Chapter One

 

Old country roads. Country music. Cade almost flinched. No. Grind. Extreme metal. Make his ears bleed industrial. That was what he needed. He found it and cranked the stream through the audio system.

Cade crowded over the handlebars, riding the Fat Bob low and fast. Bitterly cold air smacked at exposed skin as he raced through the night. His cheeks and hands quickly felt chapped, the icy air stinging. At least he could feel it. He’d felt numb from the inside out for weeks, maybe months. He’d lost track.

Sprinkled stars glittered overhead. Wisps of clouds were random thin trails that sliced the sky. The road lay like a river of unpolished onyx, broken only by the safety lines being eaten by the motorcycle’s tires.

But it suited his mood. He was looking for someone to pick a fight tonight. Fuck, he needed someone to pick a fight.

A replay of the evening spent with his brothers broke the hold of his burgeoning anger. Christmas craziness wall to wall. It hadn’t been a bad night, but everything about him felt…off.

Chris and Jamie. Quade and Maya. Fuck, even Ed was with Duncan. Now if that wasn’t a kick in the fucking nut sac. After meeting Duncan the first time, Cade had been sure the man was going to prove everyone right and fuck up Ed something bad. Even he could see Duncan was a walking commitment-phobe. They’d looked pretty damn cozy tonight.

He growled low in his throat. He knew it wasn’t Duncan’s about-face that he couldn’t understand. No. If Ed could tame the wildness in Duncan, then more power to him.

Cade knew what was really eating his ass alive.

Quade.

His twin had found his mate. And not just a brainless joke with tits, either. The woman had brains that could probably write circles around Cade. The one thing he’d always had on his twin was he knew he was better, smarter, more…

Until now. He’d found his mate first. And in words only a brother could use safely, she was fucking fantastic.

He bared his teeth to the night, challenging it. None of the Rose boys were short on ambition, but there’d always been this little something more between Cade and Quade. A constant battle.

Jamie thought he was pining over a woman. Cade wished he were! He would have barked a laugh outright if he hadn’t needed all his focus to control the bike. There wasn’t so much as a date, much less a girlfriend in his life right now. That was part of the whole problem. He hadn’t found a woman in years who really got to him, and none had so much as earned a sniff from his wolf. And now he was gnashing his teeth in frustration.

He didn’t know where he was going and didn’t really care. He’d driven home after the Christmas party and hadn’t bothered to go in, grabbing his bike from the side garage and tearing like the devil were on his heels out of Silo. It was too cold to be out on the street demon, but Cade honestly couldn’t find it in him to give a shit.

As fury simmered under the surface, feeling the bluster of winter cold was the least of his concerns. He’d been trying for weeks to get his head on straight. To find an outlet for his torment.

Ever since his brother had brought home Maya… The minute Cade met her, he knew. Whether Quade had told her everything then or not, it hadn’t mattered. She was his. Which left Cade last. Again.

His growl was almost louder than the machine. Almost.

He opened the throttle a little more, hearing the whine of the engine as it thrummed like a rocket between his legs.

What he needed was a good old fashioned bar fight. It shouldn’t matter that Quade had found his woman first. Saying it and believing it though…

Eventually, he slowed the machine. Lights in the distance said a town wouldn’t be too far up the road. Towns meant cops. He definitely didn’t want a ticket. Sitting straight, he cupped a hand and blew into it, giving it a modicum of warmth. He’d regret not having his gloves, but when this cold would be causing major issues with anyone else, all he had was frigid skin and stiff fingers from keeping the bike under control.

Another mile or so dropped him into Podunk Country. A small barn-cum-bar was lit up with spotlights in the parking lot, the building surrounded by vehicles, a majority pickup trucks. He felt his smile grow a little wickeder.

Gemini’s. Suddenly, he was really thirsty for a beer.

He hoped the holiday revelers were ready for him.

Cruising into the lot, he found a spot to park and slid off the seat. Pocketing his keys, he took a moment to take in the surroundings. He wasn’t on a neighboring pack’s territory. That made him feel better. He didn’t want to invade on another pack’s grounds, especially not if he was looking for a fight.

Because that was exactly what he was looking for.

It looked like any other country dive walking in. Only now it was festooned with all kinds of garish seasonal markers. Tinsel hung from various places around the bar, glittering in the offset lights overhead. A string of colored tree bulbs framed the top liquor rack. In other words, as little effort as possible to barely scrape past pointless to skid right into tacky. The bar was busy considering the next day was Christmas Eve. A jukebox played a twang-y Christmas carol. Cade gritted his teeth at the cosmic yodel from Hell.

It was probably doing the wrong kind of job for him. Instead of making him feel nostalgic, he wanted to bash heads — right into that machine would be a great place to start.

He didn’t exactly ask for permission headed through the crowd for the bar, cutting between people with barely a dropped snarl. At six-three, very few could look down on him. In black leather, with his hair tied back, he didn’t look approachable. And that was fine with him.

When he reached the bar, he leaned an elbow on the scarred wood and stared at the bartender until he got service.

“What’ll i’be? It’s almost last call,” the man warned.

“Dark ale. Warm.” He hated being served ales out of the cooler. So wrong.

He got a grunt and an arched eyebrow in answer. When the beer appeared he put his money down. Holding it in his warming hands, it didn’t feel iced. Glad to know he found someone who can listen and deliver.

He didn’t face the crowd, leaning over an elbow instead to face the rear wall. He cocked a foot on the floor rail and drank his beer in slow drags. Cade may have looked undisturbed and uninterested to the night’s festivities, but all anyone had to do was watch his gaze in the mirror hanging on the wall.

Something niggled at him, poked at him, but he ignored it. A scent maybe. Something that told him he should be paying attention. Instead he watched the crowd. He knew what he needed to be aware of. Energy coursed through his body, building with power as more added to it, increasing his anticipation like runoff hitting a roaring river. He controlled it.

For now.

Most of the crowd were young bucks. Country boys in cowboy hats. He sneered silently. He was only a few years older than those same high on life idiots at twenty-eight. They might even be the same age, but all they shared was the number. He’d never brayed like that in public. He shook his head at the brazen catcalls being tossed around. Cade wanted a good old-fashioned fight, but he wasn’t going to fight guys who were so drunk, they didn’t know if they were asses, or people. There weren’t many women in the crowd. He doubted they’d be caught dead at this hour in this madness.

He finished his beer and ordered another.

“Last one. Last call!” the bartender shouted into the melee after pocketing Cade’s bills.

“Fuck you, Dean!”

“Shove it!” he barked. “My bar. It’s closing time!”

“Gonna call the wah-wahambulance if we stay?” A crowd of about seven or so jeered in support.

“No, I’ll call the cops. Finish your drinks and get out of here.” He flipped a bar rag over his shoulders, shaking his head. “Damn kids. They turn twenty-one and become everything Mom warned me about.”

Cade huffed, sipping his beer. He was studying the situation. He might just get the chance to expend some of his inner energy if Blotto Jr. and his pals started giving the bartender bullshit.

“You the only one working tonight?” he asked.

Dean flicked a quick glance to Cade. “Yeah. Wasn’t expecting them.” He jerked his head toward the asinine fools. “Gave Garret the night off to be with his family. Closed for the next three days.” He crossed his arms and continued to watch the milling crowd as they got louder and rowdier over something as strenuous as having to obey the law at closing time.

Cade saluted him with the bottle and then drew a sip. He waited, patiently, as the clock ticked down. He didn’t want to cause issues for Dean if he could handle this on his own, but by the building momentum the party boys were gathering, Cade had a hell of a feeling deep in his gut that this wasn’t going to be a good night for the birthday boy.

When he finished the last of the ale, he licked his lip and pushed the empty toward the trench edge.

He stood from the bar and sauntered like he owned the place across the room heading for the restroom. A good piss. That should take about ten minutes if he stopped to read the writing on all the walls. He gave the crowing group another half glance.

They were going to be trouble.

He smirked, biting his lips to hide the cold smile.

He could hardly wait.

* * * *

Dean saw the man straighten and walk like a fucking god across the room. He was huge, tall, thick, and gorgeous. And jee-sus. But did his hair reach the middle of his back? He had it tied into a ponytail, and it swayed like one. He dared a peek south and groaned. The man’s ass was dream inducing. In black denim, beneath black leather, two perfectly rounded sides. Dean bit his cheek to not moan in appreciation.

Not that it would be heard, but still. He didn’t let on to his preferences at work, though it wasn’t a huge secret. There simply hadn’t been an other half in his life in a long time.

Another cheer snapped his attention to the open floor. He was considering calling the cops for backup, regardless. He was only one man and while there had been a lot of people there tonight, last call had quickly started the exodus for the night. Most evenings he didn’t have a problem running solo.

Tonight looked to be one of those nights that went against the grain.

He watched the clock as he put things away, wiping down tables and gathering bottles off surfaces to toss. Slowly but surely, people migrated toward the door.

Everyone, that was, except for the birthday crew.

“Come on, guys. It’s over. Time to call it a night.” He took another look at the time. It was three minutes to two.

“We’re not done,” one of the college, frat boy wannabes goaded. He leaned on a friend with a hiked elbow, sneering at Dean. “What are you going to— to do?” He slugged more of his beer, frowning when he hit bottom.

“Kick your asses out, that’s what I’m going to do.”

Dean turned with his hands full of bottles and glasses, in no mood to play games. He had the Sheriff on speed dial for nights like this. Nine-one-one was great, but he had permission to get help directly. Then he’d call emergency and tell them who, what, and where.

Without warning, a hard hand slammed down on his shoulder and spun him around. It happened so fast he cringed, waiting for the fist in the face.

Only it didn’t happen that way.

“Fucking Christ!” was followed by a howl of pain.

“Never throw this out again. I will break it. Understand?”

Dean blinked, swallowing hard. The smack he heard hadn’t been his face being pummeled. It had been the solid impact of flesh being caught in a palm. And held. Without shaking.

“Fuck you! Get us drinks!”

“Yeah!”

“It’s Robbie’s birthday! We’re not leaving!”

“I think you’ve had enough. Dean has asked nicely for you to leave. You have two minutes or I will ask.” The tall stud leaned close into Dean’s attacker’s face. “I won’t be using words.”

“You can’t fight us all.”

Dean knew the kid was right, but tall and gorgeous didn’t seem to agree.

He smiled.

The man fucking smiled. It was the kind of smile that sent shivers down a sane man’s back. Obviously, he was the only sane one left in the bar. It had cleared out fast when this started. So much for help from any regulars.

“I was hoping you’d feel that way. Dean, you heard them, right? They wanted this.”

A table toppled over, crashing hard as two more advanced. They looked like jocks, broad and blunt, with acorns for brains.

“Do I have your permission to be of help?” He twisted enough to glance at Dean. “Please?” he asked kindly.

“Don’t break them,” he managed, joking, but fearing it was a possibility.

“I’ll do my best,” he replied. He faced the man at the other end of the fist he held. “Last chance.”

“There’s only two of you, and there’s eight of us,” someone slurred.

“Wrong answer.”

Dean leaped out of the way when the man in leather moved with a speed that left him speechless.

He arched an arm and spun the drunk in front of him, smooth as ballet. The young idiot’s chest pushed outward with his arm now jammed between his shoulder blades. He cried out in drunken shock.

“Let’s take this outside, shall we?” the guy all but purred.

“Get him!”

The two jocks jumped him, shoving Dean out of their way. He flew backwards, bottles flying and glass shattering where it landed. Before they destroyed the bar, he clawed to stand, racing for the phone.

He hit the speed dial for Sheriff Archer. “Kelly, it’s Dean. All hell’s about to break loose.”

“On my way. Call it in.” The phone disconnected.

Dean called emergency and made the report.

“Excuse me, could you repeat that?”

Whatever he’d been saying had slowed to a stupefied drool. He watched as two of the partiers were caught in fists, heads clunked together like dolls, and then their limp forms were escorted for the door.

His tall savior wasn’t even breathing hard.

“Are you still there?”

“Yes! Yes, still here,” he croaked. “There’s a… Ah, uh…” He watched in disbelief as someone took a swing that was so badly executed, a little leaguer could have been behind it.

Only the biker didn’t swing back. He ducked and came up under the man’s arm, cutting him off in the middle to haul him outside in a fireman’s carry. Dean presumed to dump him, because he wasn’t gone long.

“Mr. Eckler? Are you there?”

“Yes. I… Let me call you back. Sheriff Archer will be here to oversee things in a few minutes.”

After another affirmative, he numbly hung up the phone. The guy hadn’t even taken off his jacket.

Three remained, and they circled his apparent new bouncer of the evening.

“Come on, boys. You really don’t want to do this,” he chided them. He left them room but they still tried to find him with jabs and punches, dividing his attention.

Dean walked forward, but a raised palm made him halt with a foot in the air.

“Check on the kids outside. I have these.”

“You’re crazy,” Dean rebuked him.

“You’re outnumbered, assface,” one of the jocks jeered. “You’re gonna need his help.”

“Don’t think so,” he replied, indifferent to their taunts.

Dean watched them cautiously as he edged in front of the bar. He was about halfway to the door when his feet froze and his jaw dropped open.

One of the jocks took a swing and another tried to jump on the guy’s broad back. It looked like a timed effort they’d used before. This time it didn’t work. A single motion had the clinging monkey flying to smack into the third, leaving the one who tried to hit him as the last man standing. A come and get me hand curl was like fanning a red banner in front of a bull.

He charged.

And was laid out cold with a single punch.

“Holy shit! Is he alive?”

A dry snort was his answer. “I hear the Sheriff outside. I’ll bring these three.” He stooped and hefted one over his shoulder and grasped another who wasn’t unconscious by his collar. “On your feet,” he growled.

Shaking and groggy, the boy obeyed.

“Could you get the door?” he asked, dragging the two drunk men with him.

Dean followed him outside, spotting the strobing lights from the cop car light up the parking lot.

“God almighty, Dean. What happened here?”

Kelly stared at him looking for answers. The five who’d already been escorted were heaped in a pile in the parking lot. A few moans could be heard.

“Drunk and disorderly.” Two more bodies were added to the pile. “They refused to exit the premises.”

“Dean?”

“He’s telling the truth.” Dean searched the pile of limbs and faces, pointing. “He took a swing when I refused to serve them more.” He threw a look over his shoulder at the other man who’d vanished inside for the last one. “He stopped it. They tried to jump him. He’s been bringing them out. I saw him physically hit only one, and it was on the defensive.”

Kelly scratched at his scalp under his hat, his winter coat making a nylon rasp. “I can’t cart eight college whelps to jail.”

“Call their mothers.” The last one slithered to the pile. The one that had been laid out cold by one punch. “It’s what would have happened to me. You never wanted to call my mother with this kind of news. My ass wouldn’t have found a comfortable way to sit for a week. Even at that age.”

“Who are you?” Now that he was getting over his shock, Dean realized exactly how much this man had done for him tonight. He didn’t look like he’d even broken a sweat.

“Cade Rose.” He offered a hand. “And I didn’t break any of them.”

“Dean Eckler.”

His hand was engulfed in hard heat. He had smooth skin, but a strong grip.

“Do you want to press charges, Dean?”

He considered it, but not for long. “They’re outside now. Other than knocking over a few tables and glasses, they didn’t destroy anything. Cade stopped them before it got to that.” Thank God. He knew he’d managed to save more than the bar tonight. The rare night he worked alone. The one night he’d been at risk.

He sighed and faced Sheriff Archer, making himself focus again. “Do what you need to do to get them out of here. I have a bar to clean up. I’m not pressing charges. Make sure they understand that’s a good thing.”

He swung around on a heel and aimed for the heavy door, getting out of the cold. He left it unlocked in case Kelly had to talk to him. What surprised him, though, was about five minutes later, Cade followed him.

“Would you like some help?”

Dean leaned with a hip to the bar and studied the man. He seemed sincere. And after just taking on eight drunks, he had faith he wasn’t there to cause Dean any harm.

“Honestly, I’d love it.”

Cade nodded and slid out of his leather jacket to lay it over a stool.