by Rayne, Sara
The girls laughing snapped him back to the moment.
"Weird little thing?" Dani coughed into her hands.
"Shut up or you're going first!" Lexi threw a pillow at her, jostling the whole group. Pretty Boy and the guys grumbled as they tried to juggle open bottles of nail polish and women's feet.
Dani stared skeptically down at Crash's hand on her foot. "If any of you says they have a thing for toes, you're getting kicked in the nuts. Fair warning."
Rose started laughing, snorting a little and shaking.
"What?" Daisy asked in that mix of affection and exasperation only an older sister type could pull off.
She gasped for air, rasping out, "Can you picture … Duke prospecting …like this?"
"Oh my god!" The room collapsed into laughter and shouted suggestions of how he'd react to being asked to give pedicures.
"Wait, pause it, pause it, pause it!" Elizabeth bounced on her seat cushion, knocking Lexi closer to Voo and pushing her knee into his head again.
"Ouch! Watch it!" He laughed.
"Roll it back. Look at that. Just look at the way they're looking at each other!" Elizabeth gestured at the screen with her spiked milkshake. "Tell me Castiel and Dean aren’t hot for each other!"
“Yeah, that’s some eye fuckery right there,” Dani said, with a nod.
As the girls began dissecting subtext and arguing about expressions, Pretty Boy wondered if Shep would stop by. He had a meet with Axel today to talk about the prize fight. See if he could get a glimpse on how that went from Shep's face.
He was still figuring out how deep of shit with Shep he was in. Upon leaving the prospects in charge of guarding the womenfolk, the VP had been sure to explicitly tell Lexi the prospects would be more than happy to help her with anything and everything her little heart desired. So maybe he was still pissed?
On the other hand, Pretty Boy had still been itchin' to see him today. Get a read on exactly how much shit he was in for the Manson fiasco. See if they accidentally fell into bed together again … you know, whatever.
"I agree with Elizabeth, that totally counts as a shippy moment!" Lexi announced.
Jagger twisted around to look at her. "Explain shippy?"
Coyote groaned. "You know, as in we 'ship' them so hard? Aren't you paying attention?"
"So, does this involve postage? Or …"
"Relationship," Pretty Boy offered. "It means, you want them to be in a relationship and desperately search for clues that support your view."
"Desperate is an ugly word," Lexi scolded. She reached down and ruffled Pretty Boy's hair. He glanced over his shoulder, noticing that Lexi had kind of curled in toward Voodoo, who had slunk down against the back of the couch behind her head. "But we're going to let you off easy, since you're going first. So, what's your secret turn on?"
Pretty Boy laughed, "Okay, I'll go—but no judging. Or I'll paint your toes vomit green, understand?"
Lexi nudged him with her knee. "Come on, give up the goods!"
"The smell of apples and cinnamon," he said, with a self-deprecating smirk. "I know—ten kinds of wholesome, right? But I just want to bury my nose in that smell and …" He cleared his throat, adjusting a little in his seat.
When Lexi snickered, he smacked her leg. "You, go then, punk."
She took a long drink of her milkshake. "Me? Accents, all the way."
"Would that be Irish accents, love?" Jagger waggled his eyebrows at her over his shoulder, his black hair dancing around his face.
"Creoles are hotter," Voo whispered to Lexi, in a voice so warm it made Pretty Boy shiver.
Hmm. Interesting.
Lexi cleared her throat. "Yeah, so anyone want to hit play?"
Coyote grabbed the remote. "Your wish is my command."
The show rolled on, but Pretty Boy focused in on the whispered conversation between Voo and Lexi.
"So, what's going on here, ma petit? These two guys are in love?"
"Yes!" The girls crowed emphatically.
"But no, not really." Lexi held up her hands to hush the booing, and leaned closer to Voo to explain. "We just think you can totally tell that they're both hot for each other and they're in this big dramatic thing, where they keep saving each other, and not feeling worthy of the other's sacrifices … it's epic."
"So, how can you tell they are both 'hot for each other'?" Voo asked in his lilting creole.
Pretty Boy could feel Lexi's toes curl. He was beginning to feel like a bit of a third wheel, but to be honest? He loved being in on people's secrets. He casually checked to see if her nails were dry, carefully looking away from them.
"It's the long, silent, intense stare," Lexi whispered. "The way they communicate with their eyes."
"So looking at each other?" Voo teased.
She shifted closer to him and Pretty Boy chanced a look. Her head rested on her hand and her elbow was propped on Voo's knee. His gaze was fixated on her face. "If you stare in a person's eyes that long without saying something—and you're not related—then yes. You want the sex. You're picturing each other all kinds of naked and smexy. Fact."
A vision of Shep's perfectly tanned, muscled body stretched around his bike as he powered down the highway flashed into Pretty Boy's head. Yeah, he could see what she was saying.
He may not deserve it but he wanted. He needed.
"I'll take that bet." Voo reached a hand out and tilted Lexi's chin so their eyes locked.
Pretty Boy glanced around at the rest of the room. Most of them were tied into the tv show, but Dani was doing a bad job of hiding her 'I knew it!' smirk, in a handful of popcorn
Meanwhile, the silent, sexual tension staring contest continued over his shoulder. His breath actually caught when he looked up at them again.
Hot damn.
They kept that up much longer, they were going to scorch Eddie's upholstery. Smiling wickedly, Lexi caught the straw of her milkshake with her tongue and took a long drink. He could feel Voo start to shake.
Lexi tilted her milkshake straw towards him. "Want some?"
Voo shifted, leaned forward almost close enough to touch his lips to Lexi's. Pretty Boy cleared his throat and Voo pulled back with a jerk. He coughed and sputtered, defeat all over his face. "I give."
Pretty Boy ducked his head as Voo steadfastly stared at the screen. He wished Shep had been here to see that. Or would it have happened if Shep had been watching? He kinda had the feeling the situation had escalated quicker than Voo's brain had been able to keep up. He felt for the guy.
A motorcycle purred in the distance. And a warmth that had nothing to do with the copious amounts of alcohol he had consumed spread through his chest.
"Well, there's our fearless leader," Pretty Boy said.
"Dude, how could you possible know? He's not even in sight yet. And you know what there's no shortage of in this town? Bikes." Dash sighed.
He grinned. They'd see. He'd know the sound of Shep's bike in the middle of a rally.
The motor cut off outside the house, gravel scuffing.
Crash glared at Pretty Boy's knowing smirk. "Could be anyone – Axel or Ryker or Duke or Cowboy—"
There was a sharp rap at the door, followed by the creaking hinges.
"For they know!" Pretty Boy shouted.
Shep stepped into the living to the prospects’ chorus of, "When their Shepherd is nigh!"
"You know," Daisy sighed. "There's something very comforting about that whole 'Shep is nigh' thing."
"Missing your bootcamp days, Daze?" Rose laughed.
"And my bootcamp shape," she said ruefully. "This keeps up and I'm going to be the size of a tank."
Pretty Boy winked at her. "A beautiful, lethal tank."
"Aw, you're sweet!" She beamed at him.
"So, things are going … well?" Shep sought out Pretty Boy's gaze.
He mentally stumbled as he looked up. Shep stood, framed in the doorway and backlit by the hall light, decked out in distressed denim and leather. A short layer of
soft scruff covered his jaw, his mouth curved in amusement. When he finally reached Shep's navy blue eyes, Shep raised an eyebrow. Apparently, he'd noticed Pretty Boy's appreciation of the view.
Oops. He blushed a little. "Oh, yeah. Going great." He shook himself. "No worries."
"Good to hear."
"How's it going for you?" Pretty Boy asked as casually as possible.
A flash of something complicated, bitter and raw crossed Shep's face. "Fine." He glanced around the room. "Well, if everything's good here …"
"Shep, you should stay with us!" Lexi called. "Please?"
"Don't, brother! It's a trap!" Jagger called. Daisy and Rose threw their pillows at him. "Hang on, don't kill the messenger!" He leapt to his feet, dancing away from them. "Shep, I'm glad you stopped by. I was wondering if you might sit in on our practice tonight. We're working on the set for the Apocalypse Rally. And I want to test out your harmonica skills on that song."
When Shep’s eyes drifted over him again, Pretty Boy really wished Shep would stay. But he knew that wouldn’t happen.
"Yeah, of course." Shep looked over the group, gave a nod like everything was in order, then turned to Voo. "You in?"
"In a few. I'm uh, I'm going to finish this episode."
"It's a two-parter," Lexie hissed.
"These next two episodes," he replied dutifully. "I'll meet up with you. Parking lot of Seventh Circle?"
"That's where we'll be."
Pretty Boy tried to focus on the show as Shep left, but his BAC was a little too high to allow for real concentration. With the background of the women's constant litany of sexual tension citations, all he could think about was the blond biker. The way he felt scorched from the inside out when Shep looked at him. The way his stomach dropped when they got too close.
The hot sounds he'd made up against the alley behind Perdition as they ground against each other, while Shep kissed him back, slow and filthy.
He cleared his throat, strategically moving a throw pillow. He caught a glimpse of Voo moving closer to Lexi behind him. He whispered so softly, Pretty Boy couldn't catch much of it. Sauced. Loa. Crossroads. Sober ride.
For a second, he thought he'd completely spaced on an entire episode. Until he heard Shep's name.
Lexi handed him her half-drained milkshake with a soft smile and he exchanged it for a bottle of water and a package of her favorite shortbread cookies.
"You're sure you don't mind staying up another six hours? I'm asking an awful lot. But I need to do something for Shep.” Voo’s whisper carried softly over the tv.
“Like get him really, really drunk?” Lexi teased.
“What I have planned for the night is not something you ask a man to face sober,” he said firmly.
"Yeah, no big. But you're making me coffee before you leave." She grinned.
"You seriously rock." He winked at her. She blushed.
Pretty Boy wondered what the capacity for unresolved sexual tension capacity was in Eddie's living room. Of course, considering how often she and Cap had been in this room, probably a lot. Surely the furniture would’ve melted by now.
Twenty minutes later and cup of coffee in hand, Lexi sighed as Voo's bike thundered down the ride. Pretty Boy patted her knee reassuringly. She put her hand on his head and left it there. Misery loves company.
Chapter Twenty
When you got a problem, that’s why you got brothers. Lean on them.
~Four Horsemen Prospect Handbook
* * *
The Crossroad Crows, Jagger's band, finished their warm ups and Shep's hearty round of applause echoed through the deserted space.
"Man, I don't even know what kind of band you are. Bluegrass? Folk? Outlaw Country? What do you call it?" Shep teased.
"Badass," Jagger replied with a smirk. Then he hopped up on the makeshift stage they'd made out of pallets in the Seventh Circle Motors parking lot. Their new fiddle player shook out her arms and raised the violin to her shoulder. Her hair was platinum blond on top and indigo blue underneath. Which meant she fit right in. The group was a hodge-podge mashup that landed somewhere between hillbilly and hipster.
They started up a bluegrass cover of Hozier's Take Me to Church and when Jagger belted out the first few lines, goosebumps ran down Shep's arms. The asshole had every right to be smug. Badass didn't cover the Crossroad Crows.
The pain pulsing in Jagger's aching voice as his Irish brogue caressed the syllables was the most spiritual moment Shep had experienced since he'd turned his back on becoming a Pastor. He moved across the stage, angling his shoulder against Blue's so they were back-to-back and she played the fuck out of that fiddle.
When had they gotten so good? But he knew. When Blue joined. Because that's all Jagger ever talked about anymore. Shep made a mental note to get around to having her checked out incase this started to look like an Old Lady arrangement. At the end of her solo, she tossed him away with a impertinent elbow and a decidedly unimpressed look.
But it wasn't fooling Shep. The two of them on stage crackled with sexual tension, and its effect on their music was heady. He blew out a breath, his heart actually speeding a little.
He snapped a photo and texted it to Eddie. You know this girl?
No. I'd remember blue hair.
Shep snickered. God, he missed Eddie. She's all over Jagger like white on rice.
Interesting.
He tucked the phone back in his pocket. If he hadn't found anything by the time Eddie got back, she'd have the dirt—out of town or not.
Jagger hopped off the “stage.” He clapped a hand on Shep's shoulder and grinned. "You know I didn't ask you to tag along so you could lollygag in the crowd. Get up there!"
Shep grinned. He pulled his harmonica from his inside pocket and hopped up to sit on the left end. "This is as far as I'm going."
"Fine." He gestured at the rest of the band. It took him an extra second to recognize the song through the bluegrass interpretation. Ed Sheerhan's Make it Rain was a song that always tugged at his heartstrings.
Blue kept time by tapping her bow hand on the rim of her black violin as Jagger's fingers danced across the banjo strings. When Jagger got through the first line, Shep raised the harmonica to his lips.
The music filtered the pain out of his bloodstream and when he started to play, he could feel it soaking the notes. They fanned and flitted out from the fingers wrapped around the harmonica, drenched in helpless longing and remorse.
He thought about how he'd felt, riding across town, loaded gun tucked in his shoulder holster the night Noah's father died. For a second, he envied the clarity of that moment. The all-consuming vengeance that had done the thinking for him. He thought about Noah's face after it was over. Thought about what had happened next.
He imagined the life he'd been planning on having. Full of church and music, family and friends, barbecues and potlucks, dogs and picket-fences. The whole straight and narrow path shebang. He thought about how lost from that path he was now. The decisions that had brought him to this point.
Struggling to hold a wild and damaged group together with both hands, sacrificing his own wants, repressing his desires, to serve his club. To make up for his transgressions. To salvage something good from the tower of crap his life felt like sometimes.
He couldn't hide from it in the overwhelming swell of the music. His own self-loathing for what he'd done. And worse, how he still felt about it now. His biggest regret? That he wouldn't take it back if he could.
And then there was Noah.
Eyes all aching and heated, tightly toned body pressed against his, the bourbon sweet taste of his lips as they breathed into each other, grinding … Fuck. Shep was stone hard just thinking about it, throbbing with a hunger that would never be satisfied. Bittersweet swells rolled through him, making the sounds from his instrument sharp and lonesome.
When the song ended, Jagger caught his eye. "You okay, brother?"
Shep smiled weakly. "I gotta be."
"That's n
o answer."
He shrugged. "I'm out for a bit. Why don't you play your new song for me while I grab a smoke?"
Jagger nodded. "Look, do you need a hand with the Rally prep? Now that the Crows are squared away, I got some time."
"Nice of you to offer, but the prospects and I got it covered." Shep smiled. "No worries."
He tossed back another shot before he lit his smoke and let the song's slow and dirty tempo wrap around him. It was a duet called hellbound, about two people willing to go to hell to be with each other. And if watching them play together was enough to make Shep blush, listening to Blue and Jagger sing together was like music porn.
Her salty, low and rasping tones hit a striking contrast to his clear, gilded tenor. The suggestive lyrics curled around the charisma oozing off that stage. Blue strutted in front of her band, her cowboy boots clicking with every step as she sang. Her voice was as devilish as Jagger's was angelic.
When you look at me, with your eyes on fire, I like to make, the flames climb higher. I'll be burned alive, I'll be et-er-nal-ly drowned. Honey for you, I'll be Hell-bound.
He frowned. His emotional and slightly inebriated state leaned towards over-identifying. But he was so feeling this song right now. In a really sick way, he kind of liked the way it hurt.
A motorcycle rolled into the parking lot, lights flickering across the band. Voodoo parked his bike and jogged over to them. He dropped into a lawn chair next to Shep and whispered, "How's practice going?"
"Great. And strangely depressing." Shep shook his head. "You finally pried yourself away from chick-flick night?"
"Don't sass me now, cher," Voo admonished. "You don't know what those brothers went through. You don't even know. Talk about brotherhood, sacrifice."
Shep held up his hands. "My bad, my bad. I take it back."
"Just so." He nodded. "Just because you've been in a foul mood for months doesn't mean you can dis the Winchesters."
"Hey—I haven't been in a foul mood for—" Shep cut himself off when Voo shot him a withering look. "Alright, I'm kind of … going through a thing."
Voo grinned. "I know. It all became pretty clear to me tonight while I was hanging out with Lexi."