Prologue
"I don't see an invoice for the Armstrong boys," I grumbled loudly as my fingers flew over the ancient keyboard.
Said keyboard, along with the rest of the computer, was a holdover from the prior century. The whole setup should've been scrapped years ago - it barely passed for a paperweight. I cursed the machine every month when it came time to reconcile the store's finances. Unfortunately for me, Dean Winchester was more interested in good wrenches and old cars than in computers. He and technology had a rocky relationship since yelling at it never did much good.
"What'd you say?" came a voice from the garage.
"Remember the two guys who came in here last week with their stuttering Corolla? Pot smokers. One of them lost a shoe somewhere down our drain."
From where I sat at the only desk in the entire auto shop, I could just see the tips of my boss's work boots through an open door. He lay on the floor in the closest parking bay, underneath an imposing old Impala.
"Yeah, what about them?"
"Did you charge them for the work?"
I heard something clatter, followed by a loud clang. "It was only a ten minute job."
"Which is worth about forty dollars in labor. Not to mention, do you have any idea how much these spark plugs actually cost us?"
Scattered before me lay piles of receipts, invoices, scheduling notices, and other miscellaneous paperwork. Despite three hours of effort on my part, the desk was still drowning in paper; chaos reigned. I glanced up at the computer screen and groaned – the shop's outdated accounting program ran at the speed of molasses. It had yet to catch up with me.
"Not a clue," Dean replied as he somehow crawled out from beneath the hulking vehicle, his Baby, and stood up.
"If we still lived in a trade economy, it'd be roughly three burritos and one chicken."
The owner of Treasured Junk dusted himself off and walked into the waiting room that also doubled as the office of his garage. Up close, Dean Winchester stood a good six feet in height, with close-cropped black hair and impenetrable green eyes. Whenever he looked at me, I got the feeling that the man could see right into my soul. Made me wonder what he saw there.
I squinted at yet another receipt and tried to make sense of its less than stellar notation. Most of a morning had been spent on this endeavor and I was no closer to digging myself, or the desk, out of this mess.
"Thank god for cash and capitalism, then," he said with a smirk. "It is Sunday, isn't it?"
"Last I checked, Boss."
"Then, what the hell are you still doing here, Jo?"
"Working."
"Shouldn't you be partying or something?"
"God no. What gave you that idea?"
"Wasn't that your boyfriend who picked you up last week?"
"Ex-boyfriend," I corrected with a sigh and pulled a stray hair out of my eyes. "I see you eyeing that shotgun of yours, but I can assure you that's entirely unnecessary. He was an asshole, but he had the common decency to at least let me know before it went anywhere."
"You have strange tastes in men."
I half grinned. "Apparently, I like them with a side of psychotic tendency. Go figure. On that note, why are we discussing my love life? Can we talk about you instead?"
"Fuck, no. I'm thinking of closing up shop for the day and going home. If you don't mind."
"Of course not," I started to say when we both heard a loud crash outside, followed by a heart-wrenching scream and a thud.
For a brief moment, Dean and I stared at each other. I glimpsed something like concern in his eyes. Pushing back my chair hard enough that it fell over, I vaulted around the desk and sprinted outside. I could hear Dean grab his gun and then his footsteps following me around the side of the garage. I rounded the corner into the alley behind the shop when I saw Gordon.
"Shit," I whispered and slid to a halt, heart pounding.
Like Dean, the older hunter was tall and muscular, body built for battle. His dark sin glistened in the pounding hot sun. In one hand, he held a pistol and it was pointed down at a body that lay at his feet. Dark, narrow eyes regarded me evenly.
I heard Dean stroll up to stand beside me. He raised his gun and aimed it dead center at the hunter. Like most people in this profession, my boss was a very good shot – it came with the job description.
"What the fuck are you doing here, Gordon? This is my territory, and you're not welcome here."
"It's none of your business, Winchester. Don't go sticking your nose where it don't belong," Gordon practically growled, showing off teeth.
"You're on my turf, so I'm making it my business."
"Fuck you, asshole," Gordon answered in kind.
I saw Dean put a finger on the trigger and release the gun's safety. "Answer the goddamn question, Walker, before I add a few more holes to your chest."
Gordon kicked the body in front of him sharply, and it whimpered in pain. "Just an omega, learning its very first lessons. Nothing to worry your pretty little head about, boy." At my gasp, his angry, deranged gaze focused on me. "And don't you go telling me it's human, bitch. Omegas ain't human."
All of my mother's advice regarding the rogue hunter ended with a very firm "stay the hell away from him". Right then, I couldn't agree more. I saw no sanity, no empathy in his empty, pitiless eyes. This was the gaze of a monster.
He and Dean faced off, guns pointed at one another now, both clearly itching to fight. Some of it was hatred, some biology, some pure instinct. They were both alphas, natural born hunters, and the street was their jungle.
"You know what, I've heard enough. You come into my territory, raise your voice at me, and insult the manager of my store. I don't like it. Get your sorry ass out of here, Gordon. Last warning."
"Too bad. I ain't leaving without my prize."
"Fine," Dean said mercilessly and took a shot at the hunter.
The sound of the gunshot echoed through the alley like ricocheting thunder. The weapon was loaded with buckshot – I knew because I watched Dean clean and reload the weapon a few days ago – so the damage looked worse than it was.
Still, Gordon's gun clattered out of his hand and onto the ground. He glanced over at his now bleeding shoulder and screeched in pain. His other hand went to the wound instinctively.
"What the hell was that?" demanded the hunter, anger seething in his voice. "You're not supposed to shoot other humans."
"Really, Gordon? Tell that to the boy you tortured. Now, I suggest you get moving. Next time, I'll aim somewhere a little lower."
"You bastard."
"Asshole."
As soon as Gordon took a few steps back, I rushed over and knelt down beside the bleeding young man. He wasn't conscious, from what I could tell, but his chest rose and fell with each hoarse breath. I pressed two fingers against the side of his neck and found a heartbeat, slow but steady.
Up close, the boy looked young, maybe eighteen or nineteen, with high cheekbones and a split chin. A large, purple bruise covered one whole side of his face, as though someone had punched him over and over again. His ears were pierced with two blood red studs. Dressed in a tattered white shirt and boxers, he looked young and vulnerable.
"I think I've seen him somewhere before," I said when Dean came over.
He nodded. "Yeah, you probably have. Remember John's little boy?"
"Sam?"
"Looks like it."
"He's gotten tall." I was guessing six foot four or five.
"Listen, Jo, why don't you go to the hospital with him when the paramedics arrive. I'm going to make a few calls and meet you there, all right?"
"Yeah, that's fine."
"Keep an eye on him and don't let the doctors make any stupid decisions on his behalf."
"Why? What's wrong? Boss?" My voice shook despite my best efforts to keep it under control.
"I met Sam about four years ago. Ran a hunt with him and his father. If my memory serves, he was an alpha back then, like his late daddy."
I glanced at my boss with wide, frightened eyes. "The fuck?"
"I don't know for sure, Jo. All right? Just do your best. I'll get in touch with Ellen, see if she has any insight on all this."
"Mama and John didn't get along."
"John didn't get along with anyone much. Stubborn assholes are like that. But Ellen had a thing for the boy - she used to mention that she thought John needed to settle down, give his kid some semblance of a normal life. She might know more."
"All right," I whispered as the first sounds of police sirens reached our ears. "What about Gordon?"
"He's not going anywhere anytime soon. Not with all that blood."