There were respondent howls in the crowd, and Terry hauled Mama’s petite body off the ground, pressed her ass into the bar and bent her over backward, devouring her in a kiss so explicit Stormy felt her blood heat up. Mama bit Terry’s lip and he yowled, attempting to pull his lip free before settling back into the kiss.
Stormy laughed at their theatrics, wiping a tear of joy and longing from the corner of her eye.That, she thought,I want that.
She hadn’t been sexual with a man since she and Chad divorced three years ago, but even when their relationship was new and blossoming, it hadn’t included those kinds of uninhibited intense displays of affection.
Reign stumbled over and grabbed Stormy’s arm to avoiding falling on her ass.
“Oh my God, Stormy, look,look! There’s a real-life giant over there checking you out like he’s going to devour you, or…or kill you!” Reign yelled, pointing blatantly across the room—something she’d never do if she was sober. Following her cousin’s wavering finger, Stormy tracked it to a massive dark-haired man who somehow managed to dwarf the doorframe he was leaning against.
Oh, good Lord, she thought. The raw power and sexuality radiating off this man made her clit throb.
She pressed her thighs tight.
The giant cocked his head to the side and listened intently to something Lynx—the Asian man she’d met earlier—said. The giant said something back, eyes never veering away from Stormy, and whatever he replied caused the Asian guy to double over in laughter. She smiled as she watched the interaction between the two men who were obviously good friends.
A hand settled against the small of Stormy’s back and she turned to look up into the ocean-blue gaze of a six-foot-something chiseled piece of manhood whose touch heightened the arousal the giant had ignited. This place must circulate pheromones through the AC unit, she thought as her nipples tightened. Maybe it’s just been too long, too long sampling the boutique’s products, too long without the touch of a man. She’d promised Lou and Jules, her two best friends, that she wouldn’t punk out, that she’d look open to looking for potential sex partners tonight. The blue-eyed man with a cup or two of melanin poured into his DNA heightened her arousal to a point where she believed she’d found one.
Tilting her head, Stormy smiled at the absolutely beautiful man with the confident hands.God, he smells good, like crisp ocean breezes and ice, Stormy thought as he pulled her into the circle of his arms, massaging the base of her spine, just above the curve of her ass.
“I hear you’re having a bit of a celebration, love.”
Oh, good Lord,he’s British. She bit back a groan as she imagined her panties disintegrating under the onslaught of hot fluid flowing from the juncture of her thighs.
Oh no, she wanted to shout to Jules and Lou, I am not punking out tonight.
Wrapping her arms around the beautiful man’s neck, she pulled him closer. Before this night was through, she was going to get a gift bag, take the sexy man back to her plush hotel room, and screw him mercilessly for the remainder of her celebratory weekend.
What the ever-loving hell, Big Country thought as his truck crested the top of the one-way road that led to Mama’s House and he saw the number of cars parked in the gravel lot outside of the bar. The place was packed beyond anything he’d seen in all the years since Terry and Mama had it built.
Terry’s Jeep was the only Brood vehicle he saw as he circled the lot, which in and of itself wasn’t unusual. Most of the Brood housed their rides in the secure garage at the base of the mountain near the highway when in residence for more than a few hours. The only Brood mates not in residence were Coen and Price—they were out of the country doing contract work for another outfit based in Canada—and Juarez, whose wife and mother had barred him from returning to the mountain as long as Zeus was in residence.
If it wasn’t Brood, who were all these fuckers barring him from parking outside his own goddamn home? Some of the vehicles were known to him—he’d clocked the rides of military men, a few mercs, couple of agency guys, aka government narcs, killers all—but a few of the cars he’d never seen before.
After circling one last time he headed down the other one-way dirt road they called Devil’s Descent, and parked his truck at the first turnout point, about nine hundred feet down the mountain. If you weren’t Brood, Devil’s Descent was the only other discernible route connecting the mountain to the highway below.
Cutting the engine, Big Country hopped out of his truck, not taking kindly to having to hike up this bitch of a mountain with a flashlight, his Sig, and the custom blade Zeus, the newest member of the Brood, had gifted him with.
When he stepped on a half-buried branch, Big Country slid a good three feet back down the incline before he regained his balance. Cursing, he clenched his fists and took a deep breath as he struggled to contain his frustration.When is this clusterfuck of a night gonna end, he wondered as he continued up the steep climb. Though his legs didn’t register any strain or fatigue, his poor heart was already racing toward a finish line that felt like death. Maybe Lynx wasn’t far off when he said Big Country should stop flipping tractor tires and lifting cars and simply take a run along the beach.
He grimaced. He hated running. He hated moving fast unless his life depended on it, but when it did, he struck with the instinctual speed of a pit viper and the force of a Mack truck. Yep, just like his granddaddy used to say,Ain’t no…
“Wouldn’t go up there if I was you.”
Big Country bellowed like a startled bull; some might say hollered, some might say screamed like a little bitch. Either way, his Sig and flashlight were in his hands and aimed straight and unwavering into the heart of darkness.
Otherwise known as Zeus’s chest.
Big Country blinked at the sight before him.
Zeus stood half in shadow, his silver-gray eyes glinting with whatcouldbe called amusement, but the lack of emotion in every other aspect of the man’s face defied the possibility.
With dirt-covered bare feet, Zeus stood there in low-riding jeans, sporting a healing gunshot wound, bloody scratches, and bruises on his customary bare chest.
Not one to contemplate the spiritual side of things, Big Country readily accepted that there was something downright otherworldly about Zeus. And it went beyond Zeus’s relationship with his blades, or his poor social skills; hell, for truth an obsession with their weapons and a semi-antisocial disposition was par for the course for most of the Brood.
No, something about this Brood mate was just…off.
Big Country holstered his weapon, even though Zeus still held a blade the length and width of Big Country’s forearm. Sometime over the course of the last few weeks, Big Country realized that a resting blade, one that wasn’t tapping against Zeus’s thigh or spinning through his fingers, was a relatively non-threatening blade.
