by Sky Winters
If he could seduce Drake’s younger brother, he would be able to make a fool out of them both. He’d twist the asshole around his little finger until he did his bidding. Drake would have no choice but to feel the same burning desire to save his younger brother from the horrible man he was with that Brock had felt when Drake got his claws into Jason. They would probably come to blows once Drake had had enough of Brock screwing with Owen, and that would be his chance. Brock would be ready for him.
The sky was beginning to change to the soft lavender of sunrise. He had been waiting at the McNeil’s house for a long time, waiting to see who his victim would be and concoct a plan. The first person he saw come in had been the youngest boy, and he had waited for about an hour until he left. It would have probably been useful to follow him all the way home, but Brock didn’t trust himself to control his temper. He had been drinking, and knew it was probably best just to head home and sleep it off. Otherwise he would fuck up his plan.
He passed out immediately after laying his head on his pillow, and was sucked into a bizarre dream. Drake’s brother was there, his dazzling smile still lighting up his face. Not a single golden hair was out of place as he began to walk toward Brock with his hand outstretched. Without knowing exactly why, Brock reached his hand out to him right away.
When they touched, Brock’s entire body was suddenly overpowered by a desperate longing unlike anything he had ever felt before. The man’s beautiful smile widened, and Brock couldn’t restrain himself. He pushed forward until their bodies were so close that he could feel the heat rolling off of him. Bliss filled Brock when hot air escaped the man’s lips to whisper into his ear. But he couldn’t understand what he was saying.
Suddenly, the dream took a sinister turn and the gorgeous, angelic man’s face contorted into the face of his brother Drake. Brock’s blood boiled as he was torn from ecstasy to fury, and Drake laughed cruelly as Brock watched his brother shoot up, again and again, for the last time. The scene replayed itself as it had in Brock’s mind so many times since it happened. He walked into Jason’s room to find him slumped on the floor, lifeless, with nothing but a note scrawled in Drake’s handwriting.
“This is the really good stuff.”
He woke himself up cursing at Drake as hot tears streamed down his face. He would get them both. For Jason.
Chapter 6
“Can’t you count, boy?! I should have another nickel in change!”
Owen, having had plenty of practice underreacting to other people goading him on, simply dropped a nickel into the man’s palm. His shift at the supermarket was always tedious, and he was sometimes so tired that he made mistakes he was sure should cost him his job. Fortunately, most of the time nobody knew about them but Jenny, the blonde girl his brothers were so enamored with, and she was friendly enough to cover for him.
“Moron,” the irate customer grumbled. But he was walking away. That was the important thing. He wasn’t demanding to speak to a manager and stirring up more shit than Owen could handle on four hours of sleep.
“Good morning,” a deep, lyrical voice said, breaking Owen out of his thoughts. It was a beautiful sound; the total opposite of the gruff, angry man’s words. His heart palpitated despite himself and he dared to look, reluctant in case the face didn’t match the voice. But when he saw who it belonged to, Owen’s heart skipped a beat.
The man was tall, gorgeous, and exuding alpha energy. Most of the time, Owen couldn’t stand people who acted like alphas, but he found that men who actually were alphas were completely captivating. This man was confident but his eyes were both kind and tired. There was something mysterious about the dark orbs, and Owen almost couldn’t look away.
“Morning,” he finally said back, realizing how rude it must be to stare at a customer like that. He couldn’t help himself though. Not only was the man completely stunning, but there was something oddly familiar about him. Had he been in the supermarket before? Not likely. Owen wouldn’t forget a face like his. But where had they seen each other before?
Owen began to scan his items, averting his eyes to keep himself from getting lost in the stranger once again. His items seemed an odd assortment. Orange juice, floss, a birthday card, and condoms. Owen’s face flushed a deep red as intrusive thoughts of the gorgeous man in action began to flood his mind, and he felt a heat rise in himself that he tried quickly to extinguish.
“So, uh, your girlfriend’s birthday?” Owen asked shakily. It was difficult for him to grasp any coherent thoughts and he had allowed himself to blurt the first thing that came to mind.
“No,” the man said. The sensual rumble of his voice brought Owen’s eyes back to that magnetic face, and his heart panged in his chest. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”
“Oh,” Owen squeaked. “I thought…”
The man glanced down at the condoms in Owen’s hand and grinned. Owen was mortified, but he trooped on, doing his best to maintain his composure.
“I understand,” the man said, his dark eyes glittering with good humor. “They’re just in case.”
Owen had to exercise an inhuman amount of self-control to keep his hands from trembling, and the man barely hid his amusement as Owen bagged his strange assortment of items and gave him the total. The man carefully counted a few bills in his wallet before meticulously counting exact change.
“Listen,” he said after taking his receipt. “I’m playing a gig tonight across town. Don’t come to this area very often.”
He pulled a flier from his back pocket and handed it to Owen. It was still warm, and it took everything Owen had not to swoon.
“You should check it out.”
“Oh! Okay…sure. I’ll think about it.”
The man fixed his dark, mysterious eyes on Owen and offered him a half-smile that could almost be perceived as flirtatious. “Cool. See ya.”
And with that, the automatic doors opened and the stranger was gone.
Chapter 7
The energy of the audience never failed to get Brock’s blood pumping, and the venue was packed. Sure, it was a small place. His music wasn’t exactly mainstream. But bikers from all over the country would stop to listen to him play, and tonight he had pulled in quite an eclectic crowd.
He wondered if Drake’s brother was going to be there, and found himself scanning the crowd in anticipation. He was pretty sure he had planted the seeds at the store that morning. It hadn’t been very hard; the situation had been pretty funny. Throwing the condoms in had been a blind stroke of genius, and it paid off.
Brock couldn’t find the man in the crowd and tried to push his memory away. The dream he’d had was giving him mixed feelings. All he had to do was remember how he’d felt in the dream and everything else had played out perfectly. No acting required. Besides, it was his tendency to try to lighten the mood after a confrontation. The nickel guy had been a huge dick.
Brock busied himself warming up for the show, certain that if he was persistent enough his plan would work. He would do anything to get back at Drake. And knowing that he had put his plan into motion made him feel optimistic for the first time since his brother had died. He was finally doing something to seek revenge. And meeting the boy, his nametag had said, “Hello, my name is Owen,” had given him an unexpected rush. He probably thought he was so handsome with those gorgeous clear eyes and movie star dimple. Brock would teach him what he was really worth.
“Evening, gentlemen and ladies!”
The audience cheered and Brock smiled out at them. Suddenly, he caught the eye of the same dazzling smile that had permeated his dream and his heart thudded hard in his chest. Looks certainly favored the boy, that was for sure. The best part of all was that the plan really was in action now. He had Owen right where he wanted him to be. He would have to do his best to make his gig even more compelling than usual.
“This first song is for all the people out there who feel like they’ve been beaten down, but have had the power to rise up again, no matter what.”
&n
bsp; Brock looked meaningfully down at Owen, whose eyes were wide with wonder. He grinned confidently and strummed his guitar, already excited for the set to be over with so he could see just how deeply he had impacted his prey.
Chapter 8
“What do you mean you’re taking the night off?!” Johnson exclaimed.
“I’m entitled to a day off every week!” Owen exclaimed into the phone. “And I haven’t taken that day off the entire time I’ve been working here. So like I said. I’m taking the night off. I have things to do.”
Johnson sputtered, but he had no choice but to admit that Owen was right. The boy was a compulsive worker who didn’t so much as take breaks, let alone days off. They kept that off the record, and he eventually hung up, muttering that he needed more notice next time.
“Ugh,” Owen sighed, slamming the phone receiver down into its cradle.
He hated to rock the boat, especially with his boss, but when he pulled the flier out of his pocket and looked at it again, the excitement that filled him was strong enough that he had no regrets. So that was why the man had seemed so familiar, Owen determined. It was probably because he had seen a flier just like the one in his pocket. The guy’s name was Brock Stewart. Of course he was a gorgeous musician. Of course.
Owen drove to the little venue with his radio up as high as it would go, which wasn’t very loud, singing cheerfully to himself as his mind returned again and again to the odd incident from earlier in the day., and from what he gathered from the other bikers in the audience, he played a killer set and spoke the deepest truths of even the toughest of all men.
When Brock caught his eye from the stage, Owen’s heart raced, but now that he was getting into the music, it was easier to focus on something other than his unbridled attraction to the man on stage. His lyrics were deep and profound, and explored the complexities of being a wolf shifter in a society where nobody wants anything to do with people who are different. There was also an underlying message of courage and strength in the music; a backbone that all wolf shifters shared, regardless of pack and creed. Being in the audience felt like being part of one gigantic family. Each pack might have had their differences, but when they listened to Brock play his music, it was enough to keep everybody subdued.
After about two hours of music and three encores, Brock finally bowed to the audience. He winked, Owen could have sworn right at him, and tossed his guitar pick into the audience. It headed in Owen’s direction and he caught it with one hand. Brock held his gaze as he headed off stage and Owen’s face turned red again for the third time that day.
“He don’t usually do that,” someone beside him mumbled to himself. Owen smiled sheepishly, knowing the wrong look or words could cause a dangerous commotion. A wolf fight in a crowd this big could be lethal for more than one person.
“Do you want it?” Owen asked, hoping with all he had that the man would say no.
The man shook his head begrudgingly, but Owen could sense that he meant yes. Still, it was clear he was dealing with a man who could control his temper, so Owen took his chance to leave while he still could.
As Owen worked his way through the crowd, he couldn’t help but feel a rush of excitement and giddiness. The man clearly remembered him, and it was far more likely that he was flirting this time. Of course, a wink could just be a playful thing, but that was usually reserved for friends or love interests, wasn’t it? Either way, the man’s attention brought him untold excitement and he walked to his car with a buzz.
He was surprised to find Brock leaning against the car, smoking a cigarette. He was even more gorgeous close up than he was on the stage, and Owen noted the sleeve tattoos up one of his well-muscled arms. It was symbolic wolf lore, and the dark lines leading beneath Brock’s tight white shirt suggested there was more where that came from, if only he were lucky enough to get his shirt off.
“Glad you showed up,” Brock said to Owen. Owen froze in his steps, finding it strange that the bikers were filing out on their bikes without giving Brock a second glance. The unspoken code of respect seemed to make him off limits after a show, and Brock was using the opportunity to get Owen alone. Owen felt a rush of longing flood him as the handsome man took another drag off his cigarette.
“How could I resist?” Owen said, quickly pocketing the guitar pick. If Brock got a sense of how excited it had made him to catch a small piece of the man, it would be pretty humiliating. It was best to play it cool.
Brock shrugged, grinning at Owen before stamping his cigarette out.
“What’s up with your car?” Brock asked finally.
Owen cringed.
“I needed to trade my bike in for it. I had a lot of stuff to move.”
Brock’s eyebrow shot up, but he quickly regained his composure and smiled. It made Owen nervous and he rambled on.
“I can’t stand living with my brothers. They’re all huge dicks. I’m sure you know how it goes.”
“Sure,” Brock said, fixing his eyes on Owen intensely. “Your name is Owen, isn’t it? I saw it on your nametag.”
“Yeah…and yours is Brock. It’s on the flier you gave me.”
“That’s right,” Brock said, making himself comfortable against Owen’s car. As much as Owen hated the vehicle, seeing Brock’s lithe body pressed snugly against it made him glad with every fiber of his being that he had it.
“Um…I like your music,” Owen said. He was too nervous to think straight, and had never been quite as charismatic as his brothers. In fact, he often fumbled over his words and made a fool of himself. He hoped he wasn’t blowing it too badly. Just then, Brock shot him a reassuring smile, almost as if he knew how Owen was feeling.
“I just write what I feel,” Brock said. “Like most other people who make things.”
“Well it’s great,” Owen said, probably a little bit too enthusiastically. “I think it really resonates with…”
There was an unspoken law never to speak out loud about other wolf shifters. Everything that needed to be communicated, could be done in an unspoken manner. There was always the risk of somebody else listening in, or confiding in the wrong person, and their kind had been chased to the outskirts of society.
Most shifters had adapted and created their own laws, following the rules of the road and seeking ultimate freedom in a world full of people who would prosecute them in the blink of an eye. Brock’s music touched on those complex dynamics without being so straightforward that other people would catch on, and Owen was beyond impressed by it. He had never been very creative himself, choosing to stick with what he knew and collecting facts and information like a fiend.
“Thanks,” Brock said, clearly ready to change the subject. Owen felt foolish. Of course he wouldn’t want to talk about his music with someone he barely knew. It was probably a subject that bored him to death by now. But instead of acting annoyed, Brock’s magnetic eyes bore into Owen’s and he grinned again. “Don’t you miss it?”
“Miss what?” Owen asked, totally caught off guard.
“Your bike. Being on the road with nothing between you and the rest of the earth but air!” Brock gave the car he was leaning on a sidelong look. Clearly being cramped in a little car like that was the worst thing Brock could imagine.
“Of course,” Owen said with a nervous little laugh. “But you do what you have to do.”
“Sure you do,” Brock said, his eyes twinkling. “That’s why you have to take a ride with me. Right now.”
Owen’s mouth suddenly became dry and Brock grinned. He stood up straight and looped his arm through Owen’s.
“I’m not going to take no for an answer. I’ll let the owners of the venue know about your car. It will still be here when you get back. We’re pretty close friends.”
Owen sputtered, but found himself unable to resist as the handsome man steered him confidently through the parking lot. They walked through the venue and left out the back after Brock tersely let the owners know about the situation with Owen’s car. They were really
friendly about it, and Brock led Owen to the staff parking lot, where one of the most beautiful bikes he had ever seen was sitting.
“Holy shit,” Owen said, exhaling reverently. He reached out to touch the black leather seat but withdrew his hand quickly. He didn’t want to come off as too desperate. But it was probably too late.
Brock didn’t seem to mind though. He seemed to be enjoying the show.
“It’s safe to touch her,” he said. “She won’t bite.”
Owen nodded and Brock mounted the bike, long legs clad in tight denim. He sat down and Owen had a deliciously forbidden view of the man’s perfect ass. He could feel himself growing hot, but he would have to restrain himself. Especially if they were going to be so close.
“Come on, let’s get out of here. I’m hungry.”
“Oh! Of course,” Owen said. He couldn’t get in the way of a man and his meal. And so, with trembling hands, Owen climbed on the bike behind Brock and tentatively held onto his broad shoulders as they sped away.
Chapter 9
Brock gripped his handlebars and took a deep breath. What was he going to do with this kid? He wasn’t the kind of person Brock had been expecting. It had been easy to fall into the act of cool, flirtatious musician, especially when Owen was so clearly an Omega. His submissive nature had been kind of cute in a way, if he was going to be honest with himself, but he looked enough like Drake that the anger in his chest continued to curdle. He would have to do everything in his power to stay on course.
It was crucial to his plan for vengeance. Brock’s brothers could focus on the next step to take to move their town and pack forward, but as far as Brock was concerned, moving on with his life wouldn’t be possible until he dealt with the man who killed his brother and best friend. He resented his brothers for being callous enough to continue acting as if nothing had happened. How could they keep on living without Jason there? Without doing something about what had happened?