Free To Be: Branson (Yuri Bratva Brides #2)

Chapter 1

ONE

Branson Cross nursed his beer at a table in the far corner of the restaurant’s banquet room, bored and restless tonight.

Papa was throwing the annual party for his entire law firm staff and their families, plus favorite clients, celebrating seventeen years since taking Morris Danvers on as a full partner.

Before that, Papa had been a one-man operation, and now he and Morris employed fourteen people in various full and part-time positions.

Not Branson, though. He was just here as moral support, since the rest of the Cross family was busy helping his youngest brother Emory with Emory’s newborn triplets.

Triplet nephews Branson adored and would protect with his life, but he was very glad to just be Uncle Branson.

He didn’t want to be a parent himself—probably because he’d been the eldest of a large group of friends and siblings for as long as he could remember.

Kids and a husband weren’t for him. Well…kids weren’t, for sure. He wouldn’t mind a boyfriend or partner, but dating was too damned complicated. And not only because of his family.

Laughter erupted nearby. Branson tracked it to a group of older men at a nearby table.

They were firm clients with deep pockets, the kinds of alphas Papa liked to wine and dine, because their money was useful for Uncle Tarek’s mayoral policies.

Branson’s papa, Ronin Cross, excelled at meeting and befriending the right people.

It didn’t hurt that Papa’s omega mate, Branson’s omegin Kell Cross, was the most famous person in Sansbury.

Well, probably second-famous, now that Emory had given birth to the only set of triplets born in…

well, as long as modern history had been recorded.

An omega’s body was not built to carry multiples, which made Kell’s own twins, Emory and Caden, intensely rare, too.

Branson’s younger brothers were both miracles of nature, and he was just…a single beta programmer with nothing incredibly special to offer the world, other than his love for his family.

He looked away from the table of alphas and took another swig of beer as he surveyed the large, spacious, but also very full banquet room.

Everyone who worked at Papa’s firm, from his partner Morris Danvers to the janitorial staff, had been invited for a generous buffet, open bar, and several hours of time spent unwinding with their coworkers.

Branson was a serious introvert, and he didn’t typically enjoy these sorts of elbow-rubbing gatherings, but he’d come to represent the rest of the absent family, not because he was friends with anyone in the room.

Besides Morris and Jaysan’s three kids. He spotted Aeron Danvers talking to someone.

Aeron was a year-and-a-half younger than Branson and part of his wide circle of friends.

Friends he’d grown up with and was very protective of.

Branson was the eldest of their pack, after all.

That responsibility was partly the reason why Branson got his degree in computer science.

Comp-sci was a growing and competitive field, especially with the rise of high-speed LAN-line internet over the last few years, versus the pain in the ass that used to be dial-up—especially for families who could only afford one phone line.

Branson loved computers and numbers, and he wanted to invent something amazing—and lucrative.

Lucrative enough that he’d always be able to take care of his friends.

He’d already done some amazing things with tech accessibility for the blind. His cousin Rei was legally blind, and creating apps that helped Rei use his mobile phone with as much ease as a seeing person was insanely rewarding. Not terribly lucrative yet, but personally rewarding.

Someone hooted laughter in such a drunken way that Branson pulled himself out of his sullen thoughts and looked up.

He spotted another familiar face in a circle of semi-familiar men.

Tarius Higgs was a paralegal at the firm, and he’d apparently made a great joke to two of his coworkers, because one of them had cracked up. The other chuckled more softly.

Branson knew fellow-beta Tarius from various family gatherings and formal functions over the years, and he considered Tarius a casual friend.

Despite Tarius having been around for as long as Branson could remember, they’d never had a long, personal conversation because Tarius was, like, fifteen years older than him.

But he admired Tarius Higgs, who was handsome in a boy-next-door way, fiercely loyal to his own parents and siblings, and he was (according to Papa) a brilliant and dedicated researcher.

The guy was also chronically single, just like Branson, and it was nice to know he wasn’t the only person in the “family” who wasn’t itching to date (or mate, as with his alpha and omega friends and siblings).

Branson sighed and pulled from his beer, annoyed it was almost empty, and tempted to go find Aeron so he wasn’t sitting alone, like a lump on a log, stuck in his own head.

He wanted to enjoy his weekend, before work started again next week and he was stuck on a group project with an alpha colleague who didn’t like to pull his weight, leaving Branson to do most of the work.

Alphahole.

He gulped the last of the beer and glared at the bottle, contemplating another.

“Did your beer make you mad?”

Branson startled and looked up, surprised to see Tarius standing across the rectangular table from him. The kindness in Tarius’s friendly smile chased away Branson’s annoyance. “Yeah, bad beer.”

“You want another? I was about to get myself a drink.”

“Um, sure, thanks.”

Tarius turned and walked to the open bar to the far left of Branson’s spot.

He watched the older beta wait, order, and then confidently walk back to Branson.

He parked himself in the seat across from him and pushed the chilly bottle over.

Tarius had a tall glass of something pale and slightly fizzy.

“Tom Collins,” Tarius said.

“Who?”

Tarius chuckled. “My drink. You were staring at it like you were confused.”

“Oh, got it. I’ve never had one. Mostly, I like beer. Or margaritas, if we’re at Petrova’s.”

“They do make the best margaritas in Sansbury Province.”

“Yup.” Branson pushed his empty bottle away in favor of the new one. A brand he wasn’t familiar with, and after a long, chilly pull, he decided he liked this one better. “Nice choice.”

“Thanks. You looked bored, so I used the excuse of checking on a friend to get out of the conversation I was embroiled in.”

“Embroiled in?”

“One of the guys I was talking to? He’s a fellow paralegal who’s been flirting with me for months and can’t seem to take the hint that I’m not interested.”

Branson hadn’t paid much attention to the two guys, other than one seemed drunker than the other. “Not your type?”

“Nope. I’ve also tried making it very clear that I don’t date coworkers.”

“Probably a good rule. Maybe you should ditch the subtle approach and try using a clue-hammer on him.”

“Probably so.” Tarius sipped his drink. “Mmm, not bad. Some folks add too much sugar syrup.”

“What exactly is in that?”

“Gin, sugar syrup, lemon juice and carbonated water. I’m a fan of simple drinks.”

Branson tapped the lip of his bottle against Tarius’s glass. “I’m all for simple, too.”

“I imagine so, especially having the mayor for an uncle and an activist for an omegin.”

He snorted. “You have no idea how crazy it was growing up in my family. Not only having a famous omegin, but also the twins. It was way worse when we were all kids, and it helps that there was another set born in Cornerstone Province a few years ago.”

“And then Emory and the triplets happened?”

“That’s one way of putting it.”

Ten months ago, omega Emory had been kidnapped during his second heat.

For five long, painful months, Branson and his family had worried and wondered if they’d ever see Emory alive again—and then he’d reappeared, pregnant with triplets, with whom he’d given birth via Cesarean two months ago.

They’d been premature, underweight, and the last of the three to leave the hospital had just come home two weeks ago.

During the entire ordeal, Emory had also realized that long-time family friend Eriq Lars-Higgs (Tarius’s own, uh, step-nephew?) was Emory’s alpha bondmate.

Oh, yeah, and Emory had nearly died from a heart attack while giving birth.

Branson seriously needed a break from the stress of being part of the Cross family. He adored his brothers, his nephews, and his entire extended family, but sometimes…fuck.

Exhausted of being the topic, Branson said, “So, if you were fending off that guy earlier, I’m assuming you didn’t come with someone who might get jealous of you talking to a much younger guy?”

Tarius shook his head. “Nope, I revel in my singlehood. Growing up, my omegin was a pro at navigating conversations with strangers at work functions like this, especially when Dad got pulled away by coworkers. Some of that talent rubbed off on me, so it no longer feels awkward showing up alone.”

“Makes sense.” Tarius’s alpha sire was a retired Chief Constable, and his omegin had passed away before Branson was born.

It was kind of odd to think the guy who’d bought him a beer was a teenager when Branson was an infant, but such was life.

Branson glanced across the room to where Papa stood chatting with a client, unable to imagine losing either of his own parents.

Hell, it had been hard enough when Uncle Tarek was shot and paralyzed seven years ago.

“You okay?” Tarius tapped his wrist. “You got that unhappy look again.”

“Sorry, I’m usually better at controlling my facial expressions. I’ll try not to be such a Daryl-Downer.”

“I don’t think you’re being a downer, and if you’re sitting over here by yourself, I’ll go ahead and assume you aren’t here with anyone, either?”

“Just your boss.”

“Nothing wrong with that. You’re what? Twenty-two?”