Chapter 4 Dutch
four
Dutch
Working with Avery is like working with a general who wants to court-martial me between every strategic decision.
She's everywhere at once: coordinating defensive positions, adjusting tactics on the fly, keeping her people calm while raiders storm the south perimeter.
And I can't stop tracking her movements, can't stop calculating threat vectors around her position, can't stop thinking keep her alive even while I'm fighting for my own life.
My traps take down the first wave: pit traps, tripwires, Molotov positions that turn the approach into a kill zone.
Old Hawk wasn't expecting resistance. The confusion is beautiful to watch.
"Push them toward the northwest!" Avery's voice cuts through the chaos, and something in my chest responds to the command in her tone. "Cover the gap by the medical building!"
I'm fighting alongside her people, and it feels different than fighting alone.
There's a rhythm to the way her guards trust each other, the way she positions resources without hesitation.
The way I find myself moving to protect her flank without conscious thought, my body responding to her presence like we've been doing this for years instead of days.
They've done this before. Three years ago, in this same settlement, against worse odds.
They survived that. They'll survive this. She'll survive this. I'll make damn sure of it.
Jenna fights with us, armed with a rifle she barely knows how to use but determined to stand against the man who stole her life. Her aim is terrible. Her courage isn't.
"Behind you!" Avery shouts.
She's shouting at me.
I spin, take out a raider who'd gotten past the traps, feel the hot spray of blood across my face. No time to think. Only react. Only note that Avery was watching my back while leading a battle.
The thought does something warm and dangerous to my chest.
Old Hawk himself leads the final push. He’s a big man with cold eyes and the kind of cruelty that comes from having all the power. He fights his way toward the command center, toward Avery, like he knows exactly who he needs to kill.
Ice floods my veins. Not fear for myself. Fear for her.
He doesn't get there.
I intercept him near the water tower, and this fight is personal in a way none of the others were. This bastard wants to hurt Avery. Wants to destroy what she's built. Wants to add her to his collection of broken settlements and enslaved survivors.
Over my dead body.
Our fight is brutal, fast, the kind of close combat where whoever makes the first mistake dies. Old Hawk is good. Experienced. But I've been training for this moment since I heard Clearwater's distress call three years ago.
And now I'm fighting for more than redemption. I'm fighting for the woman who rebuilt from ashes and deserves to keep what she's built.
The knife goes into his throat while his hands are still reaching for me.
When it's over, Clearwater stands. Damaged, bloodied, but standing.
Two of Avery's people are dead. Five more wounded seriously. The graves they're digging will hold good people who trusted her to keep them safe.
I find her at the gravesites that afternoon. She stands alone, shoulder bleeding from a bullet she still hasn't let anyone treat properly, staring at the fresh-turned earth.
"You did good," I say.
"Two people are dead."
"And forty-one are alive. Without your leadership, this settlement would have been destroyed."
"Don't try to make me feel better about death."
"I'm not." I move to stand beside her. "I'm trying to make you see what I should have seen three years ago. You're a good leader. Maybe the best I've encountered. Even when the choices are impossible."
She turns to look at me.
"I hear them now too," she says quietly. "The new ones. Added to all the others."
"You'll always hear them. That's not weakness. That's what makes you human."
We stand in silence as the sun sets over Clearwater. The battle is won. The settlement survived. Tomorrow they'll rebuild, strengthen, prepare for whatever comes next.
We're in her quarters to do some planning, supposedly. Discussing next steps, coordination with other settlements, the intelligence Jenna can provide about remaining raiders.
Except I can't focus on tactics when she's pacing in front of me, still wearing the tactical vest from the battle, a smudge of dirt across her cheekbone that I want to wipe away. Except the conversation keeps stalling. Keeps circling back to long pauses and looks that last too long.
She's watching me the way I'm watching her. Like we're both waiting for something. Like the air between us is charged with more than just battle adrenaline.
"You should leave," Avery says finally, stopping her pacing to face me. "That was our agreement. Old Hawk is dead. Your debt is paid."
"Is it?"
"You saved my settlement. Helped kill the man threatening us. Whatever you owe for three years ago—"
"It's not about debt." I step closer, and I see her breath catch. See the way her pupils dilate. "It stopped being about debt somewhere around the third planning session, when I realized I wasn't just trying to make up for failing you. I was trying to earn the right to be near you."
"That's a terrible idea." But she doesn't step back. "I don't trust you. I might never trust you."
"I know." Another step. Close enough now to smell gunpowder and sweat and something underneath that's uniquely her.
"Then why are you looking at me like that?"
I close the distance between us. "Because we might have died today.
Because you carried an entire battle on your shoulders and still had room to protect a teenage girl who reminded you of the one you couldn't save.
Because I haven't met anyone in four years who understands what it costs to make impossible choices. "
"Dutch—"
"Tell me to leave and I'll leave. I'll walk out of Clearwater tonight and never come back, just like we agreed.
" I reach up, finally giving in to the urge to touch her.
My thumb traces along her jaw, wiping away that smudge of dirt.
She leans into the touch, just slightly.
Just enough. "But if there's any part of you that wants me to stay—"
She kisses me before I can finish.
And it's everything.
I back her against the wall and she wraps her legs around me, demanding, desperate. Her hands tear at my clothes while mine map the curves of her body.
"This doesn't mean I forgive you," she gasps against my mouth.
"I know."
"This doesn't mean I trust you."
"I know."
"This just means," She breaks off, gasping, as I lift her and carry her toward the bed. "It just means I'm tired of being strong alone. Just for tonight."
I lay her down and strip away layers. She's beautiful underneath. Strong. Scarred. Real. Battle bruises mark her shoulder, her ribs, testament to everything she survived today.
"Tell me what you want," I say, hovering over her.
"You. Now. Stop talking."
"Not a chance." I pin her wrists above her head with one hand, use the other to trace down her body. She arches into the touch, fighting and surrendering simultaneously. "Tell me what you need, Avery. I want to hear you say it."
She breaks off, gasping, as my fingers find the wet heat between her thighs. "Fuck. I need you to make me forget."
"Forget what?"
"Everything. The dead. The dying. The screaming. All of it. Just for one night."
I understand that need better than I can express. So I give her what she's asking for.
My mouth traces a path down her body, down her throat, collarbone, the curve of her breast. I take my time with her nipples, sucking and biting until she's writhing beneath me, until the only sounds she makes are desperate and wordless.
"More," she demands.
I give her more. My fingers work her pussy while my tongue circles her clit, tasting her, learning what makes her gasp and moan and curse my name. She's soaked, clenching around my fingers as I fuck her with them.
"Dutch, please."
"Please what? Tell me."
"I need your cock. Now. Stop teasing and fuck me."
I surge up her body and thrust inside her and we both go still. Hot and tight and perfect and I have to breathe through it for a second or this is going to be embarrassingly short. Then she rolls her hips and thinking becomes impossible.
We fuck like it's the end of the world. Because it might be.
She meets every thrust, nails raking down my back hard enough to sting, legs locked around me pulling me deeper, and I give her everything I've got.
The headboard hits the wall. She stops trying to muffle anything.
I can feel every time I hit the right angle by the way she gasps and tightens around me, so I find it and stay there, grinding into her until she's shaking.
"That's it," I growl against her throat. "Take what you need. Use me."
"I'm going to come!"
"Come for me. Let go."
She shatters. Clenches around me so hard my vision blurs, her whole body arching off the bed, my name torn out of her throat. Her pussy grips me in waves and she shakes through every one of them, hands fisting in the sheets, thighs trembling against my hips.
I thrust through it twice more and then pull out and get my fist around my cock and stroke once, twice, and I'm gone.
Come spills across her stomach in hard pulses, each one dragging up from the base of my spine, hips bucking forward with the force of it.
A sound grinds out of my chest I've got no control over.
It goes on longer than I expect. Takes more out of me than I expect.
She watches the whole time. Hands on my arms, fingers pressing in, feeling me shake through it. Doesn't look away once.
That nearly wrecks me more than the rest of it.
After, she drags her fingers through the mess on her skin without a word. Just looks at me. Something satisfied and dark in her eyes.
"Smart," she says.
"One of us has to be."
Her mouth moves. Almost a smile.
We lie tangled together in the wreckage of her sheets. I should leave in the morning. That was the deal.
Instead, I stay.