by SE Jakes
Finally, Sweet managed to drag Bram outside the house. When they got several feet away from the front door, Sweet let him go with a hard shove. “Calm the fuck down, Bram.”
Bram turned, not liking the threat in Sweet’s tone. “Or what?”
He moved toward Sweet, but Ozzie and Tug were coming up on him. Sweet put a hand up and then grabbed Bram again, yanking his arm up behind his back, not hard, but enough to immobilize. “Breathe and rethink this.”
“Nothing to rethink. He’s done shit about looking for Linc and it’s my fault?”
“He’s your brother,” Gypsy yelled as he stood in the open front door.
“And he’s just a fuck to you, right?” Bram shot back. “He probably fucking loved you and you threw him away.”
Gypsy flinched, like he’d been hit by a physical blow.
“Gypsy, just move away,” Sweet told him in a tone that brokered no nonsense.
“What do you want from me, Sweet? I’ll fucking pay. All I want to do is find my brother, and you’re putting up roadblocks.” Bram wrenched away from him. “Why? What do all you have against him?”
“Nothing. But you need to calm the fuck down.”
“I need to calm down? Fuck that—he was taunting me,” Bram growled, and Sweet didn’t bother to deny it. “Testing me when my flesh and blood is out there, maybe twisting in the wind, and Gypsy’s sitting with his thumb in his ass nursing his poor broken heart like a bitch.”
At his words, Gypsy broke something inside his house that crashed with a resounding shatter.
“I want to go to Linc’s place. Getting his address was like pulling motherfucking teeth,” he said, hearing the obvious frustration in his own voice.
“Gypsy would never let you leave Havoc on your own—and without my permission. That’s the way it goes, for your own protection. You jumped in with me on the Pagans. You’ll be rewarded for that on their end, and you won’t like it one fucking bit,” Sweet warned.
“I appreciate the protection but—”
“You should appreciate it,” Sweet told him.
Bram shook his head. “Sweet—”
“I’ll take you tomorrow.”
“I’m wasting time—it needs to be today. Now,” Bram bit out, knowing he’d pushed it too goddamned far.
He also didn’t care.
“Get in the car,” Sweet growled. “Or I swear to fuck I’ll tie you up and throw you in.”
He would, too. Bram had no doubt about that. He glanced around, took in Tug and Ozzie, and knew he could take them on and out, but fuck, he wasn’t happy about it. He slammed into the truck as Sweet got into the driver’s side and shot away from Gypsy’s house. Tug and Ozzie stayed behind, but Sweet was taking him deep into what Bram assumed was still Havoc country. It was isolated out here, and although it was a sunny afternoon, the trees were thick, shading the area . . . and Bram was wound up as anything and still feeling the pain.
“Grab some gauze out of the glove compartment. You’re bleeding like hell,” was all Sweet said on the drive. Bram did, pressed the gauze tight to the cut on his eyebrow and realized he couldn’t erase the possibility that Havoc had something to do with Linc’s disappearance. They were an MC, not Boy Scouts, and Bram had seen a lot of fucked-up things “family” did to one another in the name of wanting to help.
When Sweet finally pulled over and got out, Bram did too, in a self-defense stance more than anything. When Sweet moved close, Bram slammed his palm against Sweet’s chest to keep him from coming closer.
Bram’s gut clenched. “If you’re trying to scare me, know I don’t scare easy.”
“Think I don’t know that?” Sweet demanded. “You’re a danger to yourself. You want to find Linc, right? That’s your ultimate goal?”
Bram hung his head and breathed. Finally, he met Sweet’s eyes. “Did you bring me up here to kill me if I didn’t agree with you?”
“I brought you up here to fuck you without being bothered. Been thinking about fucking you since last night,” Sweet growled. “Even more today. You make me want to fuck that fight right out of you.”
Bram’s breath caught, because it was the opposite of what he’d assumed would happen here, but he couldn’t help the sarcasm that came out of his mouth next. “Want me to blow you as payment in return for taking me to Linc’s? Or for the protection?”
Sweet watched him like he was prey. “I was ready to throw you on the back of my bike and fuck you after the fight. It’s all I thought about in jail.”
“So you take me to the woods, huh?” He didn’t even rate a back room at Havoc’s bar, but hell, he was horny. Angry. He had to work it all out somehow. Had to get Sweet to his happy place before he fully remembered that Bram had been ready to beat the shit out of a Havoc member.
Sweet smirked. “This is Havoc land. I realize you don’t get where you are—or what it means that you’ve been brought here for protection, but I enjoy a challenge, so keep going.”
Bram did. “For all I know, you made Linc disappear. Any graves around here I should be looking for?”
“Bram—”
“Did you plant evidence on him so you could set him up and kill him? Because you fucking set me up with that knife shit last night.”
Sweet didn’t deny it. “But you still jumped in.”
“Yeah. I don’t like seeing three against one.” There it was again, the hollow-voiced tone that came out whenever Bram discussed anything MC-related. “Can you just fucking take me to Linc’s?”
Part request and part demand, but something in Bram’s tone must’ve clutched at Sweet’s heart. “Yeah, Bram, we can go now.”
As Sweet drove him to Linc’s place, Bram asked, “Have you spoken to the landlord or are we going to go there and break in?” with an extra dose of sarcasm, still pissed about having to be chauffeured around with a bodyguard.
“His name’s Tony and he lives close enough,” Sweet started, with a patience Bram didn’t understand. “I just texted him to meet us there. I told him I was bringing Linc’s brother to check mail. He definitely paid three months in advance—and he’s got three weeks left.”
“Yeah—Gypsy told me,” Bram said tightly.
“Your brother jumped bond. You said yourself, he’s got a rep for running.”
Bram stared out the window, unwilling to let the club—or himself—off the hook. “I want to check it out but leave the place intact . . . for when he gets back.”
Sweet wisely just nodded and the rest of the drive was quiet, save for Sweet’s radio playing a mix of old-school rock and Grateful Dead tunes.
Twenty minutes later they pulled in front of a small house on a suburban-looking street, a decidedly un-Linc place. Bram exited the truck and was walking toward the man who’d been sitting on the front steps. “Tony? I’m Bram—Linc’s brother.”
Sweet was right behind him, and Tony shook both their hands. If he knew what Sweet’s rocker meant, he didn’t seem to have an issue with it. “Hey, is Linc okay? I haven’t seen him around. He’s paid up and all, but I was just wondering. It didn’t seem like him to pick up and leave.”
Apparently, Shades was some kind of Stepford town that made everyone act in the exact opposite manner they normally did. And Bram decided to go with the truth here. “Actually, I was hoping to find some information inside his place. We haven’t heard from him in a while either.”
“Oh man.” Tony looked upset.
“I’m sure he’s fine. Linc’s a free spirit. Sometimes he takes off on trips and forgets to tell people,” Bram tried to reassure him, but Tony still appeared worried.
“Keep those keys, okay? I’ve got another set—like I said, rent’s paid, and you’re his brother, so if you’re planning on crashing here, go for it. And let me know if you want to keep paying—I’m cool with renting to you.”
Next to him, Sweet tensed slightly. Bram felt an instant relief at actually having an escape if necessary. “That’s great. Thanks. I’ll be hanging around Shades for a w
hile.”
“Can you call me when you hear from him?” Tony asked.
“Absolutely,” Bram assured him, and then Tony left and Bram and Sweet headed up to the rental house.
The mail slot was cut into the front door, which meant they had to push aside a month’s worth of mail to get inside.
“Cell phone bill.” Sweet pointed to a Verizon bill on top of the pile.
“Already tried the GPS. It’s off.” Bram glanced around. The place was small—clean but still dusty from being locked up for a while. Linc always kept his spaces clean and slightly disheveled.
Bram wandered the house, feeling like he was invading his brother’s privacy. Linc had no real boundaries about that, though—Bram was definitely projecting.
It didn’t look like Linc had been taken from here by force, but it also didn’t look like he’d had any plans to leave. Nothing was even partially packed. There were empty suitcases in the closet. He went through Linc’s clothes, then found a lock box that he picked and found a passport and other important papers. He’d take that with him.
He also found a bong. Baggie of weed, books, movies. Old food in the fridge. No cell phone or wallet or bike. Bram knew realistically that if Linc had run, the fact that he’d left so much behind really wasn’t all that surprising. Linc had the ways and means to become someone else—he didn’t need much but himself but he’d become attached to Shades. And Havoc. And Gypsy.
None of it made sense.
While Bram sat on the floor and attacked the mail pile quietly, Sweet cleaned out the fridge and took the garbage outside. By the time he returned, Bram was numb. The envelopes were mostly junk mixed with a few real bills but nothing to give Bram any clue as to where his brother had disappeared to—or why.
“Has he done this before?” Sweet asked finally.
Bram glanced up at him. “Sure. When he went into Basic, he didn’t tell anyone. Skipped out like this. But since then . . . with Rush and Noah . . .”
Rush and Noah—Linc’s best friends and constant companions in troublemaking. They seemed to keep each other on somewhat of an even keel, which Bram was grateful for. Last Bram heard, Rush was hooked up with an XO from Havoc and Noah was hanging out with the Hangmen MC and dating the president’s daughter.
“Rush’s been away for a couple of months,” Sweet explained. “Noah too.”
Bram glanced around and saw a few envelopes that had slid partially under the front mat. One of them was a bank statement, and Bram cursed himself that he hadn’t thought to check up on this before. He scanned it quickly, noted that zero money had moved except for bills set to auto-pay. And a gas station fill up on . . .
Wait. He showed Sweet the date. “Ring a bell?”
“I can’t be sure, but that’s within the week he disappeared,” Sweet agreed.
“Can we narrow it down?”
“I’ll ask Gypsy.”
“Right,” Bram bit out, and for maybe the first time during all of this, his thoughts skittered briefly where he’d fought so hard to not let them—that there was a very goddamned real possibility Linc was in real trouble. Because his brother had never run and left the equivalent of his entire life behind without cleaning up purposefully after himself. Never. And once Bram let that thought break down the door, the possibility of foul play and Linc hurt—or worse—flooded through and threatened to drown him.
“No,” he said out loud. “No. No. No.” And he repeated it until the other thoughts receded and he was able to convince himself to believe Linc was alive. Maybe in a bit of trouble, like always or maybe living a whole new life and enjoying the fuck out of himself.
But Bram pulled his knees up to his chest and rocked, despite the physical pain it caused him. The emotional pain overrode everything else.
He was aware that Sweet was talking him through the panic attack, gently helping him uncurl. After God knew how long, Bram sat, useless, staring out the window, wondering how the hell everything had gotten so fucked.
Finally, he looked Sweet in the eye and admitted, “I was mad at Linc. So goddamned mad that I had to come and deal with the trouble he’d gotten himself into. I never thought . . . if I’d bothered to keep up more, maybe . . .”
“Stop,” Sweet ordered. “None of us thought to worry.”
“I’m his brother. I’m supposed to protect him,” Bram said fiercely.
“Get yourself together. We’ll find him.”
“Why are you doing this, Sweet?” he asked suddenly, the roar between his ears threatening to become a deafening tsunami that would attack anyone and everyone in his path, deserved or not.
“Linc’s been good to Rush. Rush is one of ours,” Sweet said simply. “And Gypsy.”
“Right.” Linc snorted. “Look, I’m fucked up, Sweet. It’s not something I can exactly hide being in such close proximity, but make no mistake, I’ll go to the ends of the earth for my family.”
“Who fucked you up? Tell me who—and why they did it.” It was a gentle demand, coaxing, and Bram almost caved.
Instead, he closed his eyes. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Why not?”
“Because I should be motherfucking dead,” he practically shouted.
Sweet looked pained, and unsurprised. “I need to know everything.”
“And I need to get the fuck out of here. Why won’t you let me go?”
“Because you’re a fucking danger to yourself right now. You’re in pain and you need to detox from pain meds. You’re drinking too much.”
Bram shook his head. “None of this is your concern. Take this.” He offered Sweet the money order he’d been keeping in his pocket. “And I’m out.”
“I’m not taking it.”
“Why? So I’ll owe you?”
Sweet’s hand slid to Bram’s neck, half cupping, half holding him in a submissive pose. “Yeah, you owe me. I owe you too. So let me owe you, dammit.”
“What else do you want? My ass? Is that on the line too, or are you just going to share it with random people who work at your bars?”
Sweet flinched. “You didn’t seem to mind it.”
“And I guess you’re always right. No one’s going to go against you. Guess you’ve gotten used to that.”
“And you’ve come in to tell me I’m too comfortable?”
Bram stopped. “Take the money. I’ll go right now.”
“But the Pagans . . .”
“I don’t give a shit about the Pagans,” he yelled. “I’ll take them all on.”
Christ. Sweet could see that Bram was shaking, rage and hurt and grief and pain. No doubt feeling like he was going insane.
But Bram wasn’t crazy—he was just so goddamned broken that he didn’t care anymore. He’d let all the anger and hurt and grief pile up inside of him until he had no choice but to act on them. And he was asking Sweet for help—not with word, but with body language, and Sweet saw it as clearly as if Bram had spoken out loud. Sweet had been in this position before, with another man at another time. Different circumstances. Same needs.
So Sweet wrestled him to the ground, a fast move and then held him there so he couldn’t struggle too hard and re-injure himself. Bram was strong, but seeing his scars yesterday sobered Sweet completely to what Bram had been through.
But there were plenty of ways to torture. Sweet would make sure Bram enjoyed every one of them.
“Let me up,” Bram demanded.
“I would if that’s what you wanted,” Sweet said calmly, staring into Bram’s dark eyes, noting the flush of anger and arousal that spread across his cheeks.
Sweet had lots of regular sex—sometimes more hard-core than others, but this? No, this was like the old days, with a man who’d haunted his nights for so long he’d never expected to be rid of him.
But the solid, broken man under him had the drive, the fight . . . and the need for helplessness that Sweet craved. And the feel of Bram, helpless and strong and writhing under him. Needing him—begging him for it harder
fastermorenow. That’s what motivated Sweet to push Bram right up to the edge of his limits. He didn’t have the time or will to look for anything to tie Bram down. He relied on his hold and Bram’s wants to get his ultimate goal.
“Take your jeans down,” he growled into Bram’s ear, then bit his lobe hard.
Bram shuddered and struggled to get himself free of his jeans while Sweet bit his shoulder through the cotton of his shirt.
Bram was panting but managed to get his jeans halfway down his thighs.
“Don’t move,” Sweet warned as he eased back in order to yank off Bram’s shoes so he could get him naked. Bram let him but of course had to push things after that, grabbing Sweet by his rocker and pulling him down. Sweet didn’t mind being yanked forward for a kiss, because Bram kissed like a dying man seeking water, but he also needed to remember who was in charge.
So after he let Bram kiss him, he broke away, tugged Bram’s shirt over his head and kept his arms wound up in it, making it easier to roll him onto his belly while keeping his arms over his head and immobile. The soft rug under them would cushion Bram but also bite and burn, and Sweet figured that was the best of both worlds.
Bram was in pain and shaky from the meds and didn’t want to give away his full fighting repertoire. But Sweet got the upper hand with no signs of relinquishing it.
“Yeah Sweet—do it,” he murmured once Sweet wrestled him onto his belly more gently than Bram would’ve liked but still hard enough to let him know Sweet was in charge.
Bram always liked it like this, but it’d been a long time since he’d trusted anyone enough to take him this hard. Not since a few guys from his Army days took him to a leather club and introduced him to the pleasures of pain. But the ATF, and his undercover work, ensured him not being able to enjoy shit or trust anyone.
It should be the same with Sweet. If anything, he should trust Sweet less. Instead, he was letting the man hold him down, treat him like a rag doll.