Page 1 of Carver's Obsession

Chapter One

“Hey, Boss!”

Striker and Feral come out of the office with scowls on their faces. All day there had been one interruption after another, and Striker was getting pissed.

“Chains,” he yelled with his hands on his hips. “What’s the problem now?”

“He’s back.”

Striker’s brows pinched together. “Who?”

“Carver,” Chains said.

Striker glanced at his vice, Feral. “I didn’t think he’d come back.”

Feral shrugged. “You can never tell with that bastard. We need to warn him up-front if he makes trouble again, he’s out for good.”

Striker nodded. He loved Carver like a brother, but the man had so many demons it was hard for him to deal with day-to-day interactions most of the time. Striker didn’t know how many fights he stopped because someone looked at the man wrong.

The last time, Carver had put Iron in the hospital with a broken arm and concussion. That’s when he and Feral decided to push the guy out and tell him only to come back when he was mentally able to be around other people.

Striker had missed the guy. From the beginning, he’d been with the Vipers and would do whatever the prez said. He’d been fun to party with, and the girls had loved him. There were a few times he’d gotten a bit rough with the sweet butts when he fucked them, but Striker had said something to him, and the guy had stopped.

Striker called him on it and told him if he couldn’t treat them like humans, he’d not be able to fuck the sluts again. Carver had been surprised, which told Striker he hadn’t meant to hurt anyone. He just didn’t know how to deal with females.

From what information Striker had gotten from him, mostly when he was drunk, Carver’s childhood had been pure torture. The people who raised him had put him to work at five years old. Any sick pedophile in the area had him. His looks didn’t help. His nickname was Pretty Boy.

He would never know if the people he lived with were his parents or not. When he was thirteen, he’d run away and never looked back.

Striker wished someone had saved Carver when he was young, but he always said that no one fucking cared about the impoverished people who lived in the hood. Most people thought of him and the others as animals and not to be treated with kindness.

When he came into the main area, Striker was shocked at his first sight of the man. His hair was cut military-style short, and he used to wear it longer. There were also a few more tattoos he didn’t remember the guy having. He looked a decade older than he was, and his body was bigger and more muscular. He must have spent a lot of time working out or something.

Striker was pleased when several guys approached Carver, pounding on his back with brutal male affection. Even Iron walked up to him. Striker watched them talk, and then the two hugged, pounding on each other. Striker was glad Iron had broken the ice so quickly. He wanted Carver to settle in and consider himself home.

He hoped that when he saw the girls and how they’d changed the place and calmed most of the men by caring for them, it would help Carver calm down and feel content. Good women made their lives better. He and his brothers learned that.

Carver saw him and Feral and walked over to them.

“Hey, Boss.”

“We’re glad you’re home,” Striker said. He saw a flash of hopeful light in the other man’s eyes.

“I didn’t know if I would be welcome or not,” Carver said.

Feral was the first to hug him, and then Striker.

“I don’t remember you all being so affectionate,” Carver said.

The people around him laughed. Striker heard yelling and rolled his eyes. He looked at Carver to see how he would take the next minute.

Blood walked into the room with Willow over his shoulder. She was yelling at him and pounding on his back. The group watched until the two were gone.

“Who the fuck was that with Blood?’ Carver asked.

“There have been some changes around here,” Feral said. “We’ll tell you all of them.”

“Are you hungry?” Striker asked.

---