Donnchadh

by Lynn Hagen

  

  Demon Warriors 13

  Donnchadh

  [Siren Publishing: The Lynn Hagen ManLove Collection: Erotic Romance, Contemporary, Alternative, Paranormal, Fantasy, MM, HEA]

  Getty is up to his eyeballs in frustration after his father moves in. Worse, his father’s bimbo girlfriend moves in, too. Neither has a job, and Getty’s aggravation is mounting. He decides to go out for a night of fun, and runs into a dreamy guy who sweeps him off his feet. But it was just a one-night stand. No strings attached. Too bad Donnchadh is trying to attach strings.

  Donny is trying to forget he nearly died, and finding a male to lose himself in for a night seems simple enough. Until he meets Getty, a guy who seems out of place at Pump. One sexual encounter later and Donny realizes he’s found his mate, but pinning Getty down is proving nearly impossible. When things start to unravel and hellhounds invade Maple Grove, it’s up to Donny to protect Getty and prove to his mate that a one-night stand could turn into so much more if Getty would only give them half a chance.

  Length: 30,000 words

  DONNCHADH

  Demon Warriors 13

  Lynn Hagen

  

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK

  Donnchadh

  Copyright © 2020 by Lynn Hagen

  ISBN: 978-1-64637-216-4

  First Publication: August 2020

  Cover design by Emma Nicole

  All art and logo copyright © 2020 by Siren Publishing, Inc.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  If you find a Siren-BookStrand e-book or print book being sold or shared illegally, please let us know at legal@sirenbookstrand.com

  PUBLISHER

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Lynn Hagen loves writing about the somewhat flawed, but lovable. She also loves a hero who can see past all the rough edges to find the shining diamond of a beautiful heart.

  You can find her on any given day curled up with her laptop and a cup of hot java, letting the next set of characters tell their story.

  For all titles by Lynn Hagen, please visit

  www.bookstrand.com/lynn-hagen

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  DONNCHADH

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  DONNCHADH

  Demon Warriors 13

  LYNN HAGEN

  Copyright © 2020

  Chapter One

  “Hey, Getty, I need to borrow twenty bucks.”

  Getty Jones gritted out a tight smile as he reached for his wallet and handed his dad the money.

  “Thanks.” His dad walked away, his girlfriend hurrying to catch up to him.

  Getty ran a hand over his face, cursing under his breath as he stormed to his room and closed the door. This was complete and utter bullshit.

  He snatched his phone off his dresser and dropped onto his bed, dialing his brother. When Pete answered, Getty snarled, “I’m so tired of this, man. So damn tired of it.”

  Pete clucked his tongue. “Welp, I knew this would happen. I shouldn’t have to tell you not to let dad and his bimbo move in. You should’ve known better.”

  “You are absolutely no help. Maybe I just called you to vent. Maybe I’m not looking for advice or even a solution. Sometimes you can be a real dick, Peter.”

  “That got old when we were kids,” Pete said. “Besides, Dad’s the dick since his name is Richard. What’s going on now?”

  “Everything!” Getty hung his head, resting his forehead in the palm of his hand. “Dad hasn’t worked in two months. He keeps saying he’s looking for a job, but hell if I see him doing that. His girlfriend is a deadbeat, too. She keeps asking for change so she can buy loose cigarettes, and Dad just bummed twenty bucks. How much do you wanna bet it’s for booze?”

  Getty had made it clear that he didn’t want any smoking in his house, but he suspected she did it anyway. He hadn’t smelled it, but she was the type to do whatever she wanted.

  “Kick them out.”

  Getty growled. “You come over here and tell your father he has to live on the streets. The only thing that’ll happen if I say anything is an argument I don’t have the energy for.”

  Or the guts. Besides, Getty loved his father, he really did, and didn’t have the heart to put him out on the street. Now Bimbo? Getty would kick her ass out in a heartbeat if he thought she would go or that his dad would allow him to do that.

  Getty was such a goddamn wuss.

  “It’s your house,” Pete argued. “If he doesn’t have enough respect to help out, then he’s gotta go. Does Bimbo do anything around there besides suck his dick?”

  “Gross!” Now Getty had that image stuck in his head. It was not a mental picture he’d wanted. “No, she just sits around on her ass. At least Dad tries to do the dishes and vacuum, when he isn’t drunk.”

  “Here’s an idea,” Pete said. “Why don’t you move out, find a smaller place that has only one bedroom so no one can move in, and leave Dad and Bimbo there?”

  Getty wasn’t even sure of her real name. Amy? Ashley? He couldn’t recall. Bimbo was what he and Pete called her because she dressed like a damn floozy and wore so much makeup that Getty probably wouldn’t recognize her if she went without it.

  But his dad sure seemed to love her, when they weren’t screaming at each other.

  “You might be on to something,” Getty said. He might have taken Pete’s idea seriously if he didn’t own his house. There was no way he was letting his dad and his slut run him out of his own home.

  Getty just had to come up with a solution. Even if he had the spine to tell his dad he had to move out, his father wouldn’t do it, not when he had nowhere to go.

  “I have no idea what to tell you.” Pete sighed. “I really wish you hadn’t let him move in.”

  There was no love lost between Pete and their father. Their dad had gotten drunk as fuck at Pete’s wedding, embarrassing Pete and his new bride. Even before that, Pete and their dad had gotten into many, many arguments over the years about his dad’s drinking, his lack of motivation, and how their father needed to act like a man.

  “He was being kicked out of his apartment,” Getty reminded his brother. “I felt trapped when he came over, pleading for me to let him stay a few weeks until he was back on his feet.”

  Pete snorted. “Why do you think Mom left him?”

  Getty wished he could move in with his mother, but she’d remarried and was living halfway across the world. Pete was married with two kids. No way could Getty crash there.

  He felt so damn miserable that he wanted to cry. Worse, he made good money working from home. He was a web designer, and his father knew Getty had a good gig. Every freaking time Getty turned around, his dad had his hand out.

  “I’m gonna go get drunk,” Getty muttered. “I need to get out of the house before I’m arrested for murder.”<
br />
  “Call me if you need bail money.” Pete hung up.

  Getty tossed aside his phone and fell backward on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. He spent most of his time in his room just to avoid his dad and Bimbo. Even her voice grated on his nerves.

  Fuck it. He was going out and getting smashed. He’d grab an Uber home. Hopefully his dad and her would be asleep by the time he crawled through the door.

  Too bad Pete had gotten married and popped out a few kids. They used to have fun hitting the bars and staying out until the wee hours of the morning. Now Getty had no one he could call.

  How pathetic was that? He’d lost touch with a lot of his friends and, because he worked so much, hadn’t made any new ones. Except his online friends, of which there were three Two lived halfway around the world, and Blaster lived three states away.

  So they were out of the question. To be honest, Getty really didn’t feel like going out, but he needed to clear his mind, forget his life was in shambles, and maybe, just maybe, he could get laid.

  He showered and dressed then peeked out his door to make sure no one was around. He heard the two laughing upstairs, and prayed they didn’t come down for anything.

  Getty knew he should’ve used the spare bedroom as storage space or an office. Now he had two deadbeats running up his utilities, eating his food, and draining his wallet dry.

  With a grunt of disgust, Getty locked his bedroom door, hurried out the front door, jumped into his sedan, and pulled from the driveway.

  God, it felt good to get out. He rolled his window down and let the wind blow on his face, smiling as he hummed to himself. The parking lot at Pump was packed as he pulled in, trying to find a place to park.

  A black SUV pulled out of a space, and Getty was quick to pull in. If his father knew Getty was at a gay club, he’d flip his lid.

  Why did he hide the fact that he was gay from his dad? Because he didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t want to get into an argument with his old man, didn’t want the guy all up in his life.

  And as pathetic as it was, he didn’t want his father judging him.

  “One day I’m going to grow a backbone and stand up to him,” Getty muttered to himself. He wished he had the guts. “Just forget about it and have a good time.”

  Getty got out and went inside. The music was blasting out a solid beat, the place was packed, and fuck, there were so many good-looking guys that he didn’t even know where to begin.

  The bar. That was where he would begin because he needed the liquid courage just to talk to someone. Not that he was bad looking, but he sucked at flirting, at striking up conversations, and when he did actually talk to someone, he was always at a loss for words.

  A blond who looked like a freaking diva came over to him when he managed to squeeze close to the counter. “What can I get for you?”

  “I’ll have a beer.”

  “What kind?” the bartender asked, although he kept looking down the bar as if he were trying to be in two places at once.

  “Whatever is fine,” Getty shouted when the place got louder.

  The guy opened a beer bottle and placed it on the counter. Getty paid for it, grabbed the bottle, and sucked half the contents down.

  He was starting to regret coming here. Getty was used to the peace and quiet, and this place was cosmically loud. It was also too damn crowded. Men kept bumping into him, stepping on his toes, and not one damn apology.

  He spotted a balcony and decided to go upstairs. It seemed less crowded up there. He had to fight to get to the stairs then was bumped numerous times getting to the second floor.

  Getty pressed himself against the wall and waited for everyone to pass him before he spotted an empty couch. He dropped onto it and sat back, looking up at the lighting on the ceiling.

  Maybe he should’ve gone to Tilted instead. It was more for the older crowd, but he was willing to bet he wouldn’t be stomped on, shoved aside, and be in danger of losing his hearing.

  God, he was only twenty-eight, but already he felt worn down, too old to even enjoy partying anymore.

  How had time passed him by so quickly? Just yesterday he’d turned twenty-one and was having the time of his life with Pete. His parents had still been married, though they hadn’t been getting along. Life had seemed so simple just seven short years ago.

  “If you truly believe you’re gonna pull one over on me, you’ve got another think coming.”

  The dark, masculine voice caught Getty’s attention. He looked to his right and saw a stranger seated on the next couch over, a twink standing over the stranger, his arms crossed, his lip out in a pout.

  Curious, Getty took a sip of his beer as he watched the twink try to use his body to convince the stranger of giving him whatever he was asking for.

  The stranger? Shit. He was smoking hot. The guy had pretty skin, the color of coffee beans, and long dreadlocks that were so sinfully sexy that Getty’s fingers itched to dive into them. He had a low-trimmed beard and mustache that was expertly cut and was slouched, leaning on one arm.

  “I’m not trying to get one over on you,” the twink said with a pout. He slid to his knees and petted the guy’s muscular chest. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with paying for it.”

  The guy with the dreads snorted. “I’ve never paid for sex, and I’m not starting now.”

  “Fine.” The twink got up and stormed off. Getty quickly turned his head when Dreads glanced his way.

  “Hey, handsome.”

  Getty looked up and saw a muscular guy in leather winking at him. He looked like one of those leather bears Getty had seen when searching the internet late at night on websites he probably shouldn’t have been on.

  The guy took a seat right next to Getty and starting pawing him. “How about you and me go back to your place? I can show you a real good time.”

  Getty leaned away from the guy, slapping at his hands, which were everywhere. “No thanks.”

  “Your lips say no, but your eyes are screaming to be dominated.” He groped Getty’s dick.

  Getty jumped up and backed away. Leather Bear got up and stalked toward him. “Don’t be shy, handsome.”

  “The male said no.”

  Getty whipped his head around. Dreads was now standing, and fuck, he was tall. The expression on his face was murderous as he glared at Leather Bear.

  “This is none of your business,” Leather Bear snapped. “Mind your own.”

  Dreads moved past Getty and got real close, so close it looked as if they would kiss. Getty held his breath, pressing his bottle against his chest as if it would protect him.

  “You either walk away or be carried away. I’m not gonna repeat myself.”

  The snarl to his voice made Getty want to obey. His gaze bounced between the two, wondering if there was going to be a fight. That was something he didn’t want to see.

  Leather Bear curled his lips and headed for the steps, shoving aside a few people on his way down. Getty still hadn’t breathed. Why on earth would a complete stranger stick up for him? Why would he threaten someone for a guy he didn’t even know?

  Dreads turned, and fuck, he looked dangerous, lethal, and so damn hot.

  “Thanks.”

  Dreads gave a single nod. “You can chill. No one else will bother you.”

  Getty was ready to leave, but he didn’t dare move. Dreads had given an offer, and it would’ve been rude for Getty not to accept. He dropped back down on the couch, and Dreads returned to his own.

  He wanted to strike up a conversation but couldn’t think of anything to say. Dreads was so out of Getty’s league that the guy just might laugh at him if he offered to go home with him.

  After all, Getty had wanted to get laid, and no one in the club interested him more than Dreads did. Too bad he didn’t have the guts to ask.

  “You here by yourself, shorty?”

  Getty looked at Dreads and pressed his hand against his own chest. “You talking to me?”

  Dreads smile
d, and it was the nicest smile Getty had ever seen. He was back to leaning on one arm, as if he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to lie down or sit up. “Yeah, I’m talking to you. What’s your name?”

  “Gettysburg, but please call me Getty.”

  One dark brow arched. “Did your parents hate you?”

  That made Getty laugh. “I’ve asked them that a million times. My mom was a college professor, obsessed with Abraham Lincoln and that era.”

  But damn, couldn’t she have chosen another name for him? Getty would’ve been happy with Abraham or even Lincoln. He been teased his whole life about his name, making his school years grueling.

  His father even thought it was funny when he would say, “Gettysburg, get your address over here.”

  Thank fuck he didn’t say that anymore.

  “And your name?” Getty took another drink of his beer. It was getting warm, and he wanted another but didn’t want to get up. He was enjoying his conversation with the guy.

  “Donnchadh, but call me Donny.”

  Getty’s eyes widened. “And you’re making fun of my name?”

  Don-cha. In truth, Getty liked it. It was unique, but not embarrassing like Gettysburg. It was even kind of exotic.

  “It’s Irish.” Donnchadh winked. “You can even call me Duncan.”

  “I think I like Donnchadh,” Getty said. “If that’s okay with you.”

  “Shorty, you can call me whatever you like.” He patted the cushion next to him. “Why don’t you come closer so I can hear you better?”

  Getty blew out a small breath. This was what he wanted, to get laid, but Donnchadh seemed so intimidating. Mysterious. Dangerous, even.

  Getty would be doing himself a favor by getting up and walking away, but instead, like the idiot that he was, he moved closer, sharing Donnchadh’s couch with him.

  “Much better.” Donnchadh was leaning on one arm, but he was still tall enough that Getty was able to look him in the eyes. “You come here just to party, or did you have something else on your mind?”