MARS (BBW Bear Shifter MC Romance) (MC Bear Mates Book 1)

by Becca Fanning

  “No?”

  He sniffed. “We fall.” That had her hooting. “Come on then, smarty pants, get your butt in the water too.”

  “There’s hardly any room for me.”

  He eyed her in disbelief. “It’s a bath built for two! Trust me, I was around when it was commissioned.”

  “It’s a custom-build?”

  “Yeah, the Prez who ordered it liked taking baths with his bunnies.”

  That had her snorting. “Great.” She peered into the water, measuring the size of the tub, then with a shrug, slipped off the blanket and climbed in.

  He’d have liked her to slip alongside him, or to lay with her back against his chest, but his wounds made that an unfortunate impossibility. Mars had to make do with simply looking at her, which was certainly no hardship, but shifters were a tactile lot. He rubbed his foot against her thigh to appease that side of him, but his bear still grumbled his dissatisfaction with the state of affairs.

  “Are you going to explain about the exercise?”

  She rolled her eyes. “There isn’t a lot to explain. If I’m stressed, I exercise. If I feel out of control, I exercise. If I’m down, I exercise. Depending on the day, depending on the mood, working out helps. In fact, it’s one of the only things that helps me control my emotions and my mindset without taking the drugs my shrink wants to give me.”

  He blinked at her. “For the PTSD, right?”

  She sighed. “Amid other things. I’m all right, Mars. I would tell you if I weren’t. Nowadays, they have to fucking label everything. That might be great for some people but it isn’t for me. I saw some freaky shit, shit no one should ever have to see… if anyone else did, they’d be freaking the fuck out as well. They’d see it in their nightmares and I’m sure if, whenever they closed their eyes, they saw those same terrifying flashbacks, they’d find it hard to fall asleep too.”

  There was no ire to her tone, but she spoke with a command that told him she’d made the argument before and had been ignored.

  He sighed. “I was like that for a while.”

  She tilted her head at him. “You were?”

  Mars nodded. “One of the first rides I was ever involved in… We were crossing state lines with a stupid amount of weed. It was back in the day though, and we had a lot of troopers in our pockets so we knew we were safe. We headed over into Louisiana and were on the highway, when the load on a truck suddenly flies free from its tether. It smashes into one of the bikes, a guy called Bilk. He died immediately. His bike spun into the path of a couple more guys. It ricocheted off them after they skidded onto the asphalt, and nearly knocked into me. Traffic wasn’t so bad back then, but it was a busy time of the day. A couple of the guys were crushed by oncoming traffic.” He swallowed. Noisily. “I’ll never forget the fucking sight of it. My brothers, men I aspired to, some of the high ranking council members, bleeding out, crying, moaning in agony, praying for death.” Mars shook his head. “Trauma doesn’t need a label. Even now, all these years later, when I think about it, it can send me back to those hell-filled moments.” He shivered a little, then tilted his head back to rest against the lip of the tub, avoiding her knowing and sympathetic gaze.

  Biting the inside of his cheek when she rested a hand on his calf, gently stroking him there, he let out another heavy sigh.

  “Is the water helping?”

  “Wash away the memories?”

  “No, dumb ass.” She grunted. “You’re a pain in the ass when you’re injured.”

  “And I bet you’re a little angel.”

  A snigger escaped her. “I don’t think anyone could ever consider me as angelic. And my mother would be the first to admit it. Hell, I’d admit it first too. At least if you know my flaws early on, then it will save us more fuss in the long run.”

  He chuckled. “I’m sure you don’t have any flaws.”

  She shot him a rueful glance. “I’m afraid I do.” She huffed out a breath, then admitted, “Not that I don’t want you to think I can walk on water or anything.”

  “Yeah, that might be a bit far-fetched. I’m not sure I think you’re Jesus reincarnate, you know?”

  Eyes twinkling, she clicked her fingers. “Aw, shucks.” When he chuckled, she settled back with an air of satisfaction into the tub.

  The tub was shaped like a skewed oval, but the faucets were in the center of the length rather than at the foot so that two people could lay straight out in it.

  Her breasts bobbed in and out of the milky liquid, the pale globes almost the same color as the water, but her nut-brown nipples beckoned him to taste, and were the only bright spot of color on her chest save for the dozens of freckles that gathered around her upper torso.

  When his cock failed to bob in the water too, he realized how hard his bear was working to heal himself because the sight of his mate should have had him fighting a hard on from hell, and as it was, he felt just a faint, contented buzz at the sight of her beauty.

  She seemed to know where he was looking, but had ducked her chin and mouth under the surface so he couldn’t see her reaction, but he knew she was amused by where his attention was fixed. Then, that humor changed a little as she asked, “What are you going to do about the traffickers?”

  “Whoa, buzz kill,” he half-mocked, but considering he didn’t have the energy to make love to her, and he knew, if anything, he was inches away from a healing sleep his bear would force him into, Mars decided not to mess around. “I’ll meet with them, and cut ties.”

  “Do you think they’ll want to?”

  “They won’t have a choice in the matter. Jackson should never have gotten us involved with that shit, and now he has, we’ll pay whatever price we have to to get ourselves out of it.”

  “You might not have to,” she offered. “I mean, they came at you, all guns blazing. I doubt they’re interested in carrying on in business with you.”

  He conceded that with a grunt. “I’ll have to check Jackson’s laptop and see if he’s recorded anything about his dealings with them. As far as I’m aware, we’ve followed their orders so I can’t understand why they did what they did.”

  “You’re lucky more brothers weren’t injured.”

  Mars firmed his lips into a grim line. “I know. Major told me there were minor injuries, more wounds from ricochets and shattered glass and the like than bullet wounds. You’re the only one who was actually hit.”

  She grimaced. “I was one of the lucky ones, huh?”

  “Not so lucky,” he gritted out, as remembered terror flooded him when he’d seen her lifeblood spilling from her and with it the certainty that he’d lost his one chance of happiness, and thus, had no reason to carry on living.

  It was scary shit to come to that realization within hours of meeting someone. In fact, it was the most terrifying thing he’d ever experienced emotionally.

  Annette patted his leg again, stroking it a little to comfort him, as though she knew he were reliving those hellish moments where he felt certain he’d lost her for good. “I’m fine,” she soothed.

  “I know,” he gulped, closing his eyes and sinking into the warmth of the water once more. “I just don’t want to go through that ever again. I want to make them pay for doing that to us.”

  Annette shook her head. “You’ll rain more shit down upon us if you do. Let’s try to cut ties, nothing more, nothing less.”

  He knew it was wise, but he also knew that when it came down to it, he would find a way to twist the knife if he could. Jackson had handled all the major dealings with the traffickers, leaving Mars and the rest of the council pretty much in the dark as to the hows and the whys until he explained on drop off/pick days what the hell was about to go down.

  The moment Mars knew more about what Jackson had gotten the club into, he’d find a way to reap his revenge. No bastard would hurt his mate without being made to pay.

  As that thought filled him, she sighed. “I can tell you’re not listening.”

  “Oh? How can you tell that?�
� he retorted, glaring at her through one open eye while he kept the other shut.

  “Because you look grim as hell, that’s why.”

  “I always look grim.”

  “No, you don’t. You look like you’re carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. That’s your regular expression. Now, you just look like you’re fucked off and you want someone to pay.”

  “Considering that’s how I feel, that’s very wise of you.”

  She snorted. “I’d hoped that because you were older, you’d be wiser.”

  “Where your health and safety are concerned, Annette, wisdom is a relative concept. I’ll do anything, anything,” he gritted out, “to keep you safe. And if your safety is compromised, then I’ll find out why and I’ll fucking rectify it.”

  Her lips twitched. “I really shouldn’t find that sexy.”

  “Why shouldn’t you?”

  “Because I’m a twenty-first century woman, quite capable of caring for herself.”

  “I have no doubt you’re capable, Annette, if anything, there was never a doubt in my mind that you couldn’t look after yourself. But now, you don’t have to. You’re mine and I will never let any harm come to you.”

  A sigh escaped her. “And they say chivalry is dead.”

  “Sugar, I was raised on Cary Grant movies, that aired in the cinema… I take my lessons from the master.”

  That had her grinning. “My hero.”

  “Not yet, but I will be,” he told her, his voice turning stark with meaning.

  If it was the last thing he did, he’d be her hero because he fully intended on being her everything, so why not that as well?

  Chapter Twelve

  The warehouse echoed with silence. If Mars wasn’t used to such locales, he’d be freaked out but these places were his and the MC’s bread and butter.

  No deals concerning his guys ever went down in shiny skyscrapers with men sporting thousand dollar suits. And hell, if they did, they concerned high level mafia, and Mars knew to back the fuck away from those dipshits.

  This place was a perfect set up. In the middle of nowhere, with the nearest police precinct a good thirty miles away, the only creatures interested in the warehouse’s inhabitants were the rats scurrying around trying to get out from underfoot. His bear heard them, sensed their presence, and though they riled him, they were easy to dismiss as unimportant, especially when the biggest prey in the warehouse was dead ahead.

  He sat on his bike, one leg propping them upright, at the head of a V formation. Behind him, on their shining steeds, were two dozen of The Nomads’s finest.

  He didn’t like the need for back up but when he was facing down pond scum like the Martinez gang, it was a definite necessity.

  Annette would have had him traveling with the entire fucking MC, but Christ, whipped though he might be, he wasn’t that fucking whipped. Where she was concerned, he was like putty, but he couldn’t go around with three hundred fucking bikers at his back. Not only because that would mean they were going out of their way to be conspicuous, but also, because it made him look like a goddamn coward. A leader who couldn’t handle the pressure of dealing with some of the nastier cartels.

  In their business, it was about attitude and front. Even if you were scared shitless, you never let any motherfucker see you were shitting your pants. You did it nice and quietly, handled business, then cleaned up the crap later. It was either that or have your ass handed to you over breakfast.

  Truth was, Mars wasn’t scared of these bastards. He was scared of what he might do to them.

  The fuckers had hurt his mate. For that alone, never mind the clusterfuck afterward, he wanted to rip off their balls and feed them to the bastards. But first, he wanted answers. Then, he wanted assurances that the Martinez cartel would leave his people the fuck alone.

  Four Hummers were parked at odd angles ahead of him. Some were still filled with cartel soldiers, the doors closed, engines still running; the noxious gases each one emitted had his bear shuffling in irritation. Through the tinted glass, his enhanced vision saw the glints of heavy duty weapons. He knew if they, the MC, attacked, the assault would be deadly for both sides. They weren’t armed to the eyeteeth like the cartel, but they didn’t need to be. If the bullets hit too many of his men, they’d shift, and then twenty five bears would be roaming this warehouse, making ground beef out of some Mexican ass.

  The head Hummer had been emptied of its passengers and the main man, Martinez himself, was resting against the fender, legs crossed at the ankle. He looked like something out of a fucking cartoon. Cowboy boots with a spur, white suit and a silk, royal blue shirt. A cartoon or Miami Vice, Mars couldn’t decide which.

  In comparison to the bikers who wore nothing but leather, the cartel looked like a bunch of preening peacocks. He held no fear for the pussies, but neither did he want to lose any of the men he’d brought here today. They were who he was concerned about. The MC had lost too many members of late, for good or ill, and he wanted to stop that before it turned into a nasty habit.

  “Let’s get down to business,” Martinez called out, bringing out a pack of lights from his suit pocket. The hiss of a match being lit sizzled along the sound waves, and Mars watched as Martinez gulped in a big dose of nicotine. “Why are you here?”

  “New leadership, new rules.”

  Martinez narrowed his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “What the fuck do you think it means, dumb ass? I’m the new Prez of The Nomads, and I don’t want to deal with you scum sucking motherfuckers.”

  The soldiers around Martinez practically leapt to attention. Aiming their guns Mars’s way, he grinned when his men reacted likewise.

  They were evenly matched with the number of men both sides had, but of course, they had a secret weapon. And Mars wasn’t afraid to use it.

  “Contracts were put in place,” Martinez snarled, getting up from his relaxed position against the fender of his Hummer to stomp over toward Mars. His spurs jangled as he moved, making an irritating rattling sound with each step.

  “No contracts were put in place. Are you kidding me? Let me guess, you also pay tax and VAT on each shipment,” he retorted scornfully, making a few of the guys at his back start snickering.

  “Verbal contracts are as meaningful in our line of business as physical ones,” Martinez said with a hiss, glowering at the bikers chuckling at his expense. “You know that as well as I do.”

  “Verbal contracts are one thing, but I think the rules change when your foot soldiers come and attack our MC base… if you think we’re going to deal with you after that, you’re sorely mistaken.”

  Martinez’s eyes widened at that, then they narrowed into tiny slits. “Es una broma, no?”

  Mars frowned. “A joke? You think it’s a fucking joke that your men came to my clubhouse and shot the place up? You think it’s a fucking joke my woman got hit in the attack?”

  “Jackson hired us to make the hit! It was part of the contract he made with us.”

  The hissed intake of air was like a rattlesnake’s rattle in the warehouse. Though the place wasn’t silent, what with the rumble of the Hummer’s engines, and the faint sounds of the foot soldiers on the compound, the inhalation was made at the same time by twenty-five men. Each one of his brothers was shocked as hell by Martinez’s words, and shocked was an understatement.

  Their Prez, their Clan Leader, had hired someone to shoot their clubhouse up… It seemed too surreal to be a possibility, but where Jackson was concerned, surreal was a nasty part of reality. Damn, that man had been one massive fuck up.