.
Because horses scared the holy spirit out of me. And now I was hanging on the side of a fence in a yard I wasn’t supposed to be in, facing down an animal that supposedly harnessed the soul of the devil himself, according the guy I’d affectionately dubbed Gas Station Ritchie—on account of the fact that his name was Ritchie and I found him outside the gas station.
But the horse didn’t look like the devil. Oh, he was huge and intimidating, and my fear spiked and raced across my skin with every plodding step that brought him closer. But there were no flames shooting from his nostrils. He wasn’t running full tilt at me, getting ready to smash me into oblivion, and while he didn’t have his mouth open, I’m pretty sure there weren’t any fangs in there.
So, I had that going for me.
He just kept walking towards me with his coat so dark brown it was almost black, a stark contrast against the packed ochre soil. His mane and tail were both black, not even a highlight for the sun to pick up—just dark like the absence of light. He walked even closer as I dangled helplessly from the fence.
My heart lodged somewhere in my throat and my heart seized in my chest. He was big when he was across the yard, but now, only a few feet away from me, he was massive. I screwed my eyes shut, unwilling to see him come any closer, unable to protect myself from whatever happened next, but also unwilling to watch it unfold.
I held my breath as the footsteps stopped. And then let it all out in one long, horrifying scream as I felt teeth close around my wrist.
Chapter Two
Bastian
“Answer your damn phone.” Just those four words in a text message I couldn’t ignore. Well, I could ignore it, if I hadn’t already ignored the three phone calls and two voicemails I didn’t check. I didn’t have to listen to the messages to imagine the aggravated crescendo of Colton’s voice as he cussed me out for not answering the call.
It wasn’t my fault. He knew damn well I didn’t enjoy talking on the phone. Send me a text message with whatever you want to say, because I will for damn sure watch my phone ring and ring and ring until you leave a voicemail.
That I won’t check.
But I knew I pushed my luck when he called, then hung up and called again, then left a voicemail and immediately texted. It wasn’t a social call. It was work.
Damnit, I wanted a break from work. I just wanted to be an old man and live alone in my house where no one visited or bothered me or tried to sell me Girl Scout cookies. I said as much when the phone rang again and I picked it up after one ring.
“You’re not even forty yet and I’ve never seen you turn down a Thin Mint, so save me your bullshit. Has she showed up yet?”
“Who?” No one came to visit me, definitely not any she, so none of what Colton said made any sense.
“Jerica. She should be there soon. I’ve had my hands full or I would have called sooner, but she needs your help so you will help her. Seriously. Only you can do it.”
I didn’t like the sound of that. Only you. There was nothing I could do that no one else couldn’t. And screw Colton for thinking otherwise.
“Gimme a break, C.”
“Don’t call me that, Bastian. Throw a little respect on my name when you say it or I’ll come down there and give you a spank, you horse’s ass.”
“Oh ha ha, hilarious.” Any way to make fun of my animal, Colton would find it. “And back to the girl. What the hell are you talking about?”
“I will let her tell you, I think you should hear it from her. I only heard part of it but from what I was told you are the one person who can help her, and she needs help. Let me know when she gets to you, because if she doesn’t show up in a day you might need to go look for her. Maverick is already on the road so I’m sending him to Boulder to check out the scene she left.”
The scene she left? There must be som
e heavy shit going down if Colton was putting the hybrid vampire on the case.
“I still don’t follow, C, what does this have to do with me? And what’s in Colorado?” Like hell I’d go on a wild goose chase looking for some random woman I’d never met before. Just because Colton told me to? No. I don’t think so.
“It doesn’t matter. She’s coming. To you. For help. Don’t be a dick.” And then he hung up on me.
“Don’t be a dick.” Oh please, I wasn’t an animal.
That was how I cornered the dark-haired lady pinned to my gate, her booted feet kicking as she screamed bloody murder into my sensitive ears.
Why did my horse come out to greet her—and not me, the man?
I don’t know. He just wanted to, and I rarely tell him no. We’re partners. So if he wanted to sniff her out so to speak, I’d let him. It was his house too.
I tried to approach cautiously. We were both curious, he and I. My stallion was definitely a scary looking son of a bitch, but he wasn’t any more dangerous to others than I was. I just don’t like people, that wasn’t a crime. At least if I approached her in this form, I didn’t have to answer questions, and I wanted to see what she would do when confronted with my other half.
But the stench of fear rolling off her in waves did not match the boldness of a woman who would climb that gate without a second thought.