Page 10 of The Enforcer

Jace chortles, choking on his beer. “Holy fuck man, really?”

Pete shrugs, looking cocky. “I knew he wanted it. He couldn’t stop looking between my legs the entire time he was asking about joining the MC.”

I join in the conversation. “No one wants your small dick, dude. He probably just wanted to fuck a biker.”

Winking at me, Pete says in a high Southern Belle accent, “Aw, Enforcer. You say the sweetest things.” We all crack up at how near perfect it sounds, except for the fact that Pete’s voice is deep as fuck. “Seriously, though,” he says, speaking normally, “every time I’m in town, someone comes up to me, flirting and shit.”

Shane nudges him with his elbow, slurring his words a little as he speaks. I think it’s time to cut him off. “Well, stop looking like that and they won’t.”

For some reason, that gets my hackles up. Why is Shane noticing how Pete looks? Yeah, Pete is a handsome son of a bitch, but why is Shane noticing? And why is he commenting on it?

I know how fucking weird those thoughts sound, but I can’t shake them. I don’t like that Shane seems to notice everyone but me.

These thoughts of jealousy are real rich coming from me—a man that likes his men and women in sets of twos and threes. But fuck, Shane is … mine. No one else’s. He shouldn’t notice anyone but me.

Not noticing my inner turmoil, Pete puts his hand to his chest. “Damn, Shane. I didn’t think you’d notice how good looking I am. I’m touched.”

Scoffing, Shane counters with, “I meant you look like a scary asshole. For some reason, people are attracted to that shit.”

Pete leans closer to Shane—too close for my liking. “Someone like you?”

Shane blushes—fucking blushes—and looks at me briefly before turning his drunken gaze back to Pete. “Maybe.” Shane leans a bit closer, getting into Pete’s personal space and swaying a little as the alcohol takes hold of his movements. It’s only sheer force of will that keeps my ass planted on my stool, not pulling my brother outside to beat his ass for hitting on my property. I might not have claimed him publicly, but Shane belongs to me. He’ll figure it out soon enough.

To my surprise—and elation—Shane continues with, “But you’re not my type.” Then the crazy fucker boops Pete on the nose.

There’s a moment of silence while me, Pete and Jace just stare at Shane. Shane’s face is smug, like yeah, he just did what he did. We all burst out laughing.

We keep laughing, making heads turn our way, but we ignore them. A drunk Shane is fucking hilarious. I never thought I’d see the day where someone booped Pete on the nose and didn’t get their fingers broken for their trouble.

I think I want to see more of drunk Shane.

But he’s had enough tonight. “Alright, Counselor. Time for you to go to bed,” I announce, standing from my stool to help him down the hall.

He pouts, his sexy lips poke out and I resist the urge to bend down and press my lips against his. “But I don’t have a bed here.”

I grab him under the arm and say good night to everyone. Pete and Jace grunt and go back to gossiping about some shit going on in town.

This MC is made up of gossipers.

Shane’s warm weight registers as I pull him down the hallway. “There are plenty of beds here. You know that,” I tell him as we walk slowly to the bedrooms.

“Eww. All y’all do is fuck on these beds. No thanks.”

Barking a laugh, I shake my head and pull him in the direction of Rax’s old room. I open the door and walk him to the bed, sitting him down so I can help him undress.

“Not in this one,” I remark. “Not recently anyway. Sheets are clean.” For some reason, we keep this room clean and fixed up as if Rax is coming back. That’s not fucking likely, since he’s technically dead in the US, but we’re a fucking sentimental bunch.

Shane sits up, pushing me away. “I don’t wanna sleep in here. It’s cold.”

“I’ll get you some blankets.”

He huffs, giving me an irritated look as if I’m being thick. “I mean,” he swallows hard and shakes his head, “I mean unfeeling. Clinical. Fucking boring.”

Quicker than I think possible in his inebriated state, Shane pushes himself to his feet and weaves his way across the hall to my room. I catch him around the waist just as he opens the door.

“Where do you think you’re going?” I ask, holding myself back from pasting my body to his. One, he’s drunk. I like my bed partners to be aware of what I do to them. Two, he can’t know how I feel about him. If I bring his body close to mine, he’ll definitely know. Just touching him always has my cock half hard.

“In here,” he points to my bed, looking over his shoulder at me like the answer is obvious. “Where else?” He snatches away and sits on my bed. Shane drunkenly pulls his shoes off with absolutely no finesse and slides into my bed. Then he pats the space beside him, looking at me expectantly.

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