Claiming the Enemy: Dustin (Porter Brothers Trilogy 3)

Supporting her sore cheek under her arm on the dirty floor, feeling a tuft of hair against her skin. She reached out, imagining it was Dustin. When she realized what it was, the woods echoed with her screams until consciousness welcomed her back into his cold embrace.

5

Dustin woke from his nightmare knowing the person in his nightmare was dead. The beating he had imagined in his dream was too filled with fury and hatred. It had been like watching a movie, and when the final credits rolled across the screen, you knew it was over.

Shaking in the aftermath, he got out of bed to go into the kitchen for a glass of water. Drinking it, he poured himself another before going back to his bedroom. Raking a hand through his hair, he lay back down on his bed, wondering who the person was who died that night and wishing he could have prevented it. No one deserved to die like that.

In spite of the nightmare, he was so tired he found himself dozing off, fitfully tossing in his bed until he finally slipped into a deep slumber.

The next morning, he slept in late, only waking up when Logan jumped on his bed.

“You going to sleep all day?”

Dustin pulled his pillow out from underneath his head, putting it over his eyes. “Thinking about it,” he grumbled. “Why are you up so early?”

“It’s one o’clock.”

Dustin lifted the pillow to look at the alarm clock next to his bed. “I’ll give you ten dollars if you go back to bed,” he offered.

“You promised to take me to buy a new pair of shoes.”

“I changed my mind. We can do it next weekend.”

“Dad!” Logan yelled, pushing on his shoulder to get him up.

Dustin rolled over, tickling his son. “Are you raising your voice to me?” he teased as Logan nearly fell off the bed to get away. Playfully pulling him farther onto the bed, he resumed the tickling.

“I give!” Logan said on a giggle, still trying to get away.

Dustin stopped, falling back on the bed. “Let that be a lesson to you. Don’t wake up your dad on a Saturday. It’s the only day I get to sleep late.”

Logan sat up cross-legged on the bottom of his bed, not trusting him to resume the tickling. “You sleep on Sundays, too.”

“Yeah, but I feel guilty about it because Holly tries to get me to go to church.”

“Why don’t you go? I like going to church. It’s better than going to school.”

“Hopefully, next week you like them both the same.”

“But why don’t you go?”

“Because I’m too old to go to school with you.” Dustin nudged Logan over so he could get out of bed.

“I meant church.”

Dustin dodged the pillow that Logan threw at him, throwing it back at him lightly.

“I have to keep Greer company. He’s a big scaredy cat at being left alone. He needs me to protect him.”

An object hit on the back of his head from the doorway behind him. Dustin turned to see Greer standing there, holding Rosie.

Pretending to look over his shoulder, Greer turned back to him. “You better hurry, because the person who threw that took off running out of the house.”

Dustin was tempted to throw the teething ring back at the smug bastard. Only the fact that he was holding his child saved him.

Holly, walking past the doorway, was smart enough to scoop her daughter away from Greer.

“Greer?” Dustin gave him an anticipatory smirk.

“What?” he snapped, giving Holly a disgruntled look.

“Run.”

“You want another beer before I go to bed?” Greer asked, coming out of the kitchen.

“No thanks. I’m good.” Dustin raised his feet onto the coffee table now that Holly had gone to bed. “You heading to bed?”

“After I take a shower.”

Dustin turned around on the couch, his arm going to the back. “Knox didn’t call today?”

“No. Why would he call? It’s not like we’re friends.” He snorted.

“Just curious.” Dustin shrugged back around to watch the television.

“If you want to know if anyone died, just spit it out.”

Dustin sighed. He had never been able to pull the wool over Greer’s eyes.

“I’ve been having dreams.”

“No shit. Any idea who bit the dust?”

“No. I would have sworn whoever it was died last night.” He was dreading going to bed if they hadn’t. He was afraid he wouldn’t live through another night like he had the night before.

Greer sat down on the arm of the couch next to him. “Tate said he hasn’t heard the death bells.”

“He told you I asked?” Dustin picked up his bottle of beer, avoiding Greer’s gaze.

“Yes. I knew you were having dreams again. Kind of hard not to with you walking around the house in the middle of the night.”

“I didn’t want to worry you,” he explained.

“You wanted me to regain my strength and knew we couldn’t do anything anyway.”