Dream On Read online

  “Where do you work?”

  I gave him my usual back-story.

  “I teach Muay Thai.” Ryan’s eyes grew big and he gave me an approving nod.

  “Explains a lot.” His gaze roamed my body again. And the verdict was in–this guy was a creep.

  “Oh?” I gave him a questioning look as if I hadn’t noticed his shameless ogling.

  “You’re in excellent shape.” He answered, still staring. I resisted the urge to smack him.

  “And she can kick some serious ass too.” Thank you, Penny.

  He smiled but leaned back a tiny bit. I bit my lip to quell the forming laugh.

  “Sing with me,” begged Penny as she leaned forward, spilling her assets all over the table in the process. One of the guys paused, beer mid-air, to gawk. If Ryan hadn’t fallen victim to a cleavage coma, he might have offered to pick his friend’s jaw up off the table.

  I shook my head. “You know I don’t do that without copious amounts of alcohol in my system.”

  “Please.” She pouted.

  “Get someone else to do it with you.” I glanced at Ryan who’d managed to tear his gaze away from Penny’s low cut top. “How about you? Do you sing?”

  His hands flew up. “No, no way. I don’t sing.”

  “Then why are you at a karaoke bar?” I asked in my most innocent tone, with a few wide-eyed blinks for good measure. I already knew the answer. Just like every other straight guy here, he’d come because drunk girls like karaoke and guys like drunk girls.

  “My friends like it.” He shifted his gaze and took a sip of beer.

  “Oh.” I turned back to Penny.

  One of her work friends, Jay, volunteered to join her on stage. The two made their way to the DJ for their song request. Penny and Jay made an amazing duo on stage, but after a few shots, it became hilarious to watch.

  Most people didn’t care what Penny did on stage. Thanks to her long blond hair and perfect figure, she’d make a complete idiot of herself and look amazing the whole time–and she knew it. Jay, on the other hand, was a born entertainer. He rocked and the more he drank, the more he glammed it up.

  As the song went into queue, they pranced onto the stage. Applause ripped through the crowd. I grinned, prepared for a good show. I cheered for the two, earning me a curtsy from Penny and, with pursed lips, Jay nodded.

  “You know I got this,” he called back to me.

  I snickered, applauding more as the music started. I glanced over at Ryan, who leaned back into his chair, arms crossed. He gave a quick nod to a waitress and gestured for another beer. The smile he’d worn moments ago while talking to me now replaced with a scowl.

  I peered down the line at his friends. The one on the end flirted with a waitress, and the ring he wore on his left hand hadn’t gone unnoticed, by me at least. The other stared so hard at some girl’s ass while she leaned down to talk to her friends he was bound to pull something. Like an eye muscle, among other things.

  How would I ever find a decent guy if this was what was available? These guys only wanted one thing and never even saw fun when it stared them in the face.

  Part of me wondered if my dream guy even existed. Staring at the loser lineup to my right, I sighed. Mr. X-ray Vision caught me looking and gave me a cocky lopsided grin. Ugh, dream on.

  Chapter 4

  The next afternoon I pulled my hair into a ponytail, threw on training shorts and a sports bra and warmed up. Several rounds with the bag and some jump rope prepared me to spar with Johnathan. We started working out with a few combinations, upper body before kicks. My entire body burned with my well-executed adrenaline-filled movements, and I loved every minute of it. The satisfying workout helped ready me for whatever tonight’s dream might bring.

  “I feel like we should practice some defense moves.”

  Johnathan’s straight face earned him a grin from me. He worried about tonight’s job and, although it was sweet of him to care, defending myself wasn’t in the plan. I would go in hard and fast, taking the bastard down. Considering my client had no martial arts training, I didn’t think the dream version of her abusive ex would know how to defend himself against me but I caved. If it would make Johnathan feel better going through some drills, why not indulge him?

  “Okay. Come at me. But remember, you might be a violent asshole, but you have no training. So think like an abusive husband. Just attack in a blind rage.”

  His hands dropped to his side and he leaned all his weight onto one foot. Fine lines framed his frown. “I don’t feel comfortable with that.”

  Rolling my eyes, I grabbed my water bottle. After taking a drink, I turned back to him.

  “Look, I know you’re honorable and value fair fighting, but if you want to prepare me for tonight you have to think realistically, what kind of situations might I need to defend myself from?”

  “I guess you’re right. Fine. I’m a blubbering violent idiot who wants to hurt you. Now fight.”

  I’d expected him to hesitate more or go easy on me, but he didn’t. He charged me and my training kicked in. I spun to my right and he brushed past me. My balled-up hands created a shield protecting my face as I kicked his arm. He jumped back unaffected from my blow. I came at him again with a combo. He blocked the last hit by capturing my fist in his palm and pushing me so hard my feet came out from under me. I skidded across the mat on my butt. The move left me stunned and I’d become vulnerable as he barreled toward me.

  I shifted my weight, rotated my body out of his reach and sprang up as he passed. Back on the defense, I managed a low kick to the back of his knees triggering a stumble. His speed and body weight brought him down. The opportunity to do some damage presented itself, and I took it. He grunted as I kicked him in the back. He remained on the ground and didn’t move. My heart skipped with guilt. Did I hit a kidney or something? I rushed to Johnathan.

  “Crap, I’m sorry. That was a bad shot. Are you okay?”

  He groaned, rolled over and stuck his arm out for me to help him. My hand made contact with his for a split second before he jerked me off my feet. I slammed to the ground. Johnathan flipped over and pinned me to the mat.

  “Please, don’t tell me you’ll fall for that tonight,” he said.

  “Shit! I thought you were hurt. I wouldn’t care if I hurt the guy tonight.” I wriggled free.

  “I hope not.” He pushed to sitting and helped me up.

  Such an obvious setup. How did I fall for something so stupid? I kicked myself, knowing I would carry this disappointment around for a while. I never enjoyed defeat–especially not by stupidity.

  “Don’t beat yourself up. But Emory, be careful tonight. Your dreams lately have gone a little haywire. Just watch yourself, okay?”

  I sighed. “I will. If things get too risky I’ll pull out.”

  “I hope so.”

  “I’m going to hit the showers.” I grabbed my stuff. “See you tonight.”

  “Yeah, see you.” In the mirror, I glimpsed his face creased with worry.

  My go-in-guns-blazing plan even troubled me now. I wondered, with my game off lately, had I gotten in over my head? I prayed this was only pre-dream jitters and not some sort of premonition.

  * * * *

  Intense workouts always left me ravenous, so I grabbed some dinner and headed to my office. In an attempt to keep my mind busy, I caught up on some invoices as I ate. Fear of something going wrong hung over me like a dark cloud and I couldn’t shake the anxiety.

  After I finished eating, my client arrived and we went through the plan for the dream.

  “You said your nightmares are typically real events that happened while still with your ex?”

  Clare’s gaze dropped as she whispered, “Yes.”

  She was an attractive female, but stress and worry lined her face. Every ounce of my being wanted so much to help her. She shouldn’t live her life as a victim, but even with her ex-husband currently serving time in prison, he still came into her room every night, haunting
her dreams. It didn’t seem fair, and I wanted to put a stop to it.

  “Did he ever use weapons?” I’d take no chances tonight and needed to prepare for anything her subconscious threw at me.

  “Not like guns or anything, but sometimes he would grab something from around the house. Anything he got his hands on. A book, remote control, even a lamp once. Often, if he had something in his hand when he got upset, he’d hit me with it.” Her voice cracked. “He’d also throw things–dishes, pictures.”

  “It’s okay. You don’t need to tell me any more. I know these memories are hard, but we’re going to put an end to this, okay?”

  She nodded, her eyes glassy.

  “Look Clare, I don’t normally do this, but is there anything in particular you would like me to do to him? Maybe something he did to you, something demeaning or humiliating and you would like to see him suffer through it.”

  “Kill him,” she said without a moment’s hesitation, her tone hard and edged with hatred. The meek, middle-aged woman did not falter nor struggle as she said those two words. This wasn’t about humiliation; it was about obliteration. She wanted him gone.

  “I can do that.”

  Clare met my gaze. Tears puddled in her eyes and with one quick blink, they ran over. I doubted they stemmed from sadness because for the first time I saw the slightest hint of happiness on her face.

  Johnathan knocked on the door, disrupting our moment. I was glad he hadn’t heard what’d just transpired. He wouldn’t like it. It wasn’t the first time I dream-killed someone, but with the worry already there about this current job, he wouldn’t approve of my plans.

  “Hey, perfect timing. We’re ready to get started.” Turning back to my client, I found her hand and gave it a light squeeze. “Go ahead and get comfortable. I’ll join you soon. I promise not to leave you alone. I’ll come right in.”

  She nodded giving me her complete trust and walked off to the room. Johnathan had what he needed so I headed to my bed, lay down and prepared myself emotionally for what I needed to do. Taking two deep breaths, I closed my eyes and rocketed myself into the realm of dreams.

  * * * *

  I found myself in an unfamiliar living room, most likely my client’s. I glanced around, taking in my surroundings with caution. A typical setup–couch, table, TV–a room full of obstacles. I heard footsteps, clumsy and heavy, mixed with angry grumbling.

  To give myself a better vantage point, I sidestepped the small coffee table, careful to avoid the nearby kitchen with its potential hazards. The footsteps stopped and a young, inebriated man entered the room. His gaze shifted, but never settled. Darkness shadowed his eyes and creases framed his scowl. He bumped into a shelf and swiped it clear, yelling at the objects.

  His youthfulness surprised me. I’d expected to take on a middle-aged man. This guy appeared in better shape than I’d anticipated. Or wanted.

  His hateful, bloodshot eyes scanned the room, pausing only briefly on me.

  “It’s your fault.” He slurred, spitting as he talked. “You never do a damn thing right. It’s like you want me angry. Why do you make me do this to you–to us?”

  Someone yelped and I turned to see Clare. At least I thought it was her. Her long hair lay halfway down her back and tears streaked her otherwise flawless complexion. I’d guess in her early twenties.

  And pregnant.

  No.

  How could someone hurt the woman carrying his child? My insides curdled and revulsion spiked my adrenaline.

  My client had children, but they were much older–teenagers. The oldest had just started college. How long has this poor woman suffered? My heart went out to her. This man was going down.

  He stomped toward the young mother-to-be but I stepped in front of him. He blinked and squinted me into focus. His lip curled and his eyebrows slanted above his stormy gaze.

  “You best move, before I knock you outta the way.”

  Hot, rancid, breath washed over me, inducing a gag that I forced down. Refusing to blanch, I smirked. It aggravated him, so I gave it my all.

  “You think I wouldn’t hit you?”

  “Do I think you would hit me? Yes. Do I think you can? No.”

  “You little b-”

  I slugged him. “You don’t get to call me that,” I said through gritted teeth. “Ever.”

  If he were a cartoon, this would be the part where steam shot from his swelling red head. My mental image triggered another grin.

  He lunged and I sidestepped, giving me a window to kick him. He crashed to the ground and struck his head. I leapt back as he staggered to his feet. Charging him again, I pummeled his face. As he searched for his bearings, I landed jabs to his gut, punctuated them with a kick to his shoulder and topped it off with a knee to the groin.

  He buckled, screaming profanities. He shouted past me, spitting his hate-filled words at Clare.

  Figuring he’d received enough of a beating and she’d endured enough verbal abuse, I decided to end this. I wasn’t a fan of this part, but he deserved to die. With no available weapon, I had to finish him off myself.

  Even with all my mental readying for this moment, I wasn’t prepared for what her dream threw at me next.

  “Daddy?”

  A little girl, no more than three, came toddling sleepy-eyed into the living room. He sat up and eyed the toddler. A sinister smirk crept onto his face and he reached for the child. If he grabbed hold of her, something terrible would happen.

  Clare’s screams rang with pure terror as he clawed for the girl’s curly brown locks. I dove, throwing myself between his hand and the toddler. My head yanked back as he fisted a handful of my hair instead.

  “Grab her,” I shouted.

  She flew to her daughter and scooped her up.

  “Run, get out of here. Hide!”

  I twisted trying to free my hair, but his grip remained solid. If I aborted this mission, I’d leave behind a pregnant lady and her small child to this man, and it made my heart wrench. I squirmed around, slammed my foot into his chest and shrieked. He glowered, still clutching a wad of my hair.

  I scrambled away, but he caught my ankle and ripped my leg out from underneath me. My head bashed into the floor with a bounce. Panic surged through me as my vision doubled. I flipped over and kicked him in the face freeing myself. I shot up, disoriented and nauseous, but shook it off.

  My opponent sprang to his feet and came at me. My fist pelted his jaw but he captured my wrist and tugged. I lurched forward. He smirked as I righted myself. With his gaze locked on mine, he reached over to the fireplace and snatched the poker. How had I missed that?

  With frantic kicks, I scanned the room for something to use as a weapon. I didn’t want a pregnant Clare anywhere near this guy, so that ruled out the possibility of her help. I’d run out of options.

  He hurled me at the wall and I slumped down it. This dream needed to end, but my aching head scrambled my thoughts. I sought out my body and the room blurred, but I wasn’t going home. I was losing consciousness–in a dream. This couldn’t happen. Could it?

  I squinted at my attacker as my vision dimmed. He sneered at me and then disappeared. I blinked. Where had he gone? My tunnel vision provided no clues. With forced concentration, things came into focus. Now two men–my attacker and another on top of him–struggled over the fireplace poker.

  I continued seeking my body while deciphering the situation. One of the men grabbed the makeshift weapon, raised it and thrust it into the man on the floor. The victor turned to me.

  I stared into his golden eyes.

  “Emory?”

  “How do you know my name?” My consciousness slipped making my words heavy.

  He knelt in front of me. “Are you okay?”

  I shook my head.

  “You need to get back to your body.”

  “Yeah,” I murmured.

  “Try hard to concentrate. Find your life cord. Feel its pull. It’s right there, ready to bring you home. Your body’s waiting, g
o to it.” His voice soothed and the tingling energy of my spirit connecting with my body ran through me.

  “Have you been looking for me?” I asked, as my spirit fluctuated between worlds.

  “Just go home. I’ll find you again.” I nodded in drowsy agreement as I drifted out of Clare’s dream into one of my own.

  My head pounded and the metal park bench was unforgiving to my achy body. I needed to meet with someone but didn’t remember whom. I rubbed at my head and looked around. The sunlight aggravated the throbbing. Casting my gaze downward offered minimal relief.

  A soft shuffling came nearer. I stared up into the handsome face of a stranger.

  “Hi, Emory.”

  “Do I know you?” I asked, rubbing my head again.

  “I’m Grayson Knox. I’ve been searching for you. I think you can help me.” His gentle tone stirred a fleeting memory.

  I studied him. “How’s that?”

  Someone called my name, and I looked over my shoulder. Nothing.

  Grayson glanced behind me too. He continued with more urgency. “I’m stuck and I need you to help me get home.”

  My name rang out again, louder.

  “Johnathan?” I searched for my friend.

  “Emory, I know you have to get back, but next time I see you, will you talk to me? Please?”

  “I think I hit my head. I don’t know why I keep dreaming about you, but this isn’t real.”

  “It’s real. I’m real.”

  The voice calling my name became more demanding. My dream faded.

  “Emory? I’ve arranged a meeting for us, soon. Please talk to me, I need y–”

  My eyelids inched open. Johnathan hovered over me, frowning and fidgety.

  “Hey.” I wiped my eyes. Clare stood behind him, wringing her hands. “What’s going on?”

  Johnathan pulled me into a hug. “You’re okay. After Clare told me what happened, I worried, and when you didn’t come out of the dream, I thought we lost you.”

  “I had a dream of my own right after.”

  “How? Has that ever happened before?” Johnathan’s face creased with concern.