Page 10 of Bunker Down, Baby

Maple

Evan looked disappointed when I locked him back in, but honestly, I’m just not sure he’ll behave, even with the official shelter-in-place orders buzzing across every emergency broadcast channel like a final lullaby.

Besides, he’ll feel better when Brock’s here.

They all will.

I park us a few dozen yards out from Brock’s cabin. Hidden well enough that no one’s likely to spot Dean standing watch, even if some neighbor with a drone is being nosy.

I smooth my shirt, give Dean a quick wink. “Stay right here. I’ll poke my head out when I’m ready for you to bring the bags.”

He grins like I’ve just handed him a shotgun and a six-pack. “You got it, baby.”

God, I love how he calls me that.

I creep toward Brock’s place, careful not to snap any branches underfoot. Everything’s quiet. Just the soft wind and the distant sound of something nocturnal calling out in the dark.

Brock’s a creature of routine. Always in bed early when he’s planning a hunt. I know that. I’ve been watching him for a long time, studying his habits, learning his patterns, taking quiet little peeks through his windows like a very considerate future wife.

His back door is unlocked. Of course it is. He’s trusting like that. Or cocky. Either way, it’s adorable.

I slip inside, silent as the grave, and find him just where I knew he’d be, curled on his side, shirtless under the sheets, breathing slow and deep. I smile as I move closer. His gun’s by the bed, but it won’t matter. He doesn’t even flinch when I inject him.

While I wait for the sedative to take effect, I gather some things. His guns. Guns are personal, and even though I have all the guns and ammo he’ll ever need, these are his, and that matters.

I check on him once the guns are all in one place by the door.

His chest rises and falls with each breath. Big, solid, steady. He’s beautiful in the way wild things are. Rough. Unpolished. His scars catch the moonlight, and I can already feel my heart doing stupid, fluttery things.

We’re going to be so good together.

I brush his hair back from his forehead and press a kiss to it. Then I poke my head out the door and stage whisper, “Bring in the bags!”

While I wait, I pull out Brock’s winter coat. I wasn’t able to find the exact same style and brand, and he doesn’t have much, so there’s no reason to leave anything behind.

Dean strides in like we’re robbing a Best Buy, two duffels over his shoulder, that boyish grin still firmly in place.

I’ve already set out Brock’s metal coffee mug, because he never drinks coffee in anything but that.

“So what all are we grabbing?” Dean asks, looking around the cabin. “Like for a weekend, or full-on cram in all the shit we can?”

“Let’s take all we can. He’s picky,” I say, waving a hand as I pull the covers off Brock. “I wanted him to have a few things to anchor to. I bought him all new things, too. I know what he likes.”

Dean raises an eyebrow, but he starts shoving clothes from the dresser into a bag. “Do you know what I like?”

“Yes. And you’re welcome.” I hand him a set of cuffs and a smile that should be illegal.

He bends over Brock’s body with me, and I can’t help but notice how huge they both are. It’s like dragging two slabs of hot, male lumber through the woods. Dean loops the cuffs on, strong and practiced, and glances at me as we start working together to get Brock bundled into one of the thicker duvets.

“You studied me?” he asks, cocking a grin. “That why I got brand-new boots in my closet at the bunker?”

“Yes. And a leather jacket in the hall. I saw you eyeing one just like it in that catalog on your desk three weeks ago.”

Dean lets out a low whistle. “Pamela never bought me jackets. Pamela mostly bought meth.”

I roll my eyes. “Well I’m not Pamela, Dean.”

“No,” he says, dragging Brock up with one arm like he weighs nothing. “You’re so much better. You’re like if Martha Stewart ran a cult.”

“Oh my God, thank you,” I say.

“Did Evan get this treatment?” He shifts the weight of Brock onto his back and smirks at me. “I didn’t. Are we stopping at my place to pack my shit too?”

I wave a hand. “If you really want to stop at your place, we can but I bought you everything you need. You only had a handful of things at your place, and I already replaced them. I did pack Evan and bought all the expensive snacks he likes, and his shampoo, and that weird brand of toothpaste. I’ve got you all memorized.”

Dean laughs. “You really did your homework.”

“I care,” I say, genuinely. “And I want everyone to be comfortable. That’s not a crime.”

Dean adjusts Brock’s weight again. “You know, it should be scary that you’ve got a database of our preferences like a horny NSA agent, but honestly?” He leans in. “It’s kinda hot.”

I beam. “It is hot. It’s sexy to be prepared.”

Together we carry Brock to the car like two proud new parents lugging a very unconscious baby. My men. My future. My little bunker-bound family.

God, this is going so well.

The drive back is smooth and quiet, just the hum of the road and the weight of Brock’s body in the backseat, breathing nice and steady under the sedative. Dean has one boot on the dash, like we’re just heading home from the hardware store instead of abducting a whole man in the middle of the night.

He turns to me with that grin, half mischief, half menace, and says, “So, you already know who’s next?”

My heart does a little flutter. God, I love how on board he is.

“I do,” I say, eyes on the road but smiling so hard my cheeks ache. “Sort of. There are two left. Wade, who is a farmer and Holden.”

He whistles low. “Wade. Let me guess. Big guy, calloused hands, all organic eggs and doomsday beans?”

“That’s him,” I nod. “He’s got a tractor, farm animals, and three working water pumps. The kind of man who could keep a whole community fed without even trying.”

Dean stretches, cracking his knuckles. “And Holden?”

I sigh, dreamy just saying his name. “A survivalist. Doesn’t trust anyone, keeps to himself. But he’s got gear like you wouldn’t believe. Satellite phones, MREs, solar panels. Hell, I think he built a whole bunker before it was trendy. He’s suspicious of everyone, but also, fun twist, he’s got a hero complex a mile wide. Total protector instincts.”

Dean grins. “So farmer boy or lone wolf vigilante. Which one’s the bigger flight risk?”

I tap the steering wheel, thinking. “Holden’s more paranoid, so he’ll be harder to get near. But if Wade figures out something’s off, he’s got enough land to bury us both before lunch.”

He laughs, low and dark. “We need to snatch them both before either one gets spooked.”

“Exactly,” I say, delighted. “Things are falling apart out there. The flu’s in every major city now. If we wait too long, they’ll go underground or off-grid. And I really don’t want to dig Wade out of a bunker too. Holden is enough.”

Dean winces, like he’s imagining the effort. “Yes, ma’am. That sounds like a proper nightmare. You think Holden’s got traps?”

“He’s definitely got traps,” I say cheerfully. “That’s why I’ve been mapping them out for months.”

He chuckles. “Jesus. You really have been planning this.”

“I told you,” I say, glancing over at him. “This isn’t kidnapping. This is logistics.”

Dean laughs so hard he has to wipe his eyes. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?”

I beam. “I’m building a family.”

He leans over and kisses my temple, all warm and proud like a partner in crime should be. “Yeah, baby. And I’m gonna help you build it brick by brick.”

God, I love him.

Brock’s heavier than he looks. Dean has one of his arms slung over his shoulder like they’re old drinking buddies, and I’m holding his feet, trying not to giggle every time we bump into a wall. It’s hard to steer when your heart is doing cartwheels in your chest.

Because he’s finally here.

We get him into the room on the other side of Evan’s. Another soft mattress. Matching warm lighting. Everything just right. Dean lays him down with care, he really is good at this, and I get to work locking the cuffs around Brock’s wrists. Nothing too tight. I’m not a monster. Just snug enough to keep him here until he sees how perfect everything is.

He’s still out cold, head turned to the side, mouth slightly parted. God, he’s beautiful. Not the polished kind of beautiful. He’s rough and raw and built for work, the kind of man you find on the edge of the world doing something dangerous and solitary. His chest rises slow. Heavy. Thick with muscle. His scars are jagged and real. His face slack with sleep but still so him, strong jaw, long lashes, that slight furrow like even unconscious, he’s not quite at peace.

I brush a hand down his chest. Slowly. Reverently. His skin is warm and solid and smells like pine needles and something primal. My fingertips trace one of the longer scars that disappears under the blanket and I just know I want to learn the whole story.

Behind me, Dean presses close, his hand slipping around my waist. “Jesus, you’ve got a type, sweetheart.”

I hum, leaning back into him, and tilt my head toward Brock. “You can’t tell me he’s not perfect.”

“Oh, he is,” Dean murmurs, his other hand sliding up under my shirt to palm my breast. “But you touching him while I touch you? That’s a new level of twisted.”

“Mmhm,” I say, breath hitching as his thumb circles lazily over my nipple. “I’m just making sure he feels welcome.”

Dean chuckles against my neck, his mouth warm there. “Real hospitable of you.”

We stay like that for a moment, me petting Brock like a prize stag, Dean grinding softly behind me like we’re slow dancing at a very illegal prom, before we finally pull away and start unpacking his stuff.

Dean tosses Brock’s winter coat over a chair. “You didn’t pack mine,” he teases. “I’m gonna hold that grudge forever.”

“You didn’t have a coat worth packing,” I smirk. “Besides, I bought you better stuff.”

“Mm. True. I’ll look damn good in that jacket you picked,” he says.

“I know.”

He finishes stacking Brock’s gear near the foot of the bed, then turns to me, stretching with that cocky ease. “So. Now what? Go play with Evan? Or should we go shopping for the next two?”

I tap my chin, thinking.

“Let’s check on Evan. See where his head’s at. The radio’s been nonstop. He might finally be feeling a little grateful.”

Dean slings an arm around me as we walk toward Evan’s room. “I love your optimism.”

I unlock Evan’s door and peek in. He’s sitting on the bed, radio crackling beside him, eyes a little wide but alert. When he sees me, something in his face softens, like he was waiting for me.

“Hey, baby,” I say gently. “Thought you might want to stretch your legs. Have a midnight snack.”

He stands slowly, watching Dean with mild wariness, but also… curiosity. “You two bring someone else back?”

“Mhm,” I nod, stepping in to unclip his restraints. “Brock. He’s a hunter. Strong. Skilled. Sooooo hot.”

Evan makes a face. “You have a real problem.”

I just grin. “And now I have people to help me solve it.”

Dean leans against the doorframe, arms crossed like a very smug bouncer. “Radio says downtown’s burning. Half the hospitals are closed. You sure you’re not happier in here?”

Evan rubs the back of his neck. “Honestly?” He glances at me. “I still think you’re insane. But out there? It’s chaos.”

I beam. “See? You get it.”

He rolls his eyes. “Don’t push it.”

I squeeze his arm. “Come on. We’ve got ice cream. We’ve got Dean. And now we’ve got Brock. This family is coming together.”

Dean winks. “It’s like the weirdest version of The Bachelor, but everyone’s already cuffed.”

I throw my head back and laugh, completely filled with joy. Because this is exactly how it’s meant to be. A little twisted. A little terrifying.

Perfect.