Page 27 of Bunker Down, Baby

I smile. Sweet. Innocent. A total fucking liar. “What, me? Of course not.”

He laughs, eyes back on the wires. “Thought not. You don’t seem like the type.”

Oh, baby. I’m exactly the type.

He leans deeper into the machine, and I step behind him. Quiet. Calm.

And put one hand on his shoulder.

He freezes just a little, just enough.

“I really do appreciate you coming,” I say softly.

His voice is quiet too, a little confused. “No problem, I…”

Then quick, practiced, and gentle, I jab the needle into the thickest part of his shoulder and press the plunger down smooth and easy.

He starts to rise, and I guide him gently back down.

“Just hold still for one second, okay?” I say.

He tenses. “What the f…”

I shush him. “Shhh. Shhh. It’s okay. Just relax, Dean.”

He twists to look at me, muscles jerking, but it’s already working. The sedative I chose is mild enough to make him woozy, compliant, not hurt him.

I’m not a monster.

His hazel eyes find mine, stunned and foggy and so goddamn beautiful.

“What... the hell...?” he says.

“You’re okay,” I whisper, brushing my fingers over his hair. “I just need you to lie down for a little nap. You’ve been working so hard. You deserve a rest.”

He tries to say something else, but his mouth isn’t cooperating. His body sways.

I catch him.

His head tips against my shoulder, and I stroke his back as he sinks.

“There you go,” I murmur. “I’ve got you.”

And I do. I always will.

Getting him into the wheelchair isn’t easy, but I’m not exactly a damsel and I manage. He’s heavy, but worth it. Like expensive furniture or emotionally unavailable men.

Once he’s settled, I triple-lock the main bunker door and seal it up tight. Just the way I like it.

Dean’s still slumped in the wheelchair, his head lolled slightly to the side, all long limbs and unconscious masculinity, like someone sedated a Roman statue.

“I bet you’re even more stubborn than Evan,” I murmur as I steer him down the hallway. “That’s okay. I like a challenge.”

I wheel him past Evan’s room, still locked, still quiet. He’s probably still sleeping. Last night did wear him out, after all. Sweet thing.

Dean’s room is right next door, of course. Same layout. Same high-end mattress. Only the best for my boys. I invested, okay? It’s not kidnapping if you provide premium memory foam.

I wrestle Dean’s body onto the bed, he groans a little, soft and barely conscious, his breath warm against my cheek as I lower him down.

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