Badd Motherf*cker

by Jasinda Wilder

  I waited until they got him through the door, and then I followed, tentatively, to stand in the doorway as the brothers unceremoniously tossed Sebastian onto his ass in the middle of the street, and then each of them jumped back a good foot.

  Sebastian came up swinging, lunged for Baxter first, and that right hook of his connected with a sickening crunch that sent Baxter stumbling backward. Brock and Zane closed in, and the fight that followed was a brutal knock-down, drag-out bare-knuckle brawl between four massive, powerful men. And even though it was three on one, Sebastian was in such a horrific rage he held his own for a while, snarling, seething, cursing, roaring, lashing out with feet and fists and knees, taking nonstop hits from his brothers without slowing down.

  It was still three-on-one, though, and Sebastian, even as powerful as he was, didn't really stand much of a chance. Eventually Brock got one arm in a lock and Zane the other, and Baxter followed in with a scything uppercut fist to Sebastian's gut, which took the wind and the fight out of him.

  All four brothers were bloodied, by that point. I saw at least two broken noses, everybody's lips were split, jaws were bruised...

  But Sebastian was subdued. They let him fall to the ground, gasping, blood oozing down his chin and nose, and from a cut over his eye. Zane flopped down to sit beside him, and then Brock, and then Baxter, each sitting facing Sebastian so they formed a ring of brothers. For long moments, nobody spoke.

  And then, slurred by split, bloody lips, Sebastian spoke. "I miss him, goddammit." His voice was thick.

  "Me too," Zane said. "I'll never get over missing his funeral."

  "Nobody blames you for that," Baxter said. "Not like you had a choice."

  "I lost my best friend that day." Zane's voice was quiet, low, rough. "Never told any of you."

  Sebastian looked up at Zane. "You did?"

  Zane nodded. "Marco. Took a stray round...it happened so fast--my head wasn't in the game, it was on Dad, on you guys, missing the fucking funeral...Marco shouldn't have had his head up and I didn't say anything to him. I've lost guys before, obviously, but Marco, man...we went through BUD/S together."

  "Jesus, dude. I had no idea." Sebastian wrapped his arm around Zane. "That sucks."

  "Yeah. I lost Dad and Marco within days of each other."

  I was just standing there, in the doorway, hand over my mouth, full of so many conflicting emotions I didn't know what to do about any of them. I wanted to smother Sebastian with kisses, wipe away the blood, take him inside and make him feel better, get him to talk about his dad, but I was a little frightened of how well he fought, how savagely. Of course, none of them were trying to really truly hurt each other, but they weren't holding back much either. Above all, I just wanted Sebastian to...let me in, I guess.

  But this scene, with his brothers...it wasn't about me. It was about them; I was just a spectator.

  I didn't understand, honestly. I couldn't fathom what kind of bond they had that could let them batter each other bloody like that, and then sit there sharing deeply personal thoughts, arms around each other.

  "We all miss Dad," Baxter said. "You know how much fucking tequila I've put away the last few months because of it? Coach Baldwin nearly benched me a few times."

  Brock spat a mouthful of blood, wincing. "None of us are really handling this very well, I guess."

  "What, you? Mister well-adjusted psychology major?" Baxter said, his voice thick with sarcasm. "I don't believe it."

  Brock shot his brother what I thought was an uncharacteristically foul glare. "Fuck you, Bax. You think I'm unaffected?"

  Baxter held up his hands, unwilling to start another brawl, apparently. "Just saying, you probably sat in on therapy sessions every week instead of drinking your feelings away like the rest of us."

  Brock reddened. "So what if I did? I don't care to pretend I'm not feeling things, and while I may have given in to the desire to numb the pain with alcohol more than I'd like to admit, letting go completely just wasn't an option for me. If I get in the cockpit hung over or still drunk, I'm gonna kill myself or someone else. I can't afford to drink my feelings away."

  Baxter gripped Brock's shoulder and squeezed, shook it. "Yeah, well, somebody in this damn family has to be an adult, huh?"

  Sebastian's shoulders shook, then, and my heart squeezed in my chest. "It's stupid...it's so stupid--"

  "What's stupid?" Brock asked.

  "I'm angry at him," Sebastian said, his voice breaking. "At Dad--I'm so fuckin' pissed at him for leaving. Why'd he leave? He just fuckin' left me here alone, left the bar on me and, just like after Mom passed, I didn't have a choice but to fuckin'--to just do what had to be done. I didn't want it. I was gonna see if he could hire somebody else to fill in so I could--I dunno what. Do something else for a change. But then he died, and I just--fuck. Fuck." He shook his head, rubbed at his eyes as if he could rub away the pain. "Fuckin' hate this bullshit."

  "When Marco died," Zane said, his voice thoughtful, careful, "me and Cody went AWOL. We took a Humvee and a bottle of some shitty booze and went off into the middle of fuckin' nowhere. We drank ourselves stupid and cried our eyes out like little bitches. You can't ignore this shit, Bast. You gotta let it out. It'll fuckin' eat you alive if you don't."

  "Yeah, but I've just--" Sebastian shoved the heels of his palms against his eyes and rubbed hard. "I've just been so fuckin' alone."

  "Not anymore, brother," Zane said, roughly grappling Sebastian into a hug against his chest, holding him there. "Not anymore."

  "All'a you just fuckin' left me here. I know you had your lives to live, but--fuck, fuck--goddammit!" Sebastian's shoulders heaved again, and this time they didn't stop, and Zane just kept a harsh hold on his shoulders, refusing to let him go even though Sebastian was struggling, trying to get away, trying to deny the release of emotions.

  My heart hurt, hearing the ache in his voice, the raw agony of loss and loneliness, and I understood then the reason for his walls, the reason for hiding behind the macho asshole facade. He was in pain, alone, and refusing to deal with it. Until now I think he'd refused to even acknowledge that he had a problem.

  Brock and Baxter closed the circle, wrapped their arms around Sebastian, and inside the safety of that huddle, I heard him finally let go, finally allow himself to grieve for the loss of his father and the months and years of loneliness.

  I just stood there in the doorway of Badd's and watched, feeling like an outsider, but privileged to be able to witness the moment.

  After several minutes, Sebastian straightened and stood up, grabbing the back of his shirt and pulling it off, wiping his face with it. Then he turned and helped each of his brothers to stand up.

  He looked up and saw me standing in the doorway of the bar.

  The look on his face in that moment made my legs shake and my core clench.

  I was pretty sure Sebastian Badd was about to fuck me senseless.

  12

  Sebastian

  I couldn't deny how damn freeing it felt to get that shit out. I felt as if a burden had been lifted off my shoulders, as if a crushing weight had been ripped out of my chest. Yet it all still felt raw, like a ragged wound. Despite the fact that I felt relief, Dad was not coming back. The bar was still my problem. The guys would eventually leave again, and I'd be alone all over again.

  Shit, man, I hadn't cried since Mom died. But that had been by myself, in my room, door closed and locked, lights off, and I remember it had hurt like a motherfucker because I just couldn't keep it in anymore no matter how hard I tried. I hated letting it out, hated crying, but I couldn't physically stop it. Just like this moment on the docks with my brothers. I was powerless to stop it, and that was what they'd been after all along. The bastards had ganged up on me and physically forced me to confront my own emotions.

  And they were right--I don't think I'd ever really truly let it all out or sorted through my feelings at all. Not after Mom's death, and not after Dad's, and I certainly hadn't confronted my deeply-roo
ted sense of abandonment. Irrational? Sure. I knew it was. But I couldn't shake it. Mom left me. Dad left me. All the boys left me.

  But now they were back--under duress and temporarily, but they were back. And it felt good. Now I just need the other four to get here, and it'd feel complete.

  I wiped the blood off my face with my shirt and held it in a crumpled ball in my fist.

  And then I felt her presence.

  I hurt all over: the boys hadn't taken it easy on me. They'd really gone in after me hard, and I was in a lot of pain. My emotions were still running on high octane, blasting through me hard and fast and merciless, and there she fuckin' was. Just standing there in the doorway of the bar, one shoulder leaning against the frame, still wearing my drab green raincoat. The hood was halfway off her head, revealing a portion of her auburn hair loose around her shoulders and framing her lovely face. And her eyes, goddamn, those eyes. So blue they fucking stunned me breathless from twenty feet away.

  And the compassion on her face...holy shit. For me? That look she was giving me cut straight through me, digging deep and sinking barbed hooks into me that I knew would never be released. It was a look that said I see you. And those three words don't really do it justice. She saw me. Meaning, she saw past the front I put up. Past the tattoos, the muscles, the asshole player mentality, past all my bullshit emotional armor meant to keep everyone away...and to keep them from looking too closely.

  But Dru? She saw. She didn't have to look past those things, because she saw them as part of me.

  And that right there was what flayed me to the bone.

  The bruises, the break in my nose, the achy ribs, the split lips...it all faded into nothing as I stalked toward her. She held her ground as I approached.

  I stood over her, staring down, tasting the blood on my lips from my still-trickling nose. "I need you, Dru."

  She just smiled up at me. "I know."

  She reached up with both hands and placed them alongside my nose, hesitated a split second, and then swiftly and deftly re-set my nose.

  "You've done that before," I said.

  She grinned. "You don't spar with third and fourth dans and not get your nose broken a time or three."

  "What you saw just now--" I started, even though I wasn't sure what I was going to say by way of explanation, or even ask how she felt about it.

  She took my shirt out of my hand, dabbed at my nose, wiped at my lips, her expression soft and affectionate. "Shhh..."

  I frowned. "But I--"

  She lifted up on her toes. "Hush, Sebastian. Shut up and kiss me."

  I shut up and kissed her. Wrapped my arm around her waist and yanked her flush against me, palmed her cheek with my other hand, and--gingerly--kissed her.

  It's hard to gingerly kiss the ever-loving fuck out of someone, though, so I had to settle for long and slow and deep and thorough, tasting her lips, the line of her teeth, the slippery strength of her tongue. And then her hands were on me, sliding across my chest, my skin slick from the rain and sweat, and her hands were cupping the back of my head and tilting me down to deepen the kiss, to demand more from me.

  I heard a motorcycle rumbling behind us, heard the engine cut off, boots hit the pavement. "Well hell, looks like I missed all the fun." The voice was muffled behind a helmet, but I knew who it was.

  I pulled back, whispered against Dru's lips, "Xavier. Gotta say hi, and then I'm taking you upstairs."

  "Make it fast," she whispered back.

  I let her go, reluctantly, and pivoted just in time to see Xavier tugging off his full-coverage motorcycle helmet. The college boy had gone full hipster, apparently.

  Of all of us, Xavier looked the most like Mom. His hair was closer to black than brown, curly and unruly. He was also the only one of us to get Mom's green eyes. He was a punk barely old enough to shave, but he sure as fuck had the Badd looks and swagger. Tight black jeans above half-laced combat boots, tight white T-shirt underneath a '50s style greaser leather jacket. The sides of his head were buzzed to the scalp with the top of his hair left long and messy in a wild curly mop. Triple-pierced ears, a series of geometric shapes tatted in interlocking patterns on his forearms...the boy was taking after me, it seemed.

  That bike, though, that was new. Last I'd seen him he'd been driving some hoopty piece of shit beater-mobile, a '93 Topaz or some shit. Guess he'd saved for an upgrade, and I approved. It was a Triumph Adventurer, used, probably eight or ten years old but well maintained. A beauty, and I was a tad jealous. Not that I had time or money for a bike, but I'd been pining for one ever since I'd had to sell mine to pay off some debts I'd incurred while...intoxicated and impetuous, let's just say.

  He grinned as I stomped toward him, grabbed him in a bear hug so fierce I nearly pulled him off his bike.

  "Hey, you big fuckin' freak, let me go!" Xavier shoved at me in an attempt to fend me off, but I was ten years his senior and at least fifty pounds heavier, so he stood zero chance. Eventually he relented and gave in to the hug. "Fine, you goddamn ogre. All right, all right, you've gotten your hug, now let me go before I drop the bike. It's brand new."

  It was fun to fuck with Xavier. He was a little standoffish, a bit stiff, and not really into physical touch. Meaning, he hated hugs, hated being touched by anyone. Just a quirk, I guess. Something to do with his freak of nature intelligence, I assumed. Perfect SAT score, 4.3 GPA, valedictorian of his high school class, college credits under his belt before he hit senior year, self-taught physics wizard, speed reader, voracious book nerd, master sketch artist, and in his spare time he also had this weird obsession with creating these odd little robots that did nothing useful, just sort of wobbled and gyrated and hopped around. He used watch gears and batteries and odds and ends and did some sort of genius magic and made them prance around like cute, freaky little living creatures. And, oh yeah, he was an insanely talented soccer player.

  Go figure.

  That kid got the brains Bax and Zane and I missed out on. Not that we were stupid, but Brock and Xavier were on a whole different level of smart, and Xavier then took that level and left it in the dust.

  And damn the kid, but he was good looking as hell and had more fuckin' swagger than he knew what to do with. Just...don't touch him.

  I let him go, finally, and watched him roll his shoulders and shrug and wiggle, as if trying to rid himself of the creepy-crawlies. "All right, you little punk. I got something I gotta do. I'll see you in a bit, yeah?"

  Xavier's eyes went to Dru, then to me. He'd always been observant, and being the youngest had been around me longer than the others, so he'd seen me with an embarrassingly ridiculous number of different women over the years, none of whom I'd ever brought upstairs, never brought around the brothers, let alone Dad. I never saw them more than once, and never did anything to give them the impression it'd be anything other than a quick casual fuck. It meant no affection, no lovey-dovey bullshit.

  Xavier, who'd had a habit of doing his homework sitting by the service bar, had seen me close up and go away with those girls, seen me take breaks to fuck them in the alley or the bathroom or wherever was close and convenient. He'd been a night owl, like me, and I'd just gone with it since he was always up in time for school without needing a wake-up call, so he'd seen things even my other brothers hadn't.

  All of which meant he didn't miss the significance of the situation when I turned back to Dru, scooped her up with her legs hooked around my waist and her arms around my neck and kissed her as I walked with her toward the stairs.

  "The hell happened to Big Bast?" I heard him ask as I was on the stairs.

  Bax chuckled. "He got caught, little brother."

  "Looks...uncomfortable."

  "Yeah, well, you've still got your V-card." I heard Bax say. "You'll understand when you're older."

  "I'll spike your whey powder with estrogen supplements if you ever bring that up again, Baxter," Xavier said.

  "You wouldn't, you little rat."

  "Think again, meat-head."


  I lost the rest of the argument as I closed the door at the top of the stairs. Dru was chuckling against the side of my neck.

  "He's a virgin?"

  I laughed with her. "Yeah, he's an odd one. He's got the looks and the confidence, but he has this thing about being touched. I tried to set him up with a girl last year, this chick who was a friend of a friend's little sister, knew she was easy, knew she'd help a brother out, you know? But no, the little fucker wouldn't go for it. Said he'd wait for it to feel right."

  "That's admirable," she said.

  "It's dirtying the family reputation, is what it is," I grumbled. "Almost eighteen and still a virgin? The rest of us lost it years before that."

  She huffed. "He's waiting for it to be right, Sebastian. There's nothing wrong with that. I think it's admirable and honorable."

  "Yeah, well...for his sake I hope whichever chick he falls for feels the same way."

  We were at my bedroom at this point, and I closed and locked the door behind us, then set Dru down on her feet.

  "I have a question." She put her hands on my chest to halt me as I reached for her clothes. "Why do they call you Bast?"

  I chuckled. "That was Xavier's fault. When he was little tyke just learning to talk, he couldn't say my name. He'd say things like 'Sastian' and 'Sabashan', and he just couldn't ever get it. We tried short versions like 'Seb' or 'Bastian', but those never stuck. Then one day he called me 'Bast' and that was the one that stuck, and it's been my nickname ever since."

  "Awww, that's so cute!" she said, in that high-pitched squeal girls use for adorable things.

  I grabbed her wrists in one hand and pinned her up against the door. "I'll show you cute, wild thing."

  She blinked up at me slowly, lazily, heat and mischief in her gaze. "Oh yeah?"

  I kept her wrists pinned over her head with one hand and yanked her yoga pants down around her thighs with the other. "Yeah. It's so cute you won't even believe it."

  "Does it live in your pants and resemble an anaconda in any way?"

  "It might."

  "Not sure cute is the right word for that monster you call a cock...Bast." Her voice was breathless as I slid my fingers inside the leg of her panties. "Oh...god, please touch me."