Welcome to Brawlers Bar…
Life wasn’t easy when you were certifiable, Gerald “Psycho” Clemons lived on the fringes of society. Five years he hadn’t thought twice about riding with a group who saw most laws as flexible. When the leader of the group turned crazier than Psycho he stepped in and made the man pay. He’d never been rewarded for his temper before, yet that’s what happened when he earned a permanent place and a job as a bouncer. Everyone walked a wide circle around him and he liked it that way. One look from his cold black eyes and he had people backing up. Then he met a man who had to be crazier than him.
Decadence Bakery was Ben Morin’s dream come true and he loved it, but he grew tired of his lonely existence. Six months earlier he’d turned on the open sign and hopefully changed his life for the better. Ben loved his small cottage in the middle of nowhere even with the 3 a.m. rumbling of motorcycles and loud music at the farm next door. Although one thing he didn’t love was his new hobby of watching one of the terrifying men next door. What could a little harmless peek every now and then hurt?
Sweet and older wasn’t his type, but Psycho couldn’t deny the need to possess the beautiful baker. It was stronger than even the insanity he barely kept at bay, could he have a man who looked passed it or would Ben run like all the rest?
Motherfucker, Where Are Your Meds?
Lean perfection strolled through the thinning crowd of scarred leather and dirty boots with a grace that put all men to shame. Fuck, he wanted a pretty fucker like that, Elijah Davis-Sheridan belonged to his bosses, but he’d trailed Elijah for months studying the man. What the hell had two rough sons of bitches like Scary and Tank done to earn Elijah? Gerald Clemons aka Psycho still couldn’t figure that shit out.
“The bosses are going to get the wrong idea if you keep checking out their husband.”
He turned his head to find Twitch, the pretty little bartender, watching him with his pointed chin resting on top his laced fingers. Crave, Brawlers’ head of security, had gotten the sweet little man and Crave was a bigger asshole than him. What the fuck was he doing wrong?
“Elijah is my responsibility.”
“You know Eli doesn’t need his own security, right?”
“Of course he does, look at him, what bastard wouldn’t—”
“Don’t get a hard-on for Scary and Tank’s man, I really kinda like you.”
“You’re kinda sweet in a socially awkward psychotic sort of way.”
No one ever thought he was sweet before. Twitch was small and delicate—beautiful—he didn’t do well with those things. He looked down at his scarred hands with the rough, calloused knuckles from years of fighting. Psycho wasn’t gentle. His voice was as rough as his exterior with a gravelly, dangerous tone, it wasn’t sweet or soothing.
He’d listened to Scary talk to Elijah, Crave to Twitch, and their men just seemed to relax. He was fucked, and he didn’t want to be, he wanted a man that actually liked him for shit other than his dick. Even though he had to admit that monster was fucking impressive. He was getting distracted.
“Is that something men like, sweet?” He felt his snarl and sensed that wasn’t the right reaction. It was going to be harder than he first thought.
“You don’t have to say it like it’s disgusting. Not all men—”
“But what are sweet things,” Psycho laid his forearms on the bar and leaned forward.
“I don’t know dates—”
“I can do dates, what else?”
“Psycho, this is all pretty—”
“What else?” He grimaced as he raised his voice. Bad Psycho, he mentally yelled at himself.
“Calm down, damn, okay, let’s see, doing things for a person you care about?”
“Have you ever been on a date?”
“I used to take my ex-wife on dates. Bernie liked pizza and beer, improving her accuracy as a sniper. That woman had a mean fucking aim. It was fucking beautiful.”
Bernie was just as fucking vicious as him. She’d rather throw down against a man three times her size than do all that shit chicks like to do. They were both bi, but she leaned more toward women while he was more interested in fucking men.
They hadn’t loved each other in a romantic way. They both grew up in the same crew. No one fucking knew what right was and useless things such as consciences were beaten out of them early. They’d skipped out of their hometown together. They hadn’t parted ways until a few years ago when Bernie hooked up with a pretty little waitress down in Texas.
“Okay, let me ask you this. Is it someone like Elijah you’re looking for or maybe someone like—”
“Elijah. I mean, I’m just like them. I’m an asshole. I’ve made grown men piss themselves, I’m fucking terrifying and I can’t…what the fuck am I doing wrong?”
“Maybe you’re just trying too hard.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“You’re tagging along after Elijah to do recon to figure out what Scary and Tank did to earn him, right?”
“Yeah, but he also needs someone to watch his back.”
“You may think so, but I’m sure Elijah can take care of himself.”
“He got himself kidnapped and then taunted the crazy fucker, the man ain’t…oh, he ain’t right, is he?”
“Elijah is fine, he complements Scary and Tank, and they do the same to him. Two similar people in the same relationship—”
“Maybe, but you need someone who makes everything calm. Soothes the chaos storming inside you.”
“Is that what Crave does for you, calms you? Shouldn’t fucking be involved?”
“Yes, sex is important, but Crave grounds me when things get to be too much in my head. He brings me back.”
“This is so fucking confusing.”
“You want a beer?”
“And a shot, make it a double, make it two.”
Twitch’s laughter was almost musical. He hadn’t heard it much before the man hooked up with Crave. Would he do that for a man? He didn’t see how it was possible. Psycho was a hard man. He’d literally fought for survival and dominance since he understood hierarchy. The meanest fucker won, and the weakest licked someone’s fucking boots.
He observed Twitch as the man set him up with two rock glasses with doubles of top shelf bourbon and a dark perspiring bottle. Twitch left him alone with his thoughts. He wasn’t going to find one of those elusive men in a place like Brawlers. Sure, he could find a fuck easy enough, but he could get the same with a good jerk off session. Best thing is afterward he didn’t have to kick some trick out of his bed.
He downed the two doubles in quick succession and chased it with the ice-cold beer. The liquor warmed his stomach and chest, then the beer eased it. What was he supposed to do? He worked at Brawlers five nights a week, took long rides on his bike in his free time and that’s it. He hung out with guys he worked with and considered friends. Bernie had been his only friend before he’d moved there.
Psycho didn’t live in the house with the guys, Bull let him move a trailer behind the barn. He’d gotten used to his space. Too many years of camping out on a bedroll between towns with whoever he was riding with at the time. Cheap motels came in handy for cold nights or hookups. He slid the glasses to the bar rail for Twitch to wash. Last call was coming up, and then they’d be headed out while Scary and Tank handled the accounting shit.
“Psycho, you’re quieter than normal.”
He turned to see Elijah take the stool next to his and smile up at him. Elijah’s head was tilted slightly as the man studied him. Sometimes he wondered if Elijah thought of him as a project, but then he shook off the thought. Elijah didn’t possess a hardened edge or a mean bone in his body. He wasn’t saying Elijah couldn’t throw down when his husbands or daughter, Juvie, were in danger. It just took a lot to make the man lose his temper.
“Stupid shit,” Psycho didn’t want to go into it. He’d already tried the advice thing with Twitch, and it left him baffled.
“Come on, Psycho, talk to me.” Elijah reached out and pushed his bicep.
“I don’t know how to date.”
“Of course you don’t, you’ve never had to do it before. I’ve met Bernie, and she’s as hard as you, she didn’t seem like the romantic date type. So, what’re you going to do about it?”
“Nothing,” He answered.
“Bullshit, you’re around men all the time, one of them had to have caught your attention.”
“Nope.” He found plenty of men he’d fuck, but none he’d want to date or even take the time to try.
“Okay, then what are you looking for?”
“I don’t know, someone like you. Scary and Tank got you, and they’re—”
Elijah cut him off with a chuckle.
“I love my men. All the rough edges and all, but you’re not exactly approachable.”
“Psycho, you scowl all the time. I’ve never seen you smile beyond one of your micro-smiles.”
He felt the corner of his mouth lift.
“See, you should do that more often and for a little longer.”
“Smile, check, what else?”
“Maybe go places in town instead of hanging out here.”
“I don’t know, maybe take a ride around town. I know you like to read. There’s that new bakery next to Nightingale’s Books. Juvie loves their cinnamon rolls.”
“Go places, check, what—”
“Don’t worry about it so much. You’re stressing. You’re weird, but you’re not that bad. I think you may even be a catch.”
“Really, ready to leave—”
Elijah laughed, and two pissed off growls joined it.
Psycho glanced behind Elijah to find Scary and Tank watching Psycho with murder in their eyes.
“I don’t poach.”
“We’re starting to doubt that. Baby, you ready to go home and enjoy the rest of the night without our little chaperon?”
“Definitely,” Elijah whispered and leaned forward to brush Psycho’s cheek with his soft, full lips. “You’ll find him, Psycho, I’m sure of it.”
“No problem,” Elijah spun and before he could stand, both Scary and Tank reached for Elijah.
Psycho watched the way the guy melted into his men. Again, he couldn’t find or keep one man, and there were men who’d found two men to love them. Psycho was jealous as fuck. He turned back to his beer as the three men walked off and he was left alone. Crave was leaned across the bar sharing a kiss with a blushing Twitch. Bull was at the end opposite him staring into a double whiskey neat he never drank. Hunter was curled up in a booth on his phone doing whatever Hunter did.
He dropped his gaze to his bottle and slowly peeled the label as he rethought his original plan. Maybe it just wasn’t meant to be, and he was dreaming of the impossible. Psycho lifted the bottle to his mouth, drained the last of it, and set it on the rail. He didn’t bother to say goodbye when he stood and headed for the door. A long ride is what he needed, he didn’t have work tomorrow, so he didn’t have to be home anytime soon. Home—was this fucking place home or was it time to move on again?
COPYRIGHT 2017 J.M. DABNEY (HOSTILE WHISPERS PRESS, LLC)
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Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/J.M.-Dabney/e/B006QZIFLE/ref=dp_byline_cont_ebooks_1
J.M. Dabney is a multi-genre author who writes mainly LGBT romance and fiction. She lives with a constant diverse cast of characters in her head. No matter their size, shape, race, etc. she lives for one purpose alone, and that’s to make sure she does them justice and give them the happily ever after they deserve. J.M. is dysfunction at its finest and she makes sure her characters are a beautiful kaleidoscope of crazy. There is nothing more she wants from telling her stories than to show that no matter the package the characters come in or the damage their pasts have done, that love is love. That normal is never normal and sometimes the so-called broken can still be amazing.