1. Chapter One
Chapter One
Bear
“ G rab those balls, baby, before you get a concussion.” Grinder. Of course it’s Grinder. I’d recognize the voice of one of my Sons of Khaos brothers in any situation—this not being my favorite.
“Argh! Yes!” The girl’s voice doesn’t ring any bells, but to be fair, I don’t tend to dip my wick in the Khaos Khunts. Nothing against them, in particular, but I don’t fuck where I eat. Also, my mama taught me better than that.
Still, like a bad car crash, I can’t help looking over my shoulder from my seat on the couch. And sure enough, Grinder’s got a blonde—maybe two, who the fuck knows?—sprawled out on the pool table of our clubhouse bar, holding on for dear life while he’s pounding her from behind with both his hands gripping her ass cheeks.
“Fuck yeah, your pussy is so fucking tight, baby.”
Rolling my eyes, I turn back around and raise a brow at Boner. “He’s your roommate, can’t you make him empty his ballsack at your place?”
Boner just shrugs while the grunts behind me turn to long-winded moans and the slap-slap-slap of skin on skin grows louder than the evening crowd at the Khaos clubhouse. Par for the course because someone’s always fucking someone. Or getting a blowjob. Or whatever. It’s part of the scene on big party nights and tonight takes the cake.
Literally speaking.
Not only is it Thanksgiving but it’s also my best friend, Psycho, and his incredible old lady, Mac’s, first wedding anniversary, which means cake was the main attraction. At thirty-one, he’s now married with a kid we affectionately call Baby Psycho. Not that Mac approves. Far from it.
“Harder, Grinder. Fuck, I’m gonna come!” Oh for fuck’s sake.
“Fecking Christ, Grinder! Are you actively trying to traumatize my baby?” I grin so wide I’m sure I look like a lunatic when I hear Psycho’s growl, then what sounds suspiciously like a slap to the back of the head.
“Ow! I was about to spill my load and now I’ve gotta start all over again, asshole.”
I groan just as Psycho flops down beside me, his hands on both of the baby’s ears.
“Hurry the feck up, mousehole.”
I chuckle at Psycho’s weak attempt at toning down his cussing. I mean, seriously, what the fuck was that?
“Don’t judge me. I’m trying out new ways of not cursing in front of Gryffin.” The burst of laughter that escapes me is so unexpected that it quiets the entire clubhouse down for five whole seconds. Which is saying something considering these guys can cause small earthquakes with the noise they’re capable of making.
“Yes! Yes! Yes!” Here we go, maybe this is the finale and we can all move on from this shitshow.
“Grab my stick!” Psycho and I look at each other like we’re trying to figure out quantum physics.
“I can’t reach it.”
What the fuck? Isn’t his stick inside her? Fuck, I hope so because I need another beer and I don’t want to watch them fucking on the pool table I’d rather be using for… pool.
“Not that stick, my pool stick.”
Oh dear God, please no. The images invading my brain aren’t healthy. If he tries to fuck her with the pool stick, I pray to Baby Jesus it’s been disinfected because the sheer number of dirty hands that have touched that thing should be illegal.
“Oh shit!” Boner is now standing, totally invested in the scene behind me, and to be honest, nobody is surprised by that. In fact, it’s more surprising that he’s not over there sharing her. “Oh yeah, choke her, Grinder, make her gag.”
“I’m gonna kill all y’all motherfuckers.” Well, there goes the whole no cursing thing.
“Grinder! What the heck?!” Uh oh. Mac’s in da house. “Take it to your suite!”
“Oh shit. We’re all in trouble now.” Psycho’s words are barely whispered as he sinks into the couch, hoping his wife won’t see him.
“No need, Mac. I’m… almost… ahhhhh fuck yeah!”
Well, I, for one, am glad that’s over.
“Yesssss!” The blonde sounds happy and satisfied too, and hopefully this is all over now.
“Aleko Kastellanos!”
Oh shit. Psycho and I look at each other like we’re about to get grounded for a month. “What in the ever loving name of Cheesus, are you doing here with Gryff? Are you trying to traumatize him?”
“Hey! That’s what I said!” I hook a thumb at Psycho and nod, grinning like a damn fool.
“He did say that, Mac. I swear.” She either doesn’t believe me or really doesn’t care. I shrug. At least, I tried.
“And you! You’re supposed to be the rational and moral one of this bunch of degenerates.” Mac’s full mama lion attention is on me as she extends her arms and lets Psycho place their baby in the crook of her elbow. Kid’s a sound sleeper, I’ll tell you that.
“Don’t look at me, I was here first and that”—I hook my thumb over my shoulder where Grinder was getting his rocks off seconds ago—“happened despite my protests.” Because I may be the morally acute one here, but I ain’t no miracle worker and that’s the God’s honest truth.
As Mac walks away—stomps is more accurate—mumbling her disapproval, I notice Psycho isn’t even remotely afraid of anything. That’s when I really get it. He’s so confident in their relationship that her being pissed off is just another means for make-up sex.
“Bro, do you do it on purpose?” I don’t usually ask intimate questions since I hate it whenever anyone tries to get all up in my business. This time, though, I’m really curious and I know for a damn fact my pasty ass brother is capable of this level of crazy. All right, he’s not that white since his Greek origins mean he tans faster and darker than half the guys here, but I love to give him shit about it.
“Why the fuck would I do that?” Psycho’s words and that shit eating grin on his face are completely at odds.
“You’re a crazy motherfucker, you know that, right?” Standing, I shake my head at my brother in arms and all things. “I can’t believe you start fights just so you can get laid. Ain’t that a given? Y’all are married.” What the fuck am I missing, here?
“Bear, listen to me, brother. Make-up sex ain’t like any other sex. It’s part aggression and part adoration with a dash of improvised kink sprinkled all over. It’s lit.”
I just stare at him. Not because he sounds crazy, which, let’s be clear, is about ninety percent of the time, but the opposite, actually.
“Fuck, that makes so much sense.” So that’s what all the fuss is about?
I wouldn’t know since my last relationship dates back to high school before I joined the club and before I lost my mother to the most tragic event in Rockford Beach… the fire at the battered women’s shelter. My mother’s shelter. The sacred place where she saved dozens if not hundreds of women and children from the evil fists of their men.
It’s not that I don’t want a relationship, it’s that I don’t want to pretend with someone I know isn’t for me. I want the instant spark, the electric zing of a first touch. The love at first… everything. Sight, touch, smell. I want it all because that’s what my mama would’ve wanted for me and I don’t plan on ever disappointing her, even in her eternal resting place.
Still staring at Psycho, although I’m more staring into space, I shake the memories of my mom away as my best friend jumps to his feet.
“Time to make my wife happy again.”
“Christ, there’s something seriously wrong with you, brother. But you know what?” I slap him on the shoulder and grin. “I’m so fucking glad you found your penguin.”
Psycho grins and pats my face. “If you want to live to see another day, don’t ever call her a penguin. She has a thing about her feet.”
I frown at his words because this is the first I’m hearing about it. Living in a clubhouse means secrets are impossible, and if any of the guys picked up on an insecurity, you better believe they would use it for pranks all day long.
“Duly noted.” My answer is pretty much automatic while I try to figure out what exactly is wrong with Mac’s feet.
Psycho raises his arms in the air as all the brothers cheer him on and wish him a happy anniversary before he heads out, no doubt back to his suite. On the way, his awesome pet rat, Ninja, jumps from his perch on our president Hoops’s shoulder and nestles into Psycho’s hoodie. As if sensing he’s on his way to bed, pet rat number two, Bandit, runs along all the furniture before jumping on her human’s leg and running all the way up to join her rat boyfriend.
And just like that, the Psycho family is complete.
Meanwhile, I’m trying to figure out my life and just hope I’ll one day find the woman that puts a goofy smile on my face. At least goofier than my best friend.
For a few months, there was the possibility of something special with Flower. As a Reaper in Marco Mancini’s mafia army, she came down to North Carolina to help us out when the Irish decided to fuck with our town.
That tiny little thing scares more men than I do and that was a complete turn on for me. What can I say? I’m attracted to strong, independent women. It’s not a tagline, it’s a fact.
Keeping it on the downlow, we spent a few nights together and it was hot as fuck but when it came down to it, there was no way for us to make it work. She’s a Reaper, through and through, and I’m a Son of Khaos for life. Neither one of us was able or willing to give up our respective lives for the other. That right there was all that needed to be said for us to know our chemistry wasn’t anything more than that. Sexual attraction.
It was fun while it lasted but the Reapers are gone, and apart from missing the sex, I can’t say I’m devastated about it. It is what it is.
Psycho likes to bust my balls that I get all teddy bear moon-eyed—his ridiculous words, not mine—over strong women and become a grizzly bear madman when women need my protection.
There was also a brief moment when I met Mac’s midwife. The complete opposite from Flower, she was soft and tender and inherently optimistic. I mean, the woman delivers babies for fuck’s sake, she’s pretty fucking amazing. And yet… I didn’t feel the proverbial zap of love at first sight.
It’s all good, though. One of these days, Cupid’s arrow is gonna find its mark, and when it does, there won’t be any doubts or questions or trying to figure it out. It’ll just be.
Mama always said, “When it comes to love, if it ain’t perfect for you, then it ain’t right either.”