Justiss And Graver (MC Bear Mates Book 4)

by Becca Fanning

  It would have spread around that the Irish were using silver shot to combat them. Like wildfire. Only, it hadn’t.

  Why hadn’t it?

  The low hum of the bikes was a white noise that helped him think. He’d always loved being on the open road, and the one thing he’d been happy about was getting old and leaving behind the times when transport had relied upon horses.

  Horses shit.

  A lot.

  Traveling in carriages was not pleasant. Throw in the scent of dung, yeah, it wasn’t the greatest way to see America.

  But now? This? It was bliss.

  Well, it would be if his—what had Aaron called him? A brother-mate?—wasn’t intent on getting himself killed.

  Grunting at the thought, he tried not to panic. He tried not to let his worries cloud his judgment, because if he did, Graver was fucked. He’d never seen Aaron fight, but he was young, and that never boded well in a challenge. He needed all the help he could get.

  As he pulled to a halt outside the wooden structure that looked far less imposing than its contents required, it came to him.

  Moses hadn’t been shot. He’d been stabbed.

  Knives back then weren’t the sturdiest. Titanium wasn’t an alloy in common use, and the weaker, cheaper metals could chip and shatter. What if one of the Irish had coated his knife in silver particles, hoping that a Shifter would react badly to coming into contact with it, and a piece had nicked Moses’s bone?

  What if that piece of metal, tiny though it might have been, had active silver still coating it?

  Any other metal, a shift would have dislodged it. One transformation, and it would have healed up the bone. But not if silver was present. And because it was silver, even all these years later, it wouldn’t have degraded because Shifter blood would have kept it active, restoring it with each shift, giving it power each and every time Moses turned into the Bear.

  It could have been the size of a pin head, but that was all it took.

  He sucked in a breath, praying to God his supposition was right. All he knew was Moses did favor his right side, and for a lefthanded man, that was more than unusual.

  Gut instinct told him he was going out on a long shot, but he had faith in the Goddesses.

  They wouldn’t serve a creature who had selflessly sacrificed himself to save one of their sons only to let him perish in a Challenge, especially not for a man like Moses.

  As he climbed off the bike, he turned around trying to find Aaron’s cherry red hog. The sun glinted off it as he came to a halt. Justiss strode over and as he did, Graver eyed him warily and snarled, “Don’t bitch at me. He challenged my honor, not only by dissing me but attacking you. I will get vengeance. You know it’s my right.”

  Justiss felt his top lip curl. Pissed was an understatement. “Don’t talk to me about vengeance. Let’s talk about you going out there and not getting yourself killed. Toni is waiting for us. You’d better not fuck this up.”

  Guilt made the younger male’s shoulders droop. “I’ll be okay. I have to be. I have her to go home to.”

  “You have me too.” He reached out and grabbed Aaron’s shoulder. He tightened his grip, leaned in, and whispered quickly, “Back when Moses was a new recruit, we had a fight over territory with an Irish gang. I think he got stabbed with silver, because in all his fights, I remember him always favoring his right side.”

  Graver frowned. “He’s lefthanded, isn’t he?” He rubbed the back of his neck. “No, he’s definitely lefthanded. I’ve seen him sign the delivery dockets for the beer crates often enough to know. You must be wrong. He’d favor his left.”

  “Exactly,” Justiss snapped, annoyed that Aaron wasn’t getting his point. “He doesn’t. I was thinking about the fights I’ve seen him take part in. He guards his left. It’s his weakness. Use it.”

  Before he could say anything else, deliver any direr warnings, the last of the bikes arrived, and once the engines were cut, silence filled the parcel of land.

  Mars looked over his brothers, narrowed his eyes at Moses’s men, and said, “Graver fights for his honor. That of himself, but also, for his brother-mate, Justiss.” He didn’t speak overloud. In fact, his tone was quiet, but not a whisper of sound escaped any of the group. They stood there, watching their Prez, waiting to determine the rules he’d lay down for the challenge. “More than for his honor and that of Justiss, he fights for the MC.”

  The men who had traveled with them today, Nacho, Drake, and Harvey to name but a few, as well as the other council members, all let out a roar of approval. Drake, the nearest to Graver save for Justiss himself, slapped him on the back, grabbing him by the neck to bump foreheads with him—an act of support, even if it seemed aggressive.

  Mars waved his hands, asking for silence, but he didn’t get it. Moses snarled, “What the fuck is this brother-mate shit? It’s not the first time I’ve heard it today.”

  Justiss’s top lip curled as he turned to the SOB who had stabbed him and left him to bleed out in the clubhouse’s foyer. “Graver took part in a blood sacrifice to save my life. The price the Goddesses wanted was for us to share a mate.”

  Moses reared back and let out a howl of laughter, a howl that his men joined in with. “I knew you were a weird motherfucker, Justiss, but I didn’t know you batted for the other team.”

  Mars let out a snarl, one charged with his Bear, and considering his Bear was the strongest in the yard, it packed a punch. Moses’s laughter died a death, and the howls in the yard fell to the ground like they were lead weights. Why they were intent on trying to displace Mars when he was the strongest Bear, something they all knew to be fact, was just proof positive that Moses and his lackeys were all fucking fools.

  “Enough,” he growled. “Jefferson lives on through you, Moses. I want him dead, Graver. You’re my right arm on this. See that justice is done for your brother-mate but the clubhouse too. That place on the council is waiting for you.”

  “Wait a fucking minute,” Moses cried, storming forward, coming nose to nose with Mars. “What the fuck happens when I beat this pup?”

  “Nothing happens.” Mars smiled. But it was colder than Antarctica at Christmastime. “Save for the fact that you, and all your supporters, are exiled. But I’ll let you live. You picked your poison, Moses,” he taunted. “Now you have to live with it. I never said a word about it being in your favor.” Before the other Shifter could say anything, Mars roared, “Let the challenge begin.”

  There was a charged silence, charged with tension as the repercussions of Mars’s edict hit home, and Moses himself was more stunned than Graver. Seeing this, Justiss pushed Aaron forward and said, “Go for his left side.”

  While Moses was still staring at Mars, his weak side turned toward the crowd, Graver immediately went in for the kill. The roundhouse kick he served shocked J with its power because Moses let out a howl and went tumbling a few feet away, landing on the ground with a heavy bump that had to hurt.

  He was up quickly, but J saw him turn his right side forward, shielding his left again. Graver noticed it too because when Moses went to smash Aaron’s nose with an uppercut, he dropped low and with a high, forward kick to the chest, toppled Moses over once more.

  The traitor stared up in shock, and Justiss didn’t blame him. That shock was rippling around the group. Aaron had never fought before, so they’d never seen him in any kind of combat.

  The man had moves. How the fuck had he learned them?

  With a roar, Moses jumped onto his feet and straight into a Shift. Graver must have sensed the power in the air because he shifted too, leaving only a few seconds where he was defenseless. Because of that, Moses had no advantage and the two roared at each other for a second before butting into each other, locking the other in a headlock like they were two stags with their antlers stuck.

  Moses, claws extended, was raking them down Graver’s back, leaving bloody trails that would be a bitch to heal. Justiss saw bone through some of them and knew Moses was using all
his strength because he had no alternative—he was fighting for his life.

  But while Moses was on the attack, Aaron wasn’t being idle. Rather than rake down, J saw him making punching motions. And as Moses’s growls became tinged with a high pitch that spoke of a whine, Justiss realized he was puncturing Moses’s tough hide, all down his left side.

  The high-pitched wail of pain flooded J with relief. Graver just had to keep on, just had to aim for that weakness, but then the unthinkable happened. Moses, desperate, nearly headbutted Aaron, and using that moment of surprise to attack, went for the throat.

  With bare inches to spare, Graver pulled away, but he wasn’t fully spared. Moses had done more than graze Aaron’s throat; he’d done some major damage. Damage that could only be spared by a quick Shift. In the middle of a Challenge however, that wasn’t possible. Praying that adrenaline kept him moving before he grew too weak and collapsed, leaving himself open for Moses’s attack, J watched as the younger brown bear began pummeling the black one, this time with claws extended, his own desperation giving him a burst of strength.

  Something happened—J wasn’t sure what—but Moses staggered back, letting out a roar of such agony that not a man in the yard didn’t wince. Aaron let him retreat, watching with beady eyes as his enemy, with stuttering steps, moved back and away from the Challenge circle.

  Then, with a growl that would have made his Ma proud, Graver leaped forward and finished up the job his claws had started down Moses’s torso. He chewed the SOB up until Moses was no more.

  Chapter 7

  “Do you think they’ll be all right?”

  Her mournful question was received with a wince by Christie who, like Toni, was sitting on a window seat, staring out onto the clubhouse’s front gate and the drive that led to it. She let out a sigh when Toni just carried on staring out the window, and murmured, “I’m sure they will be. They have a lot to come back for.”

  Now, it was Toni who winced. “That’s not the most reassuring of answers, Christie.”

  “Well, it’s not the most reassuring of times to be honest, babe.” Christie shrugged. “It is what it is. And, worse luck, they are what they are.”

  “Mundo will be okay. He’s not involved in this.”

  That had Christie snorting. “They’re all involved. You should learn that pretty damn quickly. There’s no getting away from the fact that it’s this weird Three Musketeers shit. It’s who they are. It’s more than just an MC. Believe me, if it wasn’t, I wouldn’t be here. We’d be in my apartment, in the city, with a donut shop a two-minute walk away.”

  Toni laughed despite herself. “You can’t be having cravings now?”

  “Why not?” She chuckled and patted her belly. “I have them all the time. Usually, they don’t last long enough for me to actually go and get whatever the hell it is I want. I get bombarded with a stink, and then the slightest thought of food makes me feel even worse.”

  Toni grimaced. “That sucks.”

  “Tell me about it. But in this instance, I’m a comfort eater. My mate is on some vengeance road trip with my new friend’s two mates and the rest of the council, and some of the stronger Shifters to boot.” She shook her head. “There’s nothing we can do but wait. I can’t make any of it better because it’s all pretty fucked up.”

  “I hate waiting.”

  Christie grinned. “Me too.”

  She reached over and squeezed her shoulder, but agitated, Toni turned away from the miserable view out front. When they’d built the clubhouse, they sure as hell hadn’t bought the plot of land for any pleasant vistas. And they hadn’t gone out of their way to make it aesthetically pleasing, either. The place looked like a white elephant had taken a dump.

  The gates held no decoration whatsoever. They could have been guarding a prison for all the decorative value they held. Straight, gray bars without a hint of a curlicue that maintained a border between a dust road with more potholes than flat surfaces and a yard that could have been, for all intents and purposes, a bodywork shop.

  She’d not lie and say the backyard wasn’t a tad better, but unfortunately for her and Christie, their rooms overlooked the front. That being said, the lawn out back was well tended, but there were no trees, no plants, no flowers. There were hills, and there was a lot of space. When she thought of a backyard, she thought of a relatively manicured garden. Here, it was more like acres of rolling land. There were high walls to keep people from looking in and seeing a den of bears roaming around and to stop said bears from attacking intruders, she guessed. The wall, however ugly, was functional. Atop the walls, for further prison chic, there were barbed wire and broken glass that glinted and gleamed under the hot Texan sun, smattering every inch.

  This place made her state-run hospital—not one of the fancy schmancy hospitals like in Grey’s Anatomy where some of the wards looked like hotel rooms—look pretty. Jesus, she was used to utilitarian, but this place took the biscuit.

  “Penny for them,” Christie asked, nudging her with her knee. She sat with one knee on the bench, turned toward the window, whereas Toni was facing forward. Her belly, while not massive, was resting in the ark of her legs. She looked quite comfortable for once.

  “They’re not worth a penny,” Toni breathed dismissively, resting her head against the wall for a second.

  “I put a high price on friendship. Don’t worry, I can cover the cost.”

  Toni’s smile was half-sheepish, half-smirk. “Don’t make me laugh. I’m considering.”

  “Yeah? What are you considering?” She stilled then reached forward and grabbed Toni’s hand. “Don’t leave. They’ll just come tearing after you.” The utter seriousness of her tone had Toni barking out a laugh.

  “I wasn’t thinking about leaving, dumbo,” she teased, relaxing back so that she could lean against the cool panes of glass. “I don’t want to leave. I feel insane for wanting to stay and get mixed up in this craziness, but I can’t go. I mean, I’ve never felt anything like this before.”

  “What? Ever?” Christie asked, surprised. “You’ve never been in love before?” When Toni shook her head, trying to collect her thoughts so she could form them into some semblance of sense, Christie carried on, “I mean, I was married before I met Mundo. H-He died, and it was some of the hardest years I’ve ever had to live through. Meeting Mundo was tough because he made me realize that the love I felt for my husband was nothing in comparison to the mate bond. I still feel guilty about that.”

  Toni squeezed the hand Christie was still holding. “There’s no use in feeling guilt. You loved him with all you were capable of back then. Now, you’re just capable of more. In fact, maybe he was the reason you could love Mundo. He opened the door that led you to Mundo.”

  A release in tension had Christie’s shoulders slumping a little. “I try to tell myself that, but it’s hard, you know? I can’t talk about it with Mundo. It would either upset him or make him mad or jealous. Then, I feel guilty about not sharing it with him. Truth is, he doesn’t have to feel mad or jealous. It’s not necessary at all. Which is why I feel so horrible. It’s a vicious cycle.”

  Toni jerked a shoulder. “You should tell him. Honesty is always better, and then he’ll understand if one day you’re finding it hard to assimilate your new life with your old one. Plus, how can he be jealous? You’re comparing the men you’ve loved, sure, but not them in particular. It’s your feelings that are under analysis, and those you have for Mundo are coming out on top.

  “And, if he doesn’t understand, just tell him he’s being a jerk and unsupportive. That should terrify the hell out of him. Oooh, how about you say it’s pregnancy hormones and that it’s his fault you’re feeling that way because he got you in that state?”

  “You’re a meanie,” Christie joked, but there was a twinkle in her eye that told Toni she liked what she heard.

  “Maybe.” She winked, then sobered up enough to admit, “I just prefer the truth. It’s better than dealing with falsehoods or any shit like
that. They get you nowhere.”

  The other woman let out a sigh, released Toni’s hand, and gently patted her stomach. “Is life ever that cut and dried though?”

  Toni wrinkled her nose. “Sometimes I guess it isn’t.” She closed her eyes. “The trouble is, I just…”

  When she broke off, hesitant and uncertain as to how she could broach this subject when she’d never been able to talk about it before—not even to psychiatrists—Christie murmured, “It’s okay, Toni, you don’t have to tell me anything.”

  “It’s not that.” Toni shook her head, then, taking a deep gulp of air, she admitted, “When I was six, my parents died in a car crash, and I was trapped in the back, helpless. I had to watch as the life drained from them.” Christie’s sharp gasp had Toni cutting her a sideways glance then immediately staring ahead at the minimalist quarters that told her either Christie had no eye for interior design or no energy to change her rooms what with the baby coming. These rooms were as bare as the ones Toni had woken up in. She didn’t know how Christie could stand the plain white walls. Jeez, they made sterile look homely. Forcing herself back on topic, because it was so much easier to lose focus on a subject that hurt so damn much, she whispered, “I was one of the lucky ones. My grandparents, both sets, were alive. I didn’t have to go into foster care or anything like that. And, I was loved. They all showered me with time, their affection, and anything else they could do for me.”

  “But nothing took away the pain of loss,” Christie inserted softly. “Trust me, I know grief. I don’t know that kind of devastation, but I know loss.”

  Toni felt the thickness in her throat intensify, so much so, she had to clear it before she could say, “That night, when they confirmed my mom and dad had died, it changed me. After that, I was always apart from everything. Disjointed. It was like I was looking out onto the world without being a part of it. It was weird, and my grandparents knew. It hurt them, and they tried to change it, but whatever they did, nothing worked. I’ve been to so many psychiatrists, you wouldn’t believe. Nothing changed apart from the name and the face of the person trying to make me reveal all my woes to them.