Brutal Beast (Vicious Vipers MC Book 5)

by Lynn Burke

  The kid let me down when he blew out a heavy exhale and forced a grin. “I’m being a sensitive whiney bitch.”

  “The fuck you are,” I argued. “Who did what? Tell me so I can go set their asses straight.”

  Dillon let out a huff of laughter. “Don’t worry about it. I got this.”

  “I do worry—and I will. That won’t fucking change, Dill.”

  He peered up at me, the admiration in his gaze sending my hand over my chest in that absent rub I found myself doing a lot of. I honestly worried about my ticker.

  “Would it be weird if I said I was totally falling for you—in a totally bro kind of way?” he hastened to add.

  I chuckled but didn’t ruffle his hair like I suddenly wanted to. “Not weird at all, Dill. You’re pretty kickass yourself.”

  He swallowed and glanced away. “Want to hold the bag while I go to town on it?”

  “Sure thing.” Letting whatever issue he faced go for the time being, I focused on being his friend and showing him how to land punches that would protect his skinny ass.

  ****

  Friday night I went to the club to hang out and found Ricky sprawled unmoving on the couch in my office, eyes closed and mouth open, the stench of liquor and vomit spewed across the floor setting me off.

  “The fuck, Ricky?” I hurried to his side, avoiding splattered puke and pressed my fingers to his neck. A steady pulse beat beneath, but I couldn’t rouse him. “Goddamnit. Stone!” I hollered, and knowing he couldn’t hear me, I yanked open my door and hollered his name again into the noisy club.

  He looked up from where he sat at the table, and immediately set Giada off his lap, hurrying over to me.

  I turned back into my office, Stone on my heels, scowling as he let out a stream of curses. “Not waking up?”

  “No.”

  “Fuck—gotta call an ambulance, Vigil.”

  I cursed every word in the fucking book, but did as Stone suggested. Two hours later I sat in a chair beside my brother’s hospital bed, scowling as he ignored me.

  He’d had his stomach pumped and would be fine, but still.

  “The fuck, Ricky? You’ve been doing good the past week.”

  Even though he was awake and lucid, he refused to look at me, refused to let me rouse his bitch attitude. I decided to hold my peace until he was ready, but when we got back to the club the next morning, he still refused to talk, acting like a petulant little child while stomping toward the stairs. He’d done the same thing that day after finally returning from wherever the fuck he’d been instead of in my office for our weekly meeting.

  Closed mouth motherfucker. “Ricky.”

  My tone at least paused him at the foot of the stairs, but he didn’t look at me.

  I lifted my chin as my guts twisted. “It’s rehab or your colors.”

  A few brothers sat in the club, and I felt their stare as the murmurs hushed to silence.

  “Fuck you and your self-righteousness,” Ricky said, all but spitting over his shoulder, his pale eyes like cold steel. “You think you’re so much better than me.”

  I straightened, my scowl swiped away at his words. “The fuck you talking about?”

  “Just leave me the fuck alone,” he growled and stomped up the stairs leading to the apartments above the club.

  “I’m serious, Ricky!” I shot after him, letting his stupid ass comment go. “You get your ass cleaned up or you’re out, you hear me?”

  “Fuck off, Frankie.” He flipped me the bird, and I fucking snapped same as every time he called me by my real name with that tone. Sounded just like our prick of a father.

  I caught up to his ass halfway up the stairs, and we fell down together, fists flying and curses spitting. He landed a couple blows, and I didn’t take it easy on his ass even though he had to be feeling like shit from alcohol poisoning. Until my anger simmered to a force I could restrain, I’d busted his lip and his nose.

  He lay sprawled at my feet in the middle of the club, and I loomed over him, fists clenched at my sides, my chest heaving beneath an ache so fucking bad my throat threatened to swell shut. “I’m all done with your shit, Ricky. You put your ass in rehab or leave your colors on my desk,” I managed to rasp through my emotion.

  I spun and stalked off, ignoring the quietness of those in the club who’d witnessed one of the lowest points in my life. The door didn’t slam loud enough behind me, and the whipping wind as I tore up the road didn’t soothe the ache in my heart and sore knuckles.

  Never had I imagined turning my brother away. Never had I thought I would toss him out on his ass because he couldn’t control his demons.

  We shared the sin of murder and had buried our bastard of a father deep in the woods of Maine, but he’d never truly came to grips with the violence of our childhood and the justice we’d dished out with our teenage hands.

  Tension still rode my shoulders, the type that always did after violence, and I cursed myself for not sticking around the club and making one of the whores get me off. Or, try to at least. But there was only one woman I wanted—and she didn’t want me.

  Cursing, I turned into my neighborhood and found another reason to lose my fucking shit.

  A black sedan sat in Michelle’s driveway behind her piece of shit car and a familiar looking guy with sandy blond hair knocked at her door. She opened immediately as though she’d been waiting for him, a real smile lighting up her face.

  My heart fucking crashed and burned with one hell of a road rash. I sped past without acknowledging her as she glanced my way, instant jealousy raging atop the shit of the previous twelve or so hours. I barely refrained from pulling over and beating the shit out of the man who managed to wrangle a smile without wariness out of my wildcat. Michelle didn’t want a man like me. She’d made that fucking clear as shit.

  I thought we’d had a break through with that hug and all, but I’d stayed away and she hadn’t texted.

  Seeing truth of her claims of not wanting me sure as fuck hurt. Cursing my goddamn life, I gunned around the corner, intent on getting home and pumping iron until I passed the fuck out.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Mila

  Marshal Pritt showed up a few minutes later than he’d told me to expect him, and real happiness at seeing a familiar face had me smiling.

  The rumble of a bike faded that smile quick as hell, and Vigil sped past without looking at me. I blinked, hesitating in the doorway, my gaze trailing after him. Shoulders hunched, he looked like a man hurting or pissed off.

  “Michelle?” Pritt murmured, tearing my attention off Vigil.

  “Yeah, come on in.”

  “Hey, kid,” he called to Devon who sat gaming in the living room with his back to us.

  “Hey.” Devon didn’t turn, but I didn’t have the energy to chide him for being disrespectful. Not that the marshal had ever shown much consideration for him, anyway.

  “Coffee?” I asked Pritt, leading him into the kitchen where I’d been ready to pour myself a much-needed cup.

  “Black.”

  I nodded, remembering how he took it.

  Less than a minute later, I sat across from him, Devon’s game in the other room annoying me enough I hollered for him to turn it down a bit.

  “How is everything?” Pritt asked and took a sip of his coffee, his expression bored and his hazel-brown eyes showing a complete lack of true interest.

  Why I’d been happy to see him, I suddenly couldn’t remember. “Fine.”

  “Job okay?”

  “Yep.”

  He nodded and glanced around the kitchen. “Making do?”

  “Yep.”

  Again, he nodded. “Your husband is still behind bars—”

  “My ex,” I shot out, knowing I shouldn’t have to remind him I’d been awarded my divorce while in their care.

  “Yeah, sorry.” He cleared his throat, but didn’t s
eem the least bit contrite over the slip. “Everything is the same as when you left. Most in jail, a few on house arrest. No one knows you’re here.”

  I sat a little easier in my chair at the brief update, but my worries extended beyond our past. “Devon is being bullied in school,” I blurted quietly, needing someone to know—someone besides me to care.

  That at least earned me his complete attention, making me like him a little bit better again. “What’s going on?”

  “He won’t say.”

  “Then how do you know?”

  I stared at Pritt, my gaze unwavering. “You don’t have any kids, do you?”

  “No.”

  “Trust me when I say that I know, Marshal Pritt. A mother’s intuition rarely lies.”

  He pursed his lips and slugged down some coffee before shrugging. “Probably just new kid in school shit. It’s typical. I went through it, same as my brother. He’ll be fine.”

  But Devon wasn’t fine. He’d clammed up on me, completely shutting down and shutting me out.

  My spine straightened as I glared at the one man who was supposed to have our backs. I realized we were just a job to him, a damn paycheck. I’d been quick to greet him with a smile, but it should have gone to the man who’d driven past without offering a wave like he always did when I happened to see him heading out or home. My throat tightened, and I got up from the table, dumping my coffee down the drain, wondering why Vigil hadn’t stopped by in almost a week. But I hadn’t reached out to him, either.

  “If there’s nothing else,” I told the marshal without turning, “you can see yourself out. I’ve got shit to take care of.”

  He didn’t reply, and I listened as he drank down the rest of his coffee. “Next time I’ll just give you a call.” The mug clanked onto the table.

  “That works for me.”

  Without another word, he left, not even speaking to Devon on his way out.

  Cold, law-abiding bastard. He was nothing like Vigil, a real man who actually cared about my son’s well-being. Had Devon opened up to him and that’s why he’d avoided us?

  Chewing on the inside of my lip, I crept to the archway leading to the living room and watched my son.

  He frowned at the TV, the controller in his hand jerking sideways as he fought a demon onscreen. I wondered at the demons inside him now that he no longer shared his thoughts and emotions with me. Was part of growing up letting them go? Allowing them to fight their own battles?

  Not that Devon gave me the chance, but I expected I knew why he kept his lips clamped shut, and I had decided after two days to not push him. Without doubt, I knew he didn’t want to worry me.

  If only he knew I couldn’t not worry. He was my life, my sole reason for living, and I would do whatever I had to in order to keep him safe.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Vigil

  I woke Sunday morning, sore as hell and feeling hungover even though I didn’t have a single beer or shot the day before. I’d put in one hell of a workout, not stopping until I couldn’t raise my damn arms against the heavy bag anymore.

  Ryker called me while my coffee brewed with the news that Ricky had left his colors on my desk.

  An ache so fucking overwhelming settled on my chest I had to lay on the kitchen floor, coffee and breakfast forgotten.

  “He still there?” I rasped, my eyes clenched shut.

  “No. Cleaned out his room and lit out.”

  “Fuck.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Fuck.”

  “Had his bike strapped down in the back of his truck and everything.”

  Fucking tears stung my eyes, and I swallowed a few times, refusing to accept the demons whispering about being at fault in my head.

  “He made his choice, Vigil.”

  I cleared my throat. “I know, Ryk. I know.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Let the other officers know. We’ll talk about finding a new VP next week.”

  “No rush on that. Ricky might get his ass cleaned up and be back.”

  One could only hope...

  I needed a fucking distraction, but Dillon never came over. I didn’t get a text inviting me to watch the games with him and his mom, either.

  I told myself to let it go, get over Michelle’s stubborn ass keeping us from enjoying one another, but I fucking couldn’t. That ache in my chest lingered, and I needed a fucking friend, even if he was a teenage kid. Feeling like a complete prick for having other motives beyond his company, I texted Dillon and told him to get his ass over to my place.

  It was guy time.

  He showed up right before kickoff, a little more relaxed than he’d been on Thursday when he’d opened up a little about trouble at school.

  “How’s it going, Dill?” I asked, taking the plate of chocolate chip cookies out of his hands.

  “Alright.”

  “Saw your mom had company yesterday,” I tossed right out, zero patience in my twisting gut.

  “Yeah. Old friend.”

  “How good a friend?” I felt his stare on me as he followed me into the basement man cave.

  “You sound jealous.” His voice hinted at teasing.

  I’d never been anything but honest with Dillon, and I wasn’t about to start keeping shit from him. “Sure as fuck am.” I dropped onto the couch, ripped the cling wrap off the plate and shoved a cookie in my mouth as he sat a cushion away.

  “You got it bad for her, huh?”

  “Fucking awful,” I said around the cookie, watching amusement light in his dark eyes.

  “You don’t have anything to worry about with Pritt. She’s not all that fond of him anyway.”

  Pritt. The name rolled around in my head as I recalled his familiar profile. My brain connected him to someone from my past.

  Stacy Pritt.

  I’d gone to school with that prick. His father’s name stuck in my brain along with those demons I dealt with on occasion, too. We hadn’t ever been friends, but I heard about him here and there over the years and I knew what he did for work.

  Everything clicked into place in my head, settling my suspicions into truth. My wildcat and her son were in the Witness Protection program, under Stacy Pritt’s care, and I was pretty sure I knew why. High profile cases concerning one-percenters tended to stick in a club president’s head.

  I couldn’t recall her real name or all the details of the case out in California the year before, but Michelle Evans had every right to be wary around me. Her desire to keep Dillon away from me made complete sense, and I couldn’t blame her one fucking bit.

  Goddamn mother fucking cunt of a life...

  Dillon watched me as I stretched my neck side to side, his gaze growing guarded. “You okay?”

  “Yeah.” I nodded, softening my features from the scowl I hadn’t realized dented my face. “You?”

  He answered with a nod, too, before grabbing the clicker to turn up the TV.

  Lies from Michelle, I understood, but I felt like Dillon and I had bonded, that we had a real friendship. I actually fucking hurt over the fact he didn’t trust me enough to tell me the truth.

  Maybe if I opened up, told him my own secrets, he would let me in. But could I give him that, knowing he would tell his mom about my past and ruin whatever chance I hoped to have with her?

  Not that I’d really had a chance to begin with considering who she was, but still. I’d held onto that tiny percentage of hope...

  The thought weighed heavy in my head, but I cared about the kid more than I cared about getting my dick wet—even if I craved Michelle’s sass and company as much as I did her body.

  “You’re putting on a little weight,” I began, deciding I didn’t have a choice. I felt protective over Dillon and nothing, no one would keep me from helping him out.

  Dillon flexed, checking out his arm. “Maybe a little. We don’t have a scale, so I don’t know
for sure.”

  “You’re definitely filling out.”

  He flashed a grin and grabbed the bowl of chips I’d put on the coffee table.

  “I was a skinny punk when I was younger.”

  “Yeah?” He glanced at me while chomping away.