by SE Jakes
He heard the snap of a lube cap before Sweet’s fingers breached him, rough and practiced, and Bram hissed against the invasion while instinctively pushing back into it. He heard the rip of a condom wrapper, and that’s when he stopped thinking and just gave himself over to all of it.
Sweet shifted his grip, clutching Bram’s hips, pressing Bram’s body tight to his and Grayson’s unrelenting suck.
Sweet was big, and when his cock thrust up into Bram’s tight hole, Bram whimpered softly. That spurred Sweet to push harder, as if he knew Bram needed the pain, craved it. He was panting, hips pumping.
The bouncer was jacking him with his tongue and suction, playing with his balls, trapping him and taunting him in that quiet, dangerous alley with a quiet, even more dangerous man behind him, and Bram had never done anything this stupid when he was undercover.
But fuck, this was good. Better than. Between Grayson’s mouth, Sweet’s cock, and his ability to come more than once an hour, he was going to shoot harder than before.
He started shuddering in warning. Sweet murmured, “You can come in his mouth,” and Bram couldn’t have pulled out even if he’d wanted to—the bouncer wasn’t letting go as the spasms hit, jerking the heat from his body. It forced Sweet to slam up into him, his dick caught in the vise of Bram’s ass as it contracted from the orgasm, and Sweet put his head against the back of Bram’s neck and allowed Bram to milk him to a climax.
Bram closed his eyes as Sweet bit his neck hard enough to leave a mark, and yeah, he was focused on the sensations slamming him from all angles. He was vaguely aware that his legs would’ve buckled if Sweet hadn’t made sure to hold him carefully, that both men had waited for him, until he was able to wave off their offers to walk him back to the hotel . . . unable to shake the feeling that they watched him the entire time.
The next morning, Bram was outside the bail bonds shop with its innocuous sign at exactly 9 a.m. He wanted to be the first one there, in and out, getting his information and then taking off to find Linc.
On waking, he’d been comfortably sore, oddly satiated and wound up all at once, and so he’d showered, checked out, shoved his bag into the trunk of his car and made the trip through the midsized city.
He didn’t want to think about how much danger he’d put himself in last night . . . or how much he’d liked it.
He was addicted to the adrenaline rush danger provided, a moth to a flame—danger gave him a bigger, better thrill than any high ever could, but he was an addict just the same. Sub out fucking an MC president in riding distance of the MC that nearly killed him and it was the same thrill.
In a lot of ways, Bram was way worse than Linc. Bram just happened to end up in a job that made his risk-taking seem legit instead of stupid crazy.
Of course, when Linc had pointed this out to him, Bram had scoffed. But really, his baby brother was a smart guy. Too smart to be wasting his life wandering around.
Now, he pulled the door of the shop open and a bell jangled. As he approached the counter, a man walked out of the back room. “Name’s Gypsy. How can I help you?”
He was big. Blond. Easygoing, or you’d be led to believe, but Bram knew better. “You contacted me about someone named Linc,” Bram started, but Gypsy cut him off by putting one hand up while he rifled in a drawer with the other before slapping a contract down on the counter between them and pointing to the bottom of the page.
It took Bram mere seconds to process what Gypsy was showing him, another few to piece together what happened. Having dealt with Linc since birth, it wasn’t that hard, and it was exactly what Bram had seen coming.
His forged signature was on Linc’s bond form, which also stated that Bram had put his house up as collateral. So Linc had attempted to forge Bram’s life away and instead of hanging around here and checking in, he’d run. “I didn’t sign this.”
Gypsy stared him down. “Not your signature?”
“Nope. And I have no idea who this Linc guy is.” He’d played this game before. It often suited the brothers to pretend they weren’t related. This time it was imperative. “Wouldn’t you have already met me when I signed this?”
“Maybe I told him it was okay with me for him to bring it in with your signature instead. But I talked to you on the phone. I recognize your voice.”
Bram groaned inwardly. Linc had learned to mimic his voice from an early age.
Gypsy continued, “You said you’d do anything to help—you even sent a picture of your license to show me the matching signature.”
At least they didn’t have the same last name—Bram had dropped his father’s years earlier. But it was time to push acting to award-winning levels. “This can’t be fucking happening to me.”
“So either you produce Linc . . .”
“I don’t know who he is.”
“Or you pay me,” Gypsy said in what was probably his most reasonable badass voice. A brow rose when Bram shook his head. “Or I take your house.”
“Don’t own one.” As Gypsy’s brow furrowed in confusion, Bram pointed to the address and mortgage information on the form. “I don’t own this house. My neighbor does. I rent it. This is forged.”
Gypsy folded his arms and looked pissed as hell. “How do I know you didn’t do that?”
“You’re the one who gave bond to a criminal and you’re asking me? I don’t have a record. My wallet was stolen last year, with my license in it.” Bram leaned on the counter and realized that Gypsy was selectively hiding Linc’s information, including his most current address, dammit. “Dude, I don’t owe you this money. Which is good since I don’t have it.”
“Dude, I don’t care if you have to sell your ass to make the money.” Gypsy was staring at Bram in a way he knew all too well.
The bells attached to the front door jangled behind him and, judging by the look on Gypsy’s face, another badass had come in, and that was one too many.
He heard, “Problem?” and Bram called, “I’ve got this,” over his shoulder before the voice registered and the way-too-familiar graveled voice shot back, “No, you don’t, if he’s talking about selling your ass.”
Bram turned to see Sweet. Sweet. With the lollipop. And the leather rocker.
“I’d be buying,” Gypsy told them both, like he knew he was about to incite a riot and didn’t care.
“I’m out of here,” he announced.
“You can’t just fuckin’ leave,” Sweet told him.
As Bram stared between Gypsy and the man in black leather, he saw Gypsy narrow his eyes to stare purposely at the bite mark above the collar of his T-shirt . . . and then followed his gaze back to the almost matching one Sweet wore before suggesting to Bram, “You can work it off.”
Bram snorted. “Or you can find your own fucking skip before I turn you in for fraud.”
Gypsy slapped his hand on the paperwork. “Your signature. Your money. Pay up.”
“If I don’t, what’re you going to do? I don’t have this kind of money.” Granted, he did have it, in the form of a money order in his wallet, but he didn’t see the need to pay up before he’d learned anything. “Besides, I’d never have signed for him because I don’t fucking know anyone named Linc.”
“This was faxed back from your number.”
“I don’t care how he did it—I guess he’s a resourceful asshole.”
“True that,” Gypsy concurred under his breath.
“I’m not going to find him—do your job,” Bram said.
Sweet leaned against the counter and said thoughtfully, “As president of this MC, I’m telling you that you’re fucking with my club’s business. If I was a betting man, Bram, I’d say you do know Linc—maybe he’s an ex who did you wrong.”
Sweet’s words slowly filtered through Bram’s brain.
President of Havoc? Fuck me. Because Bram finally put two and two together. Gypsy the bounty hunter was part of the Havoc MC. Had to be, for Sweet to be invested in Bram’s business.
Fucking, fucking Linc. And fu
ck me for not noticing any of this last night.
Maybe he really did have a death wish . . . and more in common with Linc than he’d ever thought.
He took a breath and slid into his newest undercover role by impulse rather than design. Ah Christ, letting both men think he and Linc were an item wasn’t a bad way to go—especially because Bram wanted them off the track . . . but there was an unexpected flash of jealousy in Sweet’s eyes—so fast Bram would almost swear he’d made it up if it hadn’t made his belly flare with a pleasant heat.
But before Bram could do or say anything more, his phone buzzed in his pocket—his sup’s ringtone. “I’ve got to take this.”
Sweet nodded and moved away to give Bram privacy. Gypsy retreated to the backroom, Bram supposed for the same reasons, and he was damned grateful.
Granted, both men had also moved to block the exits. “Hey,” he said casually.
“Where are you?” Parisi demanded.
“Where I said I’d be,” Bram said automatically, which was a lie. Why he’d felt the need to do that—twice now—to Parisi, the man who had his back above all else, wasn’t something he could explain beyond a gut feeling. “What’s up?”
Parisi sighed. “There’s some chatter—”
“About me?”
“Heathens aren’t letting you go as easily as we thought,” Parisi admitted. “They’re searching.”
Bram’s blood chilled. “How hard?”
“I’ll play you the message.”
As Bram listened, the message from his undercover voice mail began, “You’re dead, fucker,” and went downhill fast from there with, “I don’t care if it takes the rest of my life. You killed my son. I’ll find you and I’ll make you pay. Best bet would be to kill yourself and take the easy way out.”
The messenger was Bones, XO of the Heathens MC and one of the meaner motherfuckers Bram had ever had the displeasure of meeting. He had no doubt Bones would live up to his rep—he’d never made a promise he hadn’t kept—and Bram had been there several times, forced to watch and not intervene as Bones made good on his threats.
“Thanks for that. Gotta go,” he told Parisi.
“Bram, you just lay low and try to relax. We’ll figure this out.”
“Right. Let me know when you do. I’m on vacation.” He ended the call and shoved the phone in his pocket, annoyed at how badly his hands shook.
Sweet was leaning against the front door, staring at him. “Rough call?”
“Nothing I can’t handle,” Bram lied. He was good at it because he’d been doing it his entire life, but suddenly, he was goddamned exhausted. His doctors told him to take it easy. His sup told him to take a vacation.
And now, his home had been compromised. His cover might’ve been compromised—at the very least, the Heathens weren’t about to let him disappear off the ends of the earth. Hiding in Shades Run, with Havoc, seemed to be the best idea. But in order to do so, he’d have to at least admit one thing to Sweet about his identity.
Sweet had been fishing with the ex comment, and with that he’d given Bram the foundation for the idea that would help him stay off the Heathens’ radar. “So, about Linc? There’s been a misunderstanding.”
Sweet pushed off the door and came closer, but his guard was still completely up, evidenced by his next words. “Yeah? What’s that? Forgot you do know him after all?”
Bram admitted, “Linc’s my younger brother, Sweet.”
Sweet cursed, probably more so at being surprised than anything. “You look nothing alike.”
It was true—Linc was blond to Bram’s dark hair, and Bram was broader too. Swarthy, he’d been told, a rough, devilish look that always got him in trouble. Both he and Linc had a fluid sexuality, moving easily between women and men—it was all about pleasure. “Different fathers. But we grew up with our mom and Linc’s dad. So now that I know he’s missing, I’d appreciate it if you’d give me any info that could help me, and I’ll find him and bring him back.”
Sweet continued to stare at him, and Bram was left to wonder how deeply Gypsy dug into Linc’s family tree to search out other family. “As enlightening as all this is, I can’t let you leave. Especially now.”
“Can’t let me? I told you the fucking truth. You can’t hold me hostage,” Bram protested, but judging by the look in Sweet’s eyes, that wasn’t exactly the truth. And yes, Bram could easily overpower the two men—or make a damned good attempt to—but he had to be smart. Play it cool. Deal with his shit and Linc’s.
And save your ass.
Sweet stared at him. “Did Linc really forge your information on the bail bond?”
Bram nodded. “I haven’t been in touch with him for a month, and when I got all the messages, I figured I’d come and see what trouble he’d caused.”
“Does that happen a lot?”
“The trouble? Definitely. The out-of-touch part, not so much,” Bram told him honestly. “I know he liked being in Shades. He stayed put, and that’s not like him. So yeah, I was hoping you might be able to tell me what he was doing while he was here . . . if he might’ve been in trouble. Because it doesn’t seem like he’d leave willingly.”
Sweet shrugged. “Minor stuff with the law. No problems with our MC.”
That was vague. “But problems with another MC?”
“Minor stuff. It’s done.”
Shit. Bram forced himself not to react or ask anything more about the MC subject. He could get more out of Sweet—and he would—but this wasn’t the way. “Since I’m already checked out, you got any suggestions of places to stay besides that shitty motel?”
Sweet’s brows shot up. “No arguments about staying, then?”
“You said I couldn’t go anywhere,” Bram said easily, in keeping with his don’t have a care in the world bullshit. “Besides, I want to see if I can get Linc to come back here and do the right thing.”
That was definitely the right sentiment, because Sweet nodded. “What about work?”
“I’m on vacation.”
“From?”
Bram gave a long-suffering sigh. “I’m in insurance. High-ticket items.”
Sweet narrowed his eyes slightly. “So you’re a hunter.”
“You could say that.”
“So if you’re so good at finding, why not Linc?”
Sweet was good. Bram was equally so, especially when it came to letting the truth leak through his cover. “Linc’s always been my kryptonite.”
Sweet nodded. “Fair enough. As for a place to stay, Gypsy’s got a loft above the shop. Head on up and let us figure this out.”
It might be as ominous as it sounded, but Sweet’s expression hadn’t changed. And staying here wouldn’t put Bram under Havoc’s protection, per se, but he’d be watched. Out of the frying pan and directly into the fire, but hell, he’d lived through worse.
Sweet watched Bram take the key from Gypsy and disappear up the stairs and into the spare studio apartment. Gypsy switched the surveillance camera on so they could watch Bram, sans sound. Sweet silently regretted not pressing Gypsy to put that extra security measure in place.
“So . . . last night?” Gypsy asked casually as Sweet tore his eyes away from Bram, who was predictably searching the room for cameras and bugs.
“Yeah. Me, Bram. And Grayson.”
Gypsy smirked. “So why’d you get so possessive when I mentioned his ass?”
Instead of answering, or wondering why himself, Sweet grunted.
“We’re fucked,” Gypsy muttered. “Some of us more recently than others.”
“Just keepin’ an eye on our money,” Sweet managed evenly.
“You didn’t know it was our money last night,” Gypsy pointed out, a hint of anger in his tone.
“I know every fucking thing that goes on in this town,” Sweet corrected. “Stranger rolls in and stays at that crappy-assed motel, I hear about it. He comes to Bertha’s, has a panic attack, and he’s got fresh scars all over him? Something’s up.”
“
You followed him here,” Gypsy seemed to realize, after a beat. “And you’re reeling him in.”
“He could go a long way to getting Linc back.” Sweet knew Gypsy was equal parts devastated and pissed that Linc had run off. And if Sweet were a betting man, he’d have lost big on this one, because he was pretty sure Linc appeared to be settling down and settling into Shades for a good, long run.
Gypsy nodded. “Is he using?”
“No track marks. Ozzie went through his gear—” Sweet started and Gypsy interrupted him with, “And you fucked him for distraction purposes.”
“Did what I needed to,” Sweet told him, taking a lollipop from the bowl on Gypsy’s counter. He’d quit smoking how many goddamned years ago and still felt the need to have something constantly in his mouth. “Anyway, Ozzie found prescription shit, but if you saw the scars . . .” He shook his head. “Makes sense.”
“Linc never mentioned a brother. Just a sister.”
“But he put Bram’s name on your books.”
“Never said brother. Said friend.”
“People have all sorts of reasons why they do shit.”
“Doesn’t mean we have to get involved,” Gypsy pointed out.
“I thought you wanted to find Linc?”
Gypsy’s expression tightened. “Flight risk. Flaky. Not good for the club.”
Yeah, flight risk. Flaky. And a motherfucking thief on top of it. Sweet didn’t take kindly to anyone fucking with Havoc or their money. “So you’re just giving up on him?”
Gypsy flashed a “fuck you” expression and it was probably only his respect for Sweet that kept him from lashing out. Instead, he put his head down and started going through his files.
“Gypsy—”
“Don’t. It’s cool.”
