Justiss And Graver (MC Bear Mates Book 4)

by Becca Fanning

  There was a legend about Shifters. To the humans, they were nothing but living legends, with thousands of myths and facts attributed to their nature. But among Shifters, there were fewer, and one of those few was to do with the beast inside the man.

  Some said that the beast never slept—until it met its mate.

  Graver had never really thought to question it because it made no real sense. Why wouldn’t the Bear sleep when he slept? That was the only logical assumption. But then, this was a world where men could turn into animals, so really, what the hell was logic anyway?

  And yet, the way his Bear was on the rampage at the moment, he was starting to question everything he thought he knew.

  While she’d been asleep, the Bear had been surprisingly well behaved. Maybe it had sensed how on edge Toni was, how close to exhaustion she was.

  The creature was perceptive. Dumb animals were a fallacy. They had their own particular smarts, and just because it was different than what humans considered important, that didn’t take a damn thing away from an animal’s intelligence. His Bear could discern from smell alone how many people were in a room, and that was in human form. He could tell which were aggressive, which were happy and sad.

  To humans, that might seem like an ability, something neat they could do because they were gifted with a strong sense of smell. But Graver had been in enough fights to know that he’d probably be dead were it not for his Bear. Even with the extra strength he had thanks to his Shifter nature, the Bear had stopped him from going where angels feared to tread, and if Graver hadn’t listened, his Bear wouldn’t be around, whining about leaving its mate behind.

  So, the animal had known she was tired and had been content to wait for her. The creature had purred with satisfaction, knowing that she was willing, hearing her declare that she’d never leave him… and then, they’d had to leave her.

  Fuck.

  Just thinking about it made his heart tighten and the Bear started to growl.

  A signpost flashed before him, and he lifted a hand over his head, signaling to the brothers behind him this was the direction they needed to go. Hell, they more than likely knew, but it was always good to make sure everyone was on the same page.

  As they careened off the highway, within minutes, they approached a rundown suburb.

  It hadn’t done well in the recession. Roofs looked like they were crumbling, yards were more mud patch than lawn, as well as being filled with all kinds of crap. The houses needed painting. Some even had graffiti scrawled on them, graffiti that hadn’t been washed off because the residents didn’t really give a shit about how their shelter looked. They just cared about the roof being over their heads.

  He’d been in that position before, when he’d left home before his brothers had passed and tried to make it in the human world for a while. Those kinds of straits were never nice, but when he’d left, Jefferson had still been in power, and he’d ruled with a swastika-covered iron fist. The dude was all kinds of fucked up, and being ruled by him wasn’t something Graver had felt comfortable with. So, he’d left, gone on his own for a little while, and learned how tough it was when a Bear cut itself off from its Clan.

  Just the memory had him grimacing, but he shrugged it off, intent on seeking the house Mars’s informant had given them.

  It wasn’t hard to look for the bastards who had tried and succeeded in killing Justiss. Their bikes were out in the tumbledown yard. He frowned at that because they had The Nomads’ insignia on them in various places. They were hardly going under the wire by having them out in plain sight.

  As the lead man of the convoy, he came to a halt, expecting the rest to brake behind him. There was no hiding from the suburb now though. They were in the middle of the long cul-de-sac, and the rumbles of their bikes’ motors would have passed through each home.

  There was no way of going incognito with bikes, but then, an MC didn’t bother much with incognito. Still, in this instance, something wasn’t sitting right with him.

  “Why you stopped?” Mars hollered over the sound of his engine.

  “Why the fuck would they leave their bikes out in the open for anyone to spot? It stinks of ambush to me.”

  Mars frowned then peered over at the bikes. He sat there a second then raised a hand and rubbed his chin. “We’re all packing, right?” he asked, raising his voice so the rest of the brothers who were in the convoy, and had all come to a halt as well, could answer.

  Each man nodded.

  “I still don’t like it, Mars,” Graver insisted. “What if they have heavier duty weapons? You know that fucker Moses. He’s a squirreller. Even one sub-machine gun could fuck us up, and I know we’re quick at healing, but we’re not that fucking quick.”

  “What would you have us do?” Mars asked, narrowing his eyes at him. Through the Prez’s aviator lenses, he could see as well as feel the scowl being aimed his way.

  “I don’t know, but I think we’d be fucking stupid to go barging in. They’ll know we’re here now. No hiding the sounds of our engines. But that doesn’t mean we have to go in through the front door, do we?”

  Mars contemplated that and said, “Follow me.”

  Justiss shot Graver a look but said nothing as he started his engine and followed Mars to the street outside the house where Moses had holed up. Graver frowned and begrudgingly followed his brothers. He was the last one to do so, however.

  He’d just found his mate. The last thing he wanted was to die in some stupid fucking shootout over shit that really wasn’t relevant now Jefferson was dead.

  Although, if he did die, at least Toni would still be safe.

  Mates never did well after the death of their Shifter partner. Death wasn’t instantaneous, by any means, but the phrase, ‘died of a broken heart,’ had been coined by Shifters in response to their body’s natural chemical makeup that meant no bound mates could live without one another.

  Unless the bond was weak.

  But, as time passed, there’d been a shift in how Shifters found their mates. Before, there had been more bondings but weaker unions. Now, unions were strong, and the chance of meeting a mate was slim.

  Which was why he felt so fucking fortunate to have Toni and why he didn’t feel like shitting it up with a goddamn bullet to the heart.

  When he pulled up behind the rest of the bikes, he studied Mars, wondering what the hell he was up to. The Prez’s next move had his heart pounding double-time. Five days ago, he’d not been afraid to die. The notion saddened him because of his Ma, but truth was, if he’d been a sacrifice for the MC, he’d have been okay for that. The Nomads were more than just his MC, they were his Clan. The members were more than just men—they were his brothers. Dying to protect the Clan was a noble cause, just a heartbreaking one for his mother and father.

  But now?

  He wanted to live.

  He wanted to see his world through Toni’s eyes, and he wanted to see her world through his. Hell, he even looked forward to Justiss’s ancient and decrepit butt being involved. They’d always been friends. It felt right that if he was going to have to share her with anyone, it would be someone who was more than just a Clan brother. Still, that could only happen if Mars didn’t fuck it up, which he seemed hell bent on doing, damn his motherfucking hide.

  “Moses! We know you’re in there. Get the fuck outta there or we’ll smash the house to pieces. I bet your shitty little fucking weapons are nothing on the big bastards we’re carrying.”

  Graver felt his eyes widen in response and his heart sink.

  A bluff?

  That was how Mars was going to handle this?

  A goddamn, stupid, crappy, shitty bluff?

  What. The. Actual. Fuck?

  Justiss must have sensed where Graver was heading emotionally—down shit creek without a goddamn paddle—because his hand suddenly popped out and he wafted it down. Twice.

  Was the dick trying to soothe him?

  Jeezus. How old was he?

  Graver knew in the e
yes of his Clan, he was young. But he wasn’t a fucking babe in arms.

  Before he could feel any sicker at the dope stunt Mars had just pulled, Moses actually responded, “You fuck off outta here, Mars. This is my place. Ain’t got nothing to do with the MC.”

  “It’s got everything to do with The Nomads, you slimy son of a bitch. You know all property dealings go through the MC. You’ve just violated one of our most important codes.”

  Technically, the Clan acted as a whole, not singularly. So, while Moses could own the house, the MC had to know about it. In the event of his death, it would pass to the club, and the council would distribute the funds either to any remaining family, or it would be absorbed into the club’s accounts.

  “Never trusted you with them there books, Mars. Always were fiddly with figures.”

  Mars’s face turned purple. Outside of a workout at a human gym where a trainer had been putting some poor saps through Krav Maga, he’d never seen that particular shade on a face before.

  Kiko leaned across and punched Mars on the arm. “Calm down. He’s just riling you. And it’s fucking working.”

  “You’re damn right it’s working. Moses, get your sorry ass out here. If I didn’t want to…” Mars stuttered to a halt when he realized he was in a human suburb, and all the racket had dragged out the same kind of folk who got off on watching the aftermath of a car crash. The last thing they needed was the human authorities getting involved and witnesses stating how Mars had threatened Moses’s life. He growled, then started again. “We have business. You and I both know it.”

  “Yeah, we do, but I ain’t gonna get a fair fucking challenge, am I? You’re gonna sic some other shit like that pup Graver on my ass. My beef ain’t with kids. It’s with you, you grabbing bastard.”

  It was Graver’s turn for his face to look like a beet. He cracked his knuckles at the double insult of being called a pup and a kid, as well as the fact Moses had made that declaration in front of the MC’s most powerful men.

  The entire council was here, goddammit.

  And Justiss had just requested that Graver join it… and he, a pup, in the eyes of that coward and shithead, Moses.

  Rage tore through him, and he couldn’t help himself. He’d regret it if Moses tore him a new one and he never made it back to Toni tonight, but his pride had been stabbed, and there was nothing more precious to a Shifter in the eyes of his Clan than that.

  “Moses, you motherfucker. You don’t want to fight this pup? Well, this pup wants to fight your fucking ass and break it…” Justiss turned around, panic in his eyes, but Graver ignored the panic, ignored the words that Justiss wanted to say, and hollered, “I have rights, too, so you can’t worm your way out of this shit. You tried to murder my brother-mate. For that, there are consequences. Consequences you’ll pay with your life.”

  Where Mars’s words hadn’t made much difference, Graver’s seemed to be all Moses needed to hear. It made sense. Moses had pricked Graver’s pride, and Aaron had merely returned the favor.

  The door opened. Moses appeared, hands over his head in the classic ‘don’t shoot, I’m unarmed’ pose. As a group, Graver and his brethren stared at him, until he approached his bike, his lackeys at his back.

  “We’ll decide this at the clubhouse,” Moses declared.

  Justiss shook his head, quickly turning to Graver to hiss, “Toni’s there. She can’t witness this.”

  He was already on the same page, and Mars too, because their Prez shouted, “Follow me. Not at the clubhouse. There are too many females there now.”

  Moses sneered a second, and Graver felt certain he was about to mock the new mates, but then he pursed his lips, a considering look in his gaze. No Shifter begrudged another their mate, even sons of bitches like Moses.

  Apparently, the bastard still had some decency.

  Moses nodded. Once. But he snarled, “We’ll follow, but if I don’t like the terrain, we’re going somewhere I approve.”

  “Fine. Let’s get out of here. This needs dealing with. Today. No more fucking around, Moses.”

  Mars revved his engine before the traitor could reply and took off at a fast pace. Graver, Justiss, Mundo, and Kiko were swift to follow, with the rest of the group tagging along at a slower pace, making sure Moses kept up with them. Undoubtedly, they’d tail the treacherous fuckers and make sure they didn’t do anything underhand en route. Aaron wouldn’t put it past them. Any bastards who could do what they’d done to Justiss, just leave him to bleed out on the ground like he meant nothing, like he wasn’t a brother, were capable of anything.

  Graver ruffled his shoulders as tension tried to worm away at his courage. He had no problem fighting Moses, even if the bastard had a good seventy years on him. Bears, in their maturity, were at their prime. Graver wasn’t at his yet, and the blood sacrifice had drained him of some reserves, so he was going into this situation at a disadvantage. But what he did have was an unusual background. Shifter families were small. Three cubs, like his mother had borne, were unusual in dens where a Dam could only usually rear one baby. Graver had been raised with two snarky elder brothers who had bullied and taunted him the only way brothers could.

  Graver was used to fighting dirty. He was used to watching his back.

  He was quick. Sly. And Moses didn’t know any of that because up until now, the MC had used Aaron as a lackey. Nothing offensive, just keeping him as a prospect until he either proved himself or came of age. He’d done mostly grunt work, serving drinks behind the bar, basic chores to keep the clubhouse running smoothly.

  Moses would, undoubtedly, misjudge Graver’s abilities as a result of this. Aaron hoped he did, because that was the only way he’d win against a Bear at his peak.

  Not that he intended to think about losing. Not when he had so much at stake. In fact, losing wasn’t even an option, not with his mate at home waiting for him to claim her.

  Just the thought riled his bear into a flurry of activity, stirring up the rage he’d felt earlier and building a fire he intended to rain down on Moses’s unsuspecting head.

  When a Shifter mated his female, the bonding magic gifted the female with a talent. J had long since suspected that Mars and his woman, Annette, could speak telepathically. They’d never said anything, and it was bad form to ask a couple what talent the female had earned through the union. They only knew about Christie’s hyper scenting talents because the poor woman kept puking at the mildest of odors.

  Her case was unusual. Rare. More often than not, these gifts were kept secret. So, Annette’s ability being kept on the downlow wasn’t unusual at all.

  Still, he had his suspicions, and at that moment, he wished to fuck he and Graver could talk telepathically, because if they had, he’d ream the younger male a new asshole.

  What the hell was he thinking? Challenging the SOB who was about as sneaky as a plump rat still on the hunt for more food was close to a death wish. Only, Justiss didn’t want to think about the words ‘wish,’ ‘death,’ and ‘Graver,’ all in the same sentence. If he did, he’d lose the pancakes he’d eaten with his mate an hour ago.

  Maintaining a straight face during that confrontation had been one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do. The urge to step in, to fight in Aaron’s stead, had been fierce, urgent even. Love him as a brother though he did, Justiss knew Moses was the stronger bear. He’d seen him in fights, seen him attack. Aaron, on the other hand, had stayed out of trouble for nearly all his tenure at the club. He wasn’t sure how the younger male had done that, but he had. That meant he had fewer defenses because he’d never trained to fight, a notion that terrified him.

  If taking over the challenge wouldn’t utterly humiliate Aaron, he’d have done it. And though it was better to be humiliated and alive, J knew he’d never forgive him. It would always be a wrench between them. Considering they shared a mate, that just wasn’t something he could allow to happen, even if that mate would kill him for letting Graver be put in danger.

  Shit, he was f
ucked either way.

  Again, he wished for the telepathy so he could flay Aaron alive with his words.

  As they traveled to a plot of land the MC owned and used to store the bike parts they needed for their shops in Houston, his head was filled with doubts and concerns. If he had to return to Toni and tell her Graver had perished… He didn’t know what he’d do. How the hell could he tell her that her mate had died before he’d ever really become hers?

  He couldn’t.

  Which meant Graver had to win.

  And to do so against Moses, who was not only in top physical form but a renowned fighter in the MC, Justiss knew he had to help him.

  With that in mind, he thought about the many challenges and fights he’d seen Moses in over the years. The bastard was a bloodthirsty shit, so there were many of them to analyze, but Justiss had a head for statistics. As the twenty-mile road clocked down to two miles, he realized that in all the times he’d witnessed Moses in a fight, he favored his right side over his left.

  In fact, his left side was a definite weakness when he thought about it.

  He traced his memories back to a younger Moses, closer to Graver’s age now. It had been the fifties. The MC was in its infancy, still more of a Clan with underworld contacts than the out and out business it was today.

  They’d had a problem with the Irish. Down in Houston, if memory served. As he squinted into the distance, saw the warehouse up ahead alongside two fields, one with spotty lawn and the other dry brush, he thought back to the fights they’d had with a new gang that had risen post-war.

  Justiss was certain Moses had been shot. The memory was there. It was clear, but he couldn’t understand why being shot would still affect him to this day.

  Of course, the Irish had known they were battling Shifters, so maybe they’d come prepared? It was a true ‘myth’ that Shifters were allergic to silver. Shifters never confirmed or denied that silver could hurt them, so the humans always tended to err on the side of caution. Had they come armed with special bullets for that particular battle? But if they had, why hadn’t there been more injuries?