Page 2 of Mischief Mayhem

He was my brother’s idiot best friend, and except for one time . . . a long time ago . . . nothing had ever happened between us. He didn’t even know that was me, and I planned to keep it that way.

“Hey, let me know when you’re ready to roll,” Wheels said, smiling as he passed me to head outside. Right after I’d gotten back from college, Hollywood had been assigned to be my bodyguard, but shortly after the bombing at the Beacon, Wheels had taken over. I never asked why, but I didn’t mind. The younger brother had an easygoing personality and mostly kept to himself. I appreciated that because while things were still being renovated during my day job, I relied a lot on my income from Alba’s camming website, Crimson—sort of like an OnlyFans—that she owned.

I nodded and glanced over to Hollywood again, watching as a hang-around approached him and put her arms around his neck. He shook his head and smiled, whispering something to her that made her pout and back away from him.

“Are you sure?” she whimpered.

He chuckled and tapped the end of her nose. “Don’t be like that, beautiful. It’s only a few more weeks.”

“But I want you now,” she whined.

He ran the back of his knuckle down the side of her cheek, clearly uncomfortable but doing his best to appease her. “You’ll survive.”

Christ, take no for an answer, lady.

I furrowed my brows and finished my beer while she crossed her arms, giving him puppy dog eyes. “You’re no fun now that you’ve taken a vow of chastity?—”

Surprise choked me as bubbles flew up the back of my windpipe and into my nose. My eyes burned, and I coughed, tapping myself on my chest to clear my throat. But that aggravated my scar, and I gasped, struggling to breathe.

Focus. Slow down. Inhale.

I’d noticed he hadn’t been sleeping around as much as he used to, but to cut sex out completely? Holy shit, that’s dramatic.

“You okay?” Bear asked, suddenly at my side with his hand on my shoulder.

I nodded and wheezed a quiet, “Yes,” before hacking again.

“You sure?” My brother’s dark brown eyes radiated concern, his curly hair falling in his face as he assessed me.

Nodding again, I grabbed the glass of water out of his hand and took a few swigs to settle my esophagus before handing it back to him. “Yeah, just . . . it went down the wrong pipe.”

“Listen, I already have one sibling in the hospital; I don’t need a second one.” He smiled, and the movement lit up his entire face, making him look so much like our mother that my heart clenched.

My scar burned again, scalding up the center of my chest with the same agony it had the night I’d been shot. I’d been in the backseat of Saint’s truck when my family’s enemies attacked, and a bullet had gone through Hollywood’s torso into my sternum, where it lodged in my bone until I had surgery to remove most of it. I’d never get rid of it all. Fragments of that bullet, of that night, would be permanently embedded inside my skeleton until I croaked.

“Did you hear they’re discharging him soon?” I grinned. “I’ve got the space at my house to take him if you and Castor can’t.”

Thor and Selene had moved out a few weeks ago, leaving the whole place for me. When Wheels started babysitting me, he’d moved into the basement, but he mostly kept to himself. Having Pollux around wouldn’t be a hardship.

“No, Castor swears he’s got it. You know they have that twin telepathy thing.” Bear chuckled and shook his head before giving me a more serious stare. “You probably ought to check in on them from time to time.”

I laughed and agreed. Where Bear always had his head on straight, the twins had the luxury of living like carefree teenagers . . . at least until the Beacon. When Pollux got out of the hospital, the three of us would take on the brunt of caring for him until he was self-sufficient again. With third-degree burns on fifty percent of his body and a healing wound from shoulder to groin, he should have died that night. I thanked whatever Goddess watching out for us that he hadn’t.

“Sure,” I said, nodding to our father in the far corner, whispering to the MC’s vice president and Ru’s father, Aris, who stood next to the road captain, Slip. “How’s he doing?”

Pollux’s injury had worn him down in addition to being the patriarch of this fucked-up found family. His hair had turned nearly gray and heavy bags sat under his eyes, a hint as to the last time he’d had a full night’s sleep. Being the president of the SRMC meant the crown lay on his head, and every casualty, every ounce of blood spilled, was the direct result of his action or inaction.

Imagine the pressure.

Bear sighed and took another drink. “He’ll be better once Pollux is moving around again.”

“Are you coming to the Valentine’s Day party tomorrow?”

My brother barked out a laugh and shook his head. “No, I’ve got guard duty, thank fucking God.” Before he could elaborate, our father caught his stare and nodded, gesturing Bear over. Pushing himself upright, he clinked his glass against mine and moved to walk away. “Take it easy, V.”

“You, too.” I watched Bear make his way to Dad and the other MC officers, and by the time I glanced back at Hollywood, he’d already disappeared.

“Jesus, you look like hell.” Castor whistled and walked closer to his twin, who had already situated himself in the wheelchair for our daily walk. He’d been stable for a few days now, and if he kept up his stamina, the doctors said he could leave soon.

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