Chapter Sixteen

Dean felt sick to his stomach. He'd only agreed to this because he honestly saw no other option. The chance to catch Price had almost literally fallen into their laps and he would be stupid to not take it. But his nerves were on edge and he wasn't sure how long he could keep his cool. Dean watched carefully as Amie put the finishing touches on her make-up. She looked gorgeous, of course. Her long hair hung down her back, shining. She was wearing skinny jeans, high-heeled boots and a low cut t-shirt and a blazer. She was showing a little too much cleavage as far as Dean was concerned, but with the mood he was in, a turtleneck would have shown too much cleavage.

Dean checked his watch. He needed to concentrate on the plan, which was all he could do. They were scheduled to leave in 10 minutes. Always stick to the schedule, that's what his father had taught him. They had to be at the bar in 20 minutes and Sam was meeting Dean in 30 minutes. That was as far as they had been able to plan out, so of course, what happened after that was the part of the plan Dean couldn't stop thinking about. How long would Amie have to be alone with Price, how long until she could lure him outside? How long until he had her back with him, safe? Too long. Dean kept going over and over every possible scenario, knowing that it still wouldn't work out like they'd planned.

"I think I'm ready," Amie announced. She threw her stuff in her duffle bag, zipped it up and dropped it by the door. She turned back to Dean. "How do I look?" she inquired as she crossed the room to stand beside him.

"Gorgeous. Too gorgeous," he said as he grabbed her and kissed her. "I don't like you looking this good for someone else, but especially not a demon." Dean took a deep breath. "Okay, weapons check. Where's your knife?"

"Left boot," Amie responded, holding up her leg and pulling the knife out slightly.

"Gun?" he inquired.

Amie pulled her .22 from the custom-made holster in her right boot. She popped the magazine, showing Dean that it was loaded. When he nodded his approval, she slid the magazine back into place and put it back in her boot.

"Satisfied?" she asked.

"No, I'd only be satisfied if you wouldn't do this. But I'm out of luck on that one, so…," Dean didn't finish his sentence, instead he kissed Amie again, his hands running up and down her arms. "Sure you won't change your mind?"

"Yes," she replied. Dean thought she sounded out of breath.

Dean looked at his watch. Time to go.

They had rented Amie a Ford Edge, a nice non-descript vehicle that hopefully no one would notice. Amie drove and Dean sat in the passenger seat. A couple of miles before they got to the bar, Dean would move to the backseat, where Amie had thrown a blanket for him to hide under. That way, it would look like Amie had arrived at the bar alone. Once she was inside, Dean would leave the rental and meet up with Sam.

Dean kept his hand on Amie's thigh as she drove. He needed to be close to her, touch her, before he let her purposely go into such a dangerous situation without him. Amie put her hand on his and squeezed it.

"I'll be fine," she said quietly.

Dean didn't respond. He wished he could be sure that was the case. He knew she was a capable hunter, in fact, she was a great hunter. But the fact that he had feelings for this woman put everything in a different perspective. No matter how good she was, he didn't want her near anything that could hurt, or worse yet, kill her. She was too important to him.

Dean looked at his watch for what had to be the tenth time in five minutes. Amie had been in the bar for well over an hour. He'd tried texting her, but she hadn't answered. Sam was even starting to look worried.

"If she's not out in the next 10 minutes, we're going in," Dean muttered. Sam nodded his agreement.

Eight minutes had passed when Dean's phone vibrated in his hand. It was a text from Amie: "Price paying bar tab, out in less than 5." Dean showed the screen to Sam. In unison, they exited the Impala, moving quickly and quietly to where Amie had parked the rental car at the very back corner of the lot, under a stand of trees. They ducked behind a dumpster about 25 feet away. Dean pulled his gun from his jacket pocket, while Sam had Ruby's knife.

Less than five minutes later, just like she'd said, Amie came around the corner of the building, with the demon. She was giggling and wobbling as she walked, playing drunk. Price had his arm around her waist and appeared to be helping her stay upright. The sight of the demon touching Amie made Dean's blood boil. Sam had to put a hand on his shoulder to stop him from flying across the parking lot and shooting the demon in the head. When they reached the car, Price leaned Amie against the back door on the driver's side, one hand on either side of her, effectively trapping her.

Amie laughed, but Dean thought he saw her shoulders tense slightly. She put one hand against Price's chest, trying to push him back. "Easy there, pal. What's the rush?" Amie asked, her words purposely slurring. Price pushed himself closer, leaning down to whisper in her ear. A look of disgust crossed her face.

Dean wanted to jump out of his skin every time Price touched Amie. Shit, he didn't even have to touch her. Just the fact that he was breathing that close to her made him want to kill him. But Amie and the demon were in the wrong position and he couldn't go out in the open until they moved.

"Come on, come on sweetheart. Just a couple feet to the left" Dean coaxed silently.

"She needs to get him to move," Sam observed, voicing what Dean was thinking. "We can't do anything until she gets him in position."

"She knows, just give her a couple more minutes," Dean shot back, turning to look at Sam. "She'll take care of it." But his patience was wearing thin.

That's when Dean heard what sounded like a muffled scream come from Amie. He jumped to his feet and flew out from behind the dumpster, Sam close behind.

Price had his hand over Amie's mouth and he was trying to force her into the open front door of the car. She was putting up a hell of a fight. Before Dean could get to her, Amie shoved Price backward, pushing herself away from him, falling into the car as she did. When the demon came at her again, she planted both feet in his chest, the heels of her boots noticeably sinking into his gut, and pushed as hard as she could. Before he could regain his balance, Amie shot to her feet and kicked him square in the jaw. The demon spun to the right, his head hitting the side of the rental car. Before Dean even knew what was happening, Amie rushed Price, forcing him to the ground. Price tried to grab her, but Dean got to her first. He wrapped both arms around her waist, pulled her to her feet and backed away quickly. The demon tried to come after them, but he couldn't. Amie had managed to move him into a devil's trap, painted hours earlier and buried under dead leaves from the large trees shading the parking lot of the bar.

"Gotcha," Amie spit out at the demon. "Asshole."

Amie was rinsing the blood from Dean's hands, trying to stop the flow coming from the cut knuckles. Her touch was gentle and soothing. Dean leaned his head back against the torn couch and closed his eyes. His neck and shoulders ached from the punches he had been throwing at Price for the last two hours. Nothing he and Sam had tried had convinced the demon to talk. They had finally stopped out of sheer exhaustion.

Sam was sleeping, dead to the world, on the dining room floor of the rundown, abandoned farmhouse on the outskirts of Rogers where they had taken Price. Dean and Amie were in the back of the house, in a small living room. A torn-up couch was pushed against the wall. Amie had picked up a set of cheap sheets when she'd gone to town with Sam for food. They were thrown over the couch.

Amie had stopped cleaning his hands. Dean opened his eyes and saw her toss the bloody rag she was using in a bowl of warm water on the table. She stood up next to him on the couch and next thing Dean knew, she was sitting behind him, her butt on the back of the couch, her back resting against the wall. She began kneading the muscles of his neck and shoulders, trying to work out the knots. Dean leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, savoring the feel of her long fingers working their way across his back. Amie grabbed the back of his t-shirt and pulled it over his head, throwing it on the end of the couch. They sat like that for nearly twenty minutes; Amie massaging his back and shoulders, Dean relishing every minute of it, a comfortable silence between them.

Amie grabbed his shoulders and pulled him back against her, his head resting between her legs. When Dean opened his eyes to look at her, she kissed him, holding his head with both hands, her long hair tickling the sides of his face and neck. She stood up and turned around, straddling Dean. She continued kissing him, her hands running up and down his arms and across his chest and stomach. Dean put his hands around her waist and pulled her closer, his breath catching when she settled her weight on the erection straining against his jeans. He slid his hands under her shirt and pulled it over her head, throwing it next to his on the couch. He cupped her breasts, his fingers brushing the nipples through her thin, lacy bra. Amie let out a low, quiet moan. She reached down and unbuttoned Dean's jeans, her hand sliding under his underwear, gripping him tightly. She pulled his erection free, continuing to caress him as she did, her tongue in his mouth matching the movement of her hand. Dean felt his breath coming faster and faster. Amie stood up and quickly stripped off her jeans and underwear, then moved back over him. Slowly, she lowered herself onto his erection, her tongue back in Dean's mouth, her hands holding the sides of his face. Dean gripped her waist tightly, the two of them setting a slow, easy rhythm. When Amie threw her head back, her movements speeding up, Dean moved his mouth to her breasts, suckling and savoring each nipple through the lace of her bra. When his climax became inevitable, Dean buried his face in her chest as Amie gripped the back of his head, low moans leaving her throat as they came in unison.

Dean stretched out on the lumpy couch, laying Amie next to him. He grabbed the sleeping bag from the end of the couch and threw it over them. Amie snuggled up close to him, her right arm around his waist, her left under her head. Dean couldn't stop touching her and kissing her. He ran his hands over every inch of her body, kissing her lips, face, and neck. He knew he was losing it. He hadn't fallen this hard for anyone since Lisa and it was starting to scare him. There was a constant war going on between the part of him that wanted to keep Amie close and never let her go and the part of him that wanted her out of his life in order to protect her. But he didn't want to think about that right now. She was here, sleeping in his arms. He would take what he could get for as long as he could get it, until it became too dangerous for her. Dean buried his nose in Amie's hair, inhaling the familiar scent of her shampoo. He drifted off to sleep, his head and his heart still arguing.