Sherman's Pride [Spirit of Sage 6] (Siren Publishing Classic ManLove)

by Jools Louise

  “How do you know all this?” Sherman asked, frowning.

  “Take a look at the file,” Pace advised, clapping Sherman on the shoulder. “It’ll tell you everything.”

  Sherman stared at the brown folder, almost scared to open it.

  “Oh, and if you’re going near Café Anglais, watch out, John isn’t too happy that your brother scared the crap out of Murray and Blue.” Pace added this last as he headed up the stairs, keys jangling.

  “I’d suggest you and your boys lose whatever attitude you have,” Chaz said to Kaden, grabbing Sherman’s hand and tugging him upstairs. “John is not someone you want as an enemy—and he’s really pissed.”

  * * * *

  Kaden stepped into the café, alone, after sending his crew off to the ranch. They’d behaved themselves and spent the day at MJ’s, staying out of trouble. The sheriff had warned Joe McKellar about the bikers, and the ranch owner had allowed them to camp there. He’d been more than generous, offering a couple of guest cottages up for the guys. Kaden hadn’t expected such consideration, in the circumstances. He was finding out all sorts of surprises since he’d arrived only a few hours before.

  Sherman had left with Chaz, and Kaden felt extremely guilty for being mean to the little shifters. He smiled a little, remembering the fierce one, Murray, who had defied him earlier, hissing and growling and standing his ground.

  “You’re either brave or stupid,” John said, coming from around the counter, his stare icy.

  “Darling, the children are eating, please don’t scare them again,” a young man said, his hair a wiry Afro, his eyes a mesmerizing golden brown. He sat with a group of children, Murray and the other youngster among the brood, as well as the two little girls that Kaden had seen earlier. Two other men sat with them, staring over warily but remaining seated.

  “Cameron, my love, I merely wish to talk to the man,” John replied, sighing, a flush darkening his cheeks as he spied the children’s interested looks.

  “See that’s all you do,” Cameron said, sniffing. “Or you’ll be staring at another brick wall—all night.”

  Kaden bit back a laugh at John’s offended look. Cameron must have been his mate. It said a lot for their relationship that John backed down. The look of love John sent his partner was breathtaking to watch.

  “Is Daddy gonna get another timeout?” Murray asked, looking wide-eyed at Kaden, and then baring his fangs with as much menace as a four-year-old could muster. Kaden chewed the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. The kid was a pistol.

  “Darling, you’ll be in timeout if you don’t stop growling at Kaden,” Cameron scolded gently, turning Murray’s attention back to his plate of food. Kaden’s nose twitched at the delicious scents wafting over to him.

  “I came to apologize for scaring your children,” Kaden said, scuffing his boot on the floor, hands in his pockets. “My argument with my stepbrother got out of hand, and I reacted badly.”

  John snorted. “You think?” he asked incredulously.

  Kaden flushed, shrugging. “I didn’t realize he held a grudge,” he replied. “My dad told us a lot of shit about each other, apparently, and when Sherman said what he did, I got…irritated.”

  “Uncle Cam, that man swore again,” Blue whispered loudly.

  “Kaden, is it?” Cameron said, and Kaden nodded. “Please don’t swear in front of the children again. We have a policy here in town.” He pointed to a sign on the wall that indicated that anyone caught swearing in front of children would be put in a timeout, written in childish writing, in crayon. Kaden smiled at the sign, wondering how many timeouts John had been subject to.

  “Daddy John got us to draw it,” Murray said. “He swears a lot.”

  Blue giggled with his friend at that, nodding vigorously.

  “May I apologize to the children?” Kaden asked, rubbing a hand over his neck wearily. “Or I could just go.”

  “I’m not scared of him, Daddy John,” Murray said, with just a hint of attitude.

  John grinned at his son, shaking his head ruefully. “No, I think he’s probably scared of you, though,” he retorted, which had Murray grinning in delight. Blue giggled again, clapping his hands.

  “The big guy is scared of us,” Blue chortled, bouncing in his chair.

  Kaden rolled his eyes. “Yeah, really I am,” he drawled, then flushed at John’s warning growl. “Can I please just apologize and then I can leave this crazy town?” he said, scowling.

  “No, you can sit down and let me get you something to eat,” John said, turning back to the counter. “Not vegetarian are you, kitty?” he asked, tongue in cheek. Kaden snorted, and then turned to walk cautiously over to where the children were sitting.

  Besides Murray and Blue and the two little girls, there were four children who looked to be about eight or nine, and five older kids who were teenagers. Cameron directed one of the teens to grab another chair, inviting Kaden to sit down.

  “Oh, no, that’s okay,” Kaden protested, shaking his head. “I just want to apologize for scaring your children,” he said, glancing around the table and meeting the bigger shifter’s gazes in turn. “I’m sorry. Like I told John, it was a tense situation, and I reacted badly. My brother and I should have taken our argument off the street. I’m sorry.” Then he turned and headed out the door as fast as his legs could carry him. He scurried off down the street toward his bike, which still sat by the curb in the middle of town.

  As he reached it, he heard a noise behind him and whirled, fists raised, ready to throw down. Murray stood there, in shifter form, looking sadly up at him. He noted that John was striding along the street after his son, looking slightly alarmed. Crouching down, he ruffled the cub’s ears gently. “Go back inside, Murray, your daddy’s looking worried.”

  John reached them and lifted his son into his arms gently. The kid shifted, snuggling into his father’s chest, and began to suck his thumb.

  “He’s fast,” Kaden said, smiling at the boy.

  “Yes, he is,” John said feelingly. “He shifts and then runs, without warning, and we spend half our time trying to find him.”

  “Uncle Kaden didn’t eat,” Murray explained. “I didn’t want him to be hungry.”

  Kaden stared at the boy, startled. Uncle Kaden?

  John held out a take-out carton which smelled of cheese and bacon. “Here, we just started doing some hot savory sandwiches and fries…take this with you.”

  Kaden eyed the bag, taking it gratefully. “Thanks.”

  “I heard you were looking for work,” John said casually.

  Kaden shrugged. “Always,” he said, practically drooling as he sniffed the appetizing smelling carton.

  “What kind of work do you do?” Murray asked as John produced a tea towel from the back of his jeans and covered his son’s groin. It was early evening, and still pretty light, with people passing by, smiling and greeting John and his son cheerfully.

  “I’ve been looking at possible business opportunities,” Kaden replied, giving in and opening the carton, then taking a big bite of the sandwich, which was lightly toasted and oozing cheese and bacon, piled into a triple decker with a layer of tomato, onions and relish. A large pile of fries finished off the meal, which Kaden demolished in a few bites, licking his fingers, then looked sheepishly at John and Murray, who watched him with identical grins on their faces.

  “Hungry?” John drawled laconically.

  “Yeah, I didn’t feel like eating in jail.”

  “So what business are you interested in?” John asked.

  “I’m trained as a hair stylist,” Kaden replied, waiting for John to laugh, since he didn’t exactly have the look of a hairdresser. The café owner merely tilted his head, studying Kaden intently. “I trained at one of Vidal Sassoon’s schools, then went on to do beauty therapy and massage courses.” He curled his lip. “Dad disowned me when he found out.”

  “So you would be looking to open a hair and beauty salon,” John replied casually. “Nails,
as well?”

  Kaden nodded warily, waiting for the punchline. “We have several units that are waiting for the right owner at the mall that’s opening soon.” John continued. “And there’s no competition in town. Everyone has to go to Jackson Hole for their styling needs. Might be nice to have a spa, as well, where people can have massage and facial treatments, too.”

  “Uncle Alfie can do nails,” Murray suddenly piped up, still with his thumb wedged in his mouth. “He went on a course, and he’s really good.”

  Kaden looked at Murray, then at John, not sure what to say. “You’re saying you think I should stay?” he finally asked, flabbergasted. After today’s debacle, that was the last thing he’d expected.

  “Your family was destroyed by the same evil that ripped this town to the ground and hurt most of the people who now live here. They have done more harm to people than you can possibly imagine, and we’re trying to rebuild,” John said seriously. “Your relationship with Sherman and Cracker was shredded because of bigotry, greed, and ignorance. If you continue to let those people dictate your life, then they’ve won. I spent years roaming from town to town, not being able to settle because of what they did. Now, I’ve found a home, a family, and I have children…and I’ve never been happier. Don’t throw that all away because of hurt pride.” John took the empty carton from Kaden’s hand, and began to walk away. “Talk to your brother, Kaden. You can’t keep running forever, and neither can he. Family’s important.”

  John raised his hand in farewell, Murray waving good-bye over his shoulder. Kaden’s heart clenched when the little boy kissed his dad on the cheek and then began giggling when the big shifter tickled him and blew a raspberry at him. He sighed, looking at his bike, and wondered what the crap he should do now. He’d been all set to ride on out of town, and never come back. John was right, though, and there was a lot to think about.

  Instead of mounting his bike, Kaden started walking, deciding to take a look around town and see what was available. Maybe he and his brother would never reconcile. Maybe Cracker would not get over his sister’s death, end up chasing Kaden away. Kaden wanted to at least try, though. Kaden knew, deep in his heart, that his father had been the one to lie. He had known his dad’s distaste for Stephanie, from little comments he’d made. And he knew, too, that his dad had known far more about the gang and the cult behind them, because when his father had taken sick he had made some half-hearted attempt at an apology. He had died soon after, and was cremated before Kaden could return to organize the burial.

  He had left Kaden a file, one that had shown Kaden just how involved his dad had been. It sickened him to think that a man he’d thought he knew, a man who had been a teacher and a scholar, had been so brain-washed by a church preacher that he’d turned against his own family, and betrayed an innocent girl just because she’d been born a boy…and had died as a result of that betrayal. Another thing that still puzzled him was what had happened to his stepmother, who had been kind and loving as could be, treating him as though he was her own flesh and blood. He had loved Kathleen so much. He’d been sent off to boarding school soon after Squeaks had been killed, and never heard from her again.

  Maybe it was time for Kaden to stop running. His crew could decide what they wanted to do for themselves, that was their decision. He wanted a home. Sage seemed as good a place as any.

  Chapter Seven

  Chaz knew his mate was hurting, and tried his best to comfort him, without really knowing how. They’d both had bombshells dropped on them in the past two days, and Sherman was struggling. Cracker had gone to ground, holding up with Douglas and Ryder, and none of them had been seen since Kaden had rolled into town, nearly starting an all-out war.

  While Sherman slept, after some sexy bonding time, Chaz read through the file given to him by the sheriff. It was late, after one in the morning, and Chaz’s brain was reeling. The information in the papers he had in front of him made him sick to his stomach…a common affliction when dealing with the cult.

  Rubbing his eyes, he got up to grab another coffee, glancing up to see Cracker standing in the kitchen, looking lost, his blond hair all tousled and his eyes red around the edges, as though he’d been crying.

  “Coffee?” Chaz asked, retrieving a second cup from the cupboard. “Or do you want something to eat? I’m pretty good with a toaster,” he said with a slight smile.

  Cracker shook his head, and wandered over to sit at the large dining table. “Just coffee, thanks.” He was looking down at the papers spread out, and looked pale as he began to read.

  “Kaden was as much a victim as you, Cracker,” Chaz said softly, filling the machine with water and then dumping a filter in, along with some freshly ground coffee beans.

  “I guess so,” the big man said absently, and sat down. “This makes interesting reading,” he added, studying the documents intently.

  “Years ago, when stuff started kicking off here, after Joe and the crew arrived, we figured out just how many lives the cult destroyed,” Chaz said. “Everyone in town, pretty much, has been affected, either directly or losing loved ones. The pastor used places of worship to target people, and insinuated followers into the lives of innocents, warping their minds.”

  “They even had connections at San Quentin,” Aston said, entering the room, looking sleepy. He placed a hand on Cracker’s shoulder, offering support. “The guy I was friendly with, he was killed by someone who had those connections. And you know I was sent there because of orders from the higher-ups in the cult. Law enforcement, lawyers, wardens, preachers…the network stretches far and wide.”

  “It means there are still some of them out there, with blood on their hands,” Ryder interjected as he wandered through from the bedroom, Douglas close behind. “Cal and I have been doing more checks, seeing if we can weed out the bad seeds. We have access to files, as well. We need help, though, because the perpetrators hide themselves well.”

  “Everyone leaves a trail,” Sherman said gruffly, joining the discussion as he entered the kitchen, as well. Chaz got more cups down and set up the second coffee machine they had as a standby—they’d had to since their apartment was filling up with mates.

  Chaz finished what he was doing and went over to hug his mate, kissing him hard. “Hey,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around the man’s waist, inhaling his familiar scent.

  Sherman gave a low purr, and kissed him back, stroking his back. “Hmmm, hey,” he replied, nuzzling Chaz’s hair.

  They all froze when the doorbell rang, with Chaz recovering first. He looked at the screen, and saw Kaden there, looking uncomfortable, and about ready to run. Chaz looked at Sherman and Cracker, who both nodded, eyes wary. “You need to talk about this,” Chaz said, and released the door latch, pressing the intercom. “Come on up, Kaden,” he said, seeing the surprise and confusion on Kaden’s face, as though he hadn’t expected the invitation. “Please.”

  Kaden grabbed the door and disappeared from view. “No brawling,” Chaz warned his mate, who snorted, and then laughed huskily.

  “No brawling,” he agreed.

  * * * *

  Sherman studied his stepbrother and saw the same pain and confusion that he felt. It did a lot to ease his own roiling stomach. Since Kaden had arrived, he’d felt sick and angry, all the grief that he’d felt and the rage at being locked up, and the history behind it spewing out in a poisonous explosion. Stephanie had been as much Sherman’s sister as she had been Cracker’s. The rest of the crew had treated her as their family, too, and her death had scarred all of them. Sherman remembered the basement where she’d been taken, filled with mold and filth, her lifeless body chained to a wall, littered with horrendous wounds, but the bastard gang had still been beating on her. As though they had lost their humanity, and had not considered that they were killing a child. She’d suffered some serious sexual abuse and torture, and Sherman would kill those responsible again if he could.

  Cracker had erupted, out of control, ripping at the gang members w
ith brutal efficiency, and Sherman had done nothing to stop him. They had deserved their punishment. The thing that had hurt almost as much as Squeak’s death was being told that his little brother, who had been Stephanie’s friend and confidante, would have betrayed them all in such a way. He had not wanted to believe Kaden capable of such a thing, but the evidence had been damning.

  “I wasn’t just in New York for work,” Kaden said, before Sherman could say a word. He held a cup of coffee, sipping the fragrant brew with obvious relief. He looked haggard, his eyes showing the weariness of his soul. “I tracked down one of the gang members.”

  Cracker jerked at that, and he shot a look at Sherman. “Is he dead?”

  Kaden shook his head. “No,” he said bitterly. “I couldn’t get close to him. He’s surrounded by heavy muscle, lives in a tower block in Manhattan. He’s rich, connected, and has managed to build himself an empire, courtesy of my dear, departed father.”

  “What do you mean?” Sherman asked, staring hard at Kaden.

  “I found out recently that my dad targeted your mom when she was still married to your dad. He knew you were shifters, and he knew she had money of her own—she was a successful artist with a healthy following in the art world before she met your dad. When she was widowed, she inherited a substantial sum from his life insurance and business holdings, but had her own income, as well.”

  “She had no money after Dad died,” Sherman growled, frowning. “We lived in a small duplex, not a mansion. She loved to paint, but she never sold anything. I was only small when he died, but I’d remember that. I don’t remember her painting.”

  “My dad knew your dad,” Kaden explained, his eyes glimmering with anger. “Apparently there was some old blood feud that had gone on before, and he hired some people to look into your dad’s business dealings. Your father did really well for himself, and built up a fortune that was placed in a trust fund for if anything happened to him. Those same people, when my dad married your mom, did some tricky dealing and got to the fund, putting it in my dad’s name. Your mom stopped her painting when your dad died, but she did have private funds, she just didn’t brag about them. They were held in an account for you, for your college fund.”