“Fuck you. You weren’t all that either,” Bill snapped.
“Liar,” Trent said lazily. He’d been fucking awesome in bed. One of them had to make up for Bill’s lack of talent.
Bill harrumphed and got out. He slammed the truck door hard and stomped away, his heels kicking up dust from the force of their impact on the ground.
Trent put the truck in park and shut it off. He spotted Joe and Diego peeking out of the kitchen window. They’d get a laugh out of this story, likely a lot sooner than he would. Joe might get pissed on Trent’s behalf for a while, then he’d start cracking jokes and Trent wouldn’t blame him. He’d give Joe shit in the same situation, and what came around went around—it was all fair in sibling-hood.
“What sent him off in a hissy fit? Did you tell him you weren’t gonna put a ring on it?” Joe asked, smirking at him when Trent walked into the house a minute later. Diego was watching them both closely.
Trent kept his expression neutral when he said, “Nah. Someone else already had a ring on it, in a sense.”
That smirk went to a scowl in a flash. “What the fuck?”
Trent wagged a finger at Joe. “Nah, he wouldn’t do that, either. Butt sex is cheating, but blow jobs and hand jobs? Those are okay. As long as there’s no—” Trent made a circle with his left index finger and thumb. With his other hand, he pointed one digit then used it to thrust repeatedly through the circle. “You know it don’t count.”
“How does that not count?” Diego asked. “It’s all sex.”
Trent shook his head and lowered his hands to his hips. “Yeah, well not if him and his boyfriend said it isn’t. I’d have liked to know that shit before hooking up with the idiot. He just couldn’t grasp that it was wrong to involve me in their relationship without mentioning it to me.”
“Guess that’s what he did, sure enough,” Joe rumbled. “Fucker. What kinda relationship is that?”
Trent hitched a shoulder up and down. “Theirs, and hey, whatever works, you know, but you don’t drag someone else into something like that without letting them know—without giving them a choice.” And Trent had had enough of the conversation. He sniffed. “Damn. Something smells good.”
“Coffee?” Diego asked. “Or the breakfast casserole I made?”
“You made a breakfast casserole?” Trent might just have to hug Diego. “It smells great.”
Diego hurried over to the stove. “I prepared it last night. Well, I mixed all the ingredients except for the eggs, and this morning I put it in the oven along with some homemade biscuits. And I ground coffee beans and made fresh coffee.”
Trent fluttered his lashes at Joe. “Please, can I have him? Diego deserves the very best.”
Joe swatted at him.
Trent ducked.
“No, you can’t have him.” Joe moved over to the cabinet and took out three coffee cups. “He’s not something to be given away.”
“Joke, bub. It was a joke.” Trent shook his head sadly. “Your sense of humor has vanished along with your bachelorhood. Maybe we should mourn it properly and wear black for a month. Or a day. It wasn’t really much of a bachelorhood, after all.”
“Ass.” Joe still fixed him a cup of coffee.
Trent took it when it was handed to him. He sat at the table, and the three of them had a companionable breakfast—a very tasty, companionable breakfast. He suggested that Diego be the cook from now on, which got vetoed, but he’d keep arguing for it.
A hard day’s work was what he needed to get rid of the anger still simmering in his gut. He vowed to himself not to bother messing around with any guy who didn’t really flip all his switches in the first place. If he hadn’t been so desperately horny, he wouldn’t have made Bill the offer to screw around—except it had gotten Bill off the subject of the wolf for now. Trent would really be surprised if the guy gave up trying to get some info so easily.
But if Bill thought he’d be traipsing around the ranch, looking for wolf tracks, he was fucking wrong. Soon there’d be search parties out there, looking for the rest of the remains that went with the femur, and there’d be no room for a wolf specialist or whatever the fuck Bill was. Trent would take great pleasure in telling the jerkoff so, too.
“Make sure Diego doesn’t shift,” Trent couldn’t help but nag before he headed home after dinner with Diego and Joe. “Seriously, Diego, I don’t want that jerk showing up and spotting wolf tracks. We’d never shake the bastard then.”
“I can stay like this for a while. Shifting isn’t a necessity.” Diego nudged Joe with his foot. “Are we going to Trent’s for beer and a smoke?”
Joe pulled Diego over onto his lap. “You don’t like the smell of pot, and I don’t need it. We can have a beer or two if you want, and if Trent doesn’t mind.”
“Nah, y’all come on down.” He stretched, arching his back until it popped in a few places.
“Thought you were going to shift for a second there,” Diego joked.
Trent strutted past him. “I am too magnificent a man to turn into another critter.”
Diego cackled and Joe slapped Trent on the butt hard enough to sting.
Trent glared at his brother. “Don’t even, bub.”
Joe chortled and stood up, letting Diego stand as well. “Someone ought to turn you over their knee.”
“Like to see ’em try it.” Trent would knock the fucker’s teeth out.
He spent the evening relaxing with Joe and Diego. It was a good, and if he felt a pang of envy from time to time, he ignored it. He had a good life, and someone would come along for him some day, hopefully—although maybe it was stupid to sit around and wait for Mr Right to show up. Well, maybe he’d go hunt the man down once the barn and the bones were taken care of.
Chapter Four
Mahon Morrison was growing restless. Being around humans wasn’t something he was used to. Now he couldn’t seem to avoid them.
There were people crawling all over the goddamned place he needed to get to. How could he accomplish his task when there were cops of various types and volunteers in the way?
He knew what was going on. Uvalde was like any other town he’d ever been in, though usually he was only in such places for a very short span of time. Regardless, if a person knew where to hang out, he could learn anything. A truck stop diner wasn’t nearly as good as the most packed mom and pop restaurant or café in town.
Mahon had learned long ago to go where the natives went, so to speak, instead of hitting up the chain places like Mickey D’s or Burger King. It’d taken him one day in Uvalde to hear about the search for remains on the Jacek ranch.
And almost a week later he was still waiting for people to clear the fuck out of the place. There was also the matter of the scrawny wolf specialist, as he called himself. Bill had babbled on to him about wanting to get onto the ranch and do some snooping for wolf tracks. Then he’d asked Mahon if he wanted to meet up sometime to mess around.
Something about Bill skeeved him out. Mahon had made a noncommittal noise and avoided the guy ever since. At least Bill didn’t know which camper was Mahon’s. The small, older gig was Mahon’s retreat from the world around him. It was his home and he didn’t let anyone in it. Ever. Everywhere he’d been sent, he’d taken the camper with him. It was all he had that was his own, that and the truck, a few clothes. His phone was provided to him by others.
The RV park he was staying at was packed, and Mahon had been lucky to get a spot. It was noisy around him, with too many drunks and idiots kicking up a fuss in the evenings and the middle of the night. He wanted to move on along, do his job and get to somewhere cooler. The heat was hellacious in south Texas, and he wasn’t accustomed to it.
Mahon couldn’t just show up at the Jacek ranch and knock on their door. He’d be found out. It’d be best if the cops found the skeletal remains they were looking for, too. That way they wouldn’t be back sniffing around any time soon.
It was a good thing he was patient. Bored, but patient. Mahon decided to
get out for a while, see if any new gossip had turned up. It meant immersing himself in what he thought of as a human tide. He felt like a boulder that tide rushed against, battering at him with their talking and gaiety, their scents and vitality.
Even so, he learned things from them—mentions of places that piqued his curiosity, movies he dreamed of seeing, books he longed to read. Right now, he’d love to go take a dip in the Frio river, get wet and cool off, but he couldn’t. There was a state park not too far off he wanted to explore while he was in the area too—if only it weren’t so damned hot, and if he had the time, which he wouldn’t. He had a job to do then he was to leave. This wasn’t a leisure trip. It never was when he was given a job.
He wondered what would happen to him when he became too old and slow for the tasks he performed. It was when he had those kinds of thoughts that the pathway for others opened up as well—questions about what he did, who he did it for, things he couldn’t ask anyone else about, not just because he had no one to discuss things with.
Mahon was alone, always alone, even when he had his cock buried deep in another man. There was only sex then, not anything that touched that loneliness entrenched in his bones.
“It’s the way it must be.” He’d said the words so often, they meant nothing. Why did he waste his time with them?
There’d be no more sitting around letting himself question things. Mahon needed to trust in what he had to do and those who sent him to do it.
The problem there was, independent thoughts kept seeping in and he was only supposed to think what he’d been taught, do what he was told. It was how he’d lived his life, except for small detours only he knew about.
“Enough.” Mahon put on a pair of shorts and a tank top, some dock shoes that went okay with the clothes. Mahon checked himself over in the mirror. He looked presentable, though big as always—and hairy. Maybe he should put a T-shirt on instead. No, it wasn’t like he had a hairy back or shoulders. His chest was just kind of pelt-like. Fuck it. People could deal with it.
With a ball cap and sunglasses on, Mahon was ready to go. He left the RV park in his truck and drove to his favorite restaurant in Uvalde. A small, run-down looking Mexican food place, it had authentic homemade flour tortillas worth slapping a man for. Not that such a thing was necessary. Five bucks got a person a twenty-count bag of the delicious tortillas.
There were also a lot of people in the place talking about everything. Mahon was fluent in several languages—they just came naturally to him once he spent some time studying them, unlike math, which had always been an issue.
He listened to the conversations around while he was there and learned that the search party may have found something. There was a lot of excited chatter but no real details. If he was lucky. He’d be able to leave in a couple of days, maybe three, max.
He didn’t think about what he was supposed to do. It was better for him not to. This job had him questioning his orders when he shouldn’t be. He’d heard nothing about shifters being here, and almost everyone had kind things to say about the Jacek men.
Mahon laid out some cash on the table for his bill then got up to leave the restaurant just in time to see Bill come stumbling in. The man had all the grace of a drunk goose, and he sounded like one when he laughed. It was awful.
There was no chance of Bill not seeing him. Indeed, the guy’s face lit up with a huge grin and Bill waved frantically.
Mahon didn’t want to cause a scene. He also didn’t want someone catching on to him and Bill being gay in case anyone had a problem with it. He sent Bill a look that he hoped conveyed the need to not be obvious.
Bill’s smile dimmed.
Mahon stopped beside him. “Small town,” he said conversationally.
Bill’s eyes widened. “Oh! Yes, it is. I didn’t think—um. Have you considered what I mentioned?”
Bill obviously didn’t get the point. He was ogling Mahon like Mahon was a big, juicy steak and Bill was starving.
Mahon really didn’t like the man. He had a dishonest scent about him. “Can’t. I have work to do in a short time, then I’m gone.” A little harsh, perhaps, but it was better than snapping Bill’s head off. Literally.
“Right. Well, if you change your mind…” Bill let it hang out there.
Mahon plastered on what might have been a smile. “Yeah, I’ll keep you in mind.” He stepped past Bill and breathed a relieved sigh once he was outside. It was his own fault Bill was bugging him. Mahon had thought being friendly to the guy might get him some info on the Jacek brothers, but it hadn’t. Nothing more than Bill calling the younger brother a stuck-up asshole.
Mahon took that to mean Trent Jacek had shot Bill down in the sex department. Nothing else was likely to make a man like Bill so pissy. Not that he knew Bill well, nor did he want to.
It was already hot outside, and as Mahon strolled over to his truck, he caught sight of an attractive man—short, stocky, wearing a cowboy hat and those pants that framed a cowboy’s ass and package just right. Mahon licked his lips, wondering what his chances were in getting the guy to play a little.
The man went into a grocery store. Mahon found himself heading across the street, his dick leading him even if it wasn’t hard yet. It was rare to have such a primal attraction to anyone. The little cowboy called to Mahon, and he didn’t want to resist the urge to see if he could get a chance to approach him.
Inside the store, a confluence of scents assaulted his nostrils. It was hard to sort anything out. There were too many bodies, too many odors, so Mahon had to depend on his vision and his instincts.
He found the cowboy in under a minute. The man was looking over oranges in the fruit section. The citrus tang was strong, and it made Mahon want to sneeze. He pinched the bridge of his nose until he had the impulse under control, then he stalked his prey.
He liked everything he saw so far, from the top of that brown Stetson to the worn cowboy boots on the man’s feet. While short in stature—to Mahon, at least—there were nice, broad shoulders and a really divine ass to be observed. The globes of that fine backside would fit perfectly in Mahon’s big hands. He’d spread that beauty open, with his tongue, with his fingers. Then thrust in hard enough to drive a scream out of them both.
Mahon tugged the hem of his shirt down, making certain his erection was covered. He wanted the man, and he’d have him, unless the little cowboy was straight. Even then, Mahon might be able to talk him into doing a bit of experimenting.
The cowboy tilted his head a little and slanted Mahon a heated look.
He feels it too. And goddamn, he’s sexy. Those green eyes really were bright, and the man’s profile was rugged yet attractive, almost pretty, even.
The cowboy turned around and winked at him before strolling off to the apples.
Mahon’s heartbeat kicked up. So the guy wanted to play? Mahon was down with that. He liked hunting, liked bringing down his prey, and that’s what he was going to do, right there in the store.
Well, maybe not in the store, not fully. The fucking was going to take place somewhere private so Mahon could revel in ever moan and shout. In his mind, he dubbed the cowboy Chet—because that sounded like a good cowboy name to him. If he got what he wanted out of this, there’d be little to no speaking anyway. Already, this was shaping up to be the hottest encounter ever, with Chet leading him around the store, slipping down aisles and leading Mahon on a playful chase.
When Chet slipped past a set of swinging double doors, Mahon’s entire body tingled with excitement. He went through the doors a few seconds later, just in time to see Chet turn a corner ten feet ahead.
There was no one else in the vicinity. Mahon was torn between rushing and drawing the encounter out. He settled for the latter, hoping no one would interrupt their play.
He eventually caught a whiff of soap he thought belonged to Chet. Maybe it didn’t. There were still too many odors around for Mahon to know what was what.
Then he saw Chet by an exit, smirking at him.
>
Mahon put on the speed while Chet went out of the building.
And now the chase was really on.
Mahon hit the door running. The sunlight blinded him for a moment until his eyes adjusted. He caught the hint of soap, something simple and not chemically scented. It was to his left, so he turned and took off.
His heels struck the ground hard enough to jar his calves. He saw his prey ahead of him, weaving around trash bins behind the buildings, leaping over obstacles like short fences and rubbish. The little fucker was fast. Mahon would give him that. Fast enough that Mahon wondered if he’d misread all the signals and Chet was really running in fear from him.
But Chet kept glancing back and smirking, egging him on.
Mahon pumped his legs harder.
Chet veered off to the right, leading away from the busier part of town. He went into what looked to be some historical building. Mahon didn’t give a shit what it was. He just wanted the man.
An older gentleman greeted him inside but other than that, didn’t pay Mahon any attention. The interior could have been on fire for all the Mahon cared. He had that clean soap scent on lock now and zeroed in on a door he’d heard closing when he’d come inside.
Mahon opened it and heard footsteps on stairs. He caught a glimpse of that very fine ass and was on the man’s heels in no time at all. Mahon hooked an arm around Chet and spun him as soon as they were at the top of the staircase. Before the man could speak and possibly ruin the thrill of the hunt, Mahon slammed him up against the nearest wall.
And got shoved back with a strength he wouldn’t have suspected the little guy would have. A low, throaty growl came from Chet as Mahon stumbled backward. Those pretty green eyes were narrowed in a way that matched the predatory manner rolling off the man.
Mahon understood something in that instant. He’d been thinking of himself as the hunter, when it looked very likely that he’d been the prey all along.
The idea made him shiver before he could stop himself, caused his breath to hitch and goosebumps to pimple his skin. His knees even seemed to want to turn to jelly on him, and his dick was harder than it had ever been.
Texas and Tarantulas Page 3