Chapter 2

2

Kyle

I’m so sorry, Sir.

Well, River couldn’t really be mad; Kyle had texted him as soon as the sub had stopped puking. He texted back quickly so the boy wouldn’t worry.

River

Get some rest, boy. There will be other nights.

Kyle

Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.

He sat himself down on a barstool. “Whiskey, please, Deacon.”

“Not playing tonight, Master McIntyre?”

“Not tonight. I’m just going to sniff this and watch.” He thought about actually drinking it this time; he always thought about it when he got stood up, but he knew himself too well. He was not pouting. This was just… a simple course correction. He didn’t mind when plans changed.

He was the king of “roll with it.”

Right.

His friends would laugh if he said that out loud.

“Watching is also good.” A whiskey landed on the bar. “There you go.”

“Good boy.”

“I try!” Deacon grinned at him. Deacon was a sweetheart, absolutely the most easygoing bartender in history, happy to serve and listen, help out and keep things working.

And completely unavailable, which made him easy to talk to.

“Hello, River.”

“Hey, Thomas.” He started to slide off his stool, but Thomas stopped him.

“No, sit. I’ll join you.”

“What? Why? Are you on your own? Where’s Sam?” Thomas was rarely here without his boy.

One of Thomas’s eyebrows lifted, and man, someone was going to be in trouble tonight, that was clear as crystal. “He had a friend come into town unexpectedly.”

“A friend.” He took a sniff of his whiskey and thought about that. A friend Thomas wouldn’t care about. A cowboy friend… “Another can-I-crash-on-your-couch type?”

“That would be the type. All hat and no job.”

“Deacon, Thomas needs his Fireball.”

“On it, Sir!”

“You’re very thoughtful, not to mention very right. This young man is on a very volatile road.”

“Volatile. So… what does that mean? Is he a drinker? Is he into something dangerous?”

Deacon set the shot down, and Thomas swallowed it back, then tapped the glass for another. Thomas put his fingers on the second shot but didn’t pick it up.

“He’d been in a fight, or several fights, when he showed up. He took Sam out drinking again last night. That’s two in a row.”

“Sam knows his limits.” He was a good boy.

“Sam is a Texan.” Thomas said that like it was a curse and a fascination.

“Hm. I get your point.” He shrugged. “This kid is a Texan too?” He assumed it was a kid, or a kid compared to them anyway; Sam seemed to know a lot of them.

“I think so. He’s not terribly forthcoming with information. I’ve managed to ascertain that he is a bullrider. Or was.”

Sam had ridden something too. Bulls? Horses? He couldn’t remember. Either way, it was another high-adrenaline situation. “Boys.”

“Yes, and this one keeps daring my boy into activities with greater and greater levels of risk.” Thomas rolled his eyes, the sarcasm thick. “If he doesn’t stop, eventually my brother-in-law will get involved, and I try never to involve Bowie.”

“Bowie… he’s the one down on the Gulf? The big guy?” He’d never met Bowie; he’d only heard stories from Sam. Bowie didn’t seem the type to appreciate the club.

“He is. He’s Sam’s big brother. He’s Angel’s man. They run a number of rental homes on the beach.”

“Sam’s smart. Or, if he’s not, that’s what he has you for.” He wasn’t sure what was worse, having that level of responsibility for someone, or having the occasional night alone on a barstool. “Maybe it’s time to throw the cowboy kid out.”

“Yes, although my boy is going to make me pay for that for a month.”

River could see that. Sam was a brilliant academic and could plan trouble while managing to stay within the rules.

“I’m glad I don’t have that to contend with. Although my plans fell through tonight. I’m not sure which is better.”

“I’m fairly su—” Thomas’s phone rang, and he frowned. “Excuse me.”

“Of course.” That was a heck of a frown. He picked up his whiskey and breathed it in, then stared at it studiously so it didn’t appear he was eavesdropping.

“Hey, Mike. What’s—you have who in your office? Wait. Hang on.” Thomas looked at him. “That fucking kid.”

Whoa. Thomas looked like he was ready to tear that little cowboy’s head off, and he was only one minute into the conversation. “What can I do?”

Thomas sighed, waved at him, and put the phone on speaker as they headed out to the street.

“—kneeling, and I heard Sammy trying to stop him, but things were already spiraling out-of-control. This kid has a death wish.”

Whoa.

Mike owned a biker bar that regularly hosted fight nights. Out-of-control was a regular occurrence over there. It had to be pretty bad for Mike to say the kid had a death wish. Thomas clearly needed some backup.

He didn’t have plans.

“Is Sam okay? I’ll get a cab.” He headed for the curb and stuck an arm out.

“Sammy’s fine. A little bruised and a lot shaken, but he’s fine.” Mike’s chuckle sounded wry. “I haven’t seen that temper in a long time. When he gets wound up, he’s explosive.”

Thomas’s face was a thundercloud. “I may have to spend the next week reminding him who he belongs to.”

“Come on, Thomas. Hang up. Let’s get in the cab.” Thomas needed a minute to breathe before he saw those boys.

“I’ve got them, Thomas. They’re not going anywhere.” Mike’s tone was somewhere between amused and deadly.

“They most certainly are not.” Thomas pushed his phone in his pocket. “Apparently there were some words thrown about who was tougher, bikers or cowboys, and there was a melee.”

They climbed into the cab, and River shut the door. Thomas gave the driver the address. “Is your boy usually spoiling for a fight?”

“No. Not my Sam. Not anymore.” Thomas was very sure.

But he used to. Once scrappy, always scrappy. He kept his mouth shut on that point. “He’s okay. That’s what matters. And you haven’t heard his side of the story yet. Or his friend’s for that matter. Something happened, so let’s wait and see what they tell you.”

“His side of the story will go, ‘Mister, I had to help him. He’s my friend.’” Thomas didn’t sound as if he doubted that at all.

“All right. Then you have a kid with a problem on your hands.”

“Not my hands.” Thomas shook his head. “Not when Sam needs me. And my boy is going to need me.”

“Well… let’s see what we see.” He couldn’t see Thomas throwing the guy out on the street, not really, and not if he was hurt. As Doms, they had more responsibility than most. But he understood priorities. God, what a mess.

The cab pulled up, and Thomas was halfway to the bar before he’d finished paying. He hurried to catch up.

The bar was a true dive, and the people that wandered in and out were loud and rowdy, smacking one another. Honestly, he could not imagine Thomas in this milieu.

At all.

But Thomas marched in like he knew where he was going and had obviously been here many times before. He was tough to follow as he cut through the crowd on a mission, but River kept up the best he could.

“Hey, Thomas, I’ll tell him you’re here.” A woman behind the bar picked up a phone and Thomas gave her a wave.

“Thanks, Darla.”

Wow. Thomas must come here a lot.

He was mulling that over as they rounded the end of the bar and headed down a narrow hall.

“What is this?”

“There’s a more private place downstairs. That’s where they’ll have the boys.”

Sure enough, at the bottom of a short flight of stairs Thomas brandished a card and waved it in front of a security block and a heavy door opened. This room was quiet, with soft lighting, and big, upholstered chairs by a low table. Across the room beside a wall of heavy curtains were two boys kneeling with their heads down. Sam’s hands were in his lap, and the other kid’s were behind his back.

An enormous man he assumed was Mike stood as they walked in.

“Thomas.” Mike shook Thomas’s hand and looked at him.

“River.”

“Pleased. Sorry to meet you under these circumstances, but I’m glad Thomas isn’t alone.”

He nodded, and they shook hands. “I thought he could use some backup.”

“Would you like to come sit in my of⁠—”

“Okay, I have had enough! Sam, what the hell is going on here?” There was a mix of panic and fury and disbelief in the man’s drawl, and those hazel eyes flashed with lightning.

At least what he could see of them.

This kid was a mass of bruises, and he was all lean muscle, arms wiry and covered with ink.

“You will not speak again unless one of us speaks to you, Kacey. You thought those bikers were trouble? I’m more trouble than all of them when I’m angry.” Thomas went to Sam and stood so close his knees nearly touched Sam’s bowed forehead. “What do I need to know, boy?”

“I said no, Mister.” Sam leaned toward Thomas, a rough chuckle sounding. “I even said revolver, but no one understood, so I had to have his back. Things got out of hand. I’m sorry.”

Remarkably, Sam started to relax, like Thomas’s presence made things better even if he was in trouble. Such a sweet boy; that trust was enviable.

But Kacey tensed up, and the muscle in the kid’s jaw tightened. “This is bullshit.” The kid started to stand, and Thomas moved like lightning, grabbing the back of Kacey’s neck, pushing it to the floor and smacking Kacey’s upturned ass like a bad puppy.

“I said quiet, boy.”

Kacey’s entire body began to tense, tightening like a spring that was being wound impossibly far, but he didn’t say another word.

Interesting.

Sam shivered, and that confusion was hard to see, but the way that Sam kept still, trusted in his Dom? That was fine, and his respect for Thomas rose higher.

“River…”

He knew instantly what Thomas needed. “Sure. I got him.” He moved to Kacey and stood beside the boy while Thomas bent and spoke softly to Sam.

“No one understood, but I do,” Thomas whispered. “How badly are you hurt?”

He tried not to listen, even Mike slipped out of the room, so he focused on the kid—on Kacey—who looked pretty bad off. Somewhere under the blood and the bruises and the ink was a boy in trouble. Some big kind of trouble. Trouble Thomas wasn’t going to want to deal with. Who would? Everyone he knew had had enough trouble in their lives.

Those eyes cut up toward him, a wild mixture of gold and bright green, begging him for help.

Him? What could he possibly do? But how could he just do nothing when Kacey was looking at him like that?

He held his finger to his lips and found himself nodding, not even sure himself what he meant. But still and quiet was the best move for the moment in any case.

The pretty eyes closed, but the tension in Kacey’s face eased some, and he settled deeper into his position, stabilizing.

Thomas helped Sam to his feet, and they were both noticeably calmer as well. “What am I supposed to do with this friend of yours now?”

Sam closed his eyes. “He’s not bad, Mister. I swear to God. I just—I can’t keep up.”

“I’ll get my shit. Just leave it outside with the dudes downstairs.” Kacey’s lip curled, Sam’s tightened, and someone was about to explode again.

His money was on Thomas.

“No one is fucking throwing you out! Just stop it!” Thomas’s boy could snarl. “Jesus fucking Christ! Just because you⁠—”

“Shut up, O’Reilly. You don’t know dick-all about me.”

“I have had enough!” Thomas barked.

“I’ll take him.” The room went silent suddenly, so River said it again. “I’ll take him.” Everyone stared at him, and frankly, he didn’t know what he was doing either. But the energy in the room was charged with emotion, and it was making him uneasy. “Come on, Kacey.” He wasn’t giving anyone a chance to talk him out of it.

Kacey blinked, obviously utterly confused, but he stumbled to his feet, swaying. “Come where?”

“With me. You and Sam can’t be friends right now, but a friend isn’t going to toss you out either, so this is best for tonight. Do you need help?” He reached for Kacey, offering him an arm.

“I got it. Thanks. Shit, I don’t even know where the fuck I am…”

He heard Sam murmur, “I have to say sorry to Daddy Mike.”

“Alcohol and a few hits to the head will do that.”

Thomas took a step toward him. “River, you don’t have to do this.”

River snorted. “Yes, I do. Call me when you’re up and moving tomorrow.”

“Thank you.”

He winked at Thomas. “You owe me one.” He headed for the door and held it for Kacey who was moving slowly. “It’s crowded up there, and I don’t know what your reception will be but⁠—”

“Hey.” Mike seemed to come out of nowhere. “I got this. Follow me.”

“Thank you.” Jesus, that man was huge. Absolutely gargantuan. He wasn’t used to looking up to anyone. The sea of bikers and drunks parted like Mike was the Messiah, and they passed the bar without a single comment or anyone harassing Kacey.

“There you go.”

“Thanks, Mike. I’m sorry about all of this.”

“Thanks for helping my friends out. Safe home.” They shook hands, and he led Kacey out to the street.

Kacey stood there, quiet and drawn into himself, eyes on the sidewalk.

“So how badly are you hurt? You might as well be honest with me; you don’t have much to lose.”

“I don’t have dick to lose.” Kacey turned away and spit blood on the ground. “I been tenderized. Like riding seven and a half and getting caught in your bullrope for the next ten.”

He turned his head and looked at Kacey. He had no idea what that meant, but he thought he got the picture. “Do you think anything is broken?”

“Couple fingers. Maybe a rib or three. Gon’ piss blood for a few days. Nothing serious.” That didn’t even sound like sarcasm.

The cab arrived, and he watched Kacey climb in like an old man, wincing and groaning. He slid in the other side and looked at the cabbie. “Emergency room, please.”