The Brotherhood 4: Good Luck Piece Read online

  “Thing is, the club -- it’s alive, you knew that, right? -- like a bloody chameleon or something. Knows what you’re thinking and you’re doing -- hey, now, are you all right?”

  Simon’s chest squeezed tight as he fought between terror at the thought of being swallowed deep inside the bowels of a living, sentient building, and the soothing layer of blasé that Finn’s words cast over him. He nodded. “Go on.”

  Finn gave him a dubious look. “I come here when I can, to have a drink. Only thing is, the club doesn’t like me. Before now, it’s kept me stuck in the Bar & Grill where only the worst of the losers belong. They call the place Last Chance, probably their idea of a joke. If you’re there, you’ve got absolutely no chance at all of escaping. Of finding someone. Of getting an opportunity to laugh and dance. But I got out, got free, and I can even talk to you without you being scared of me. Fuckin’ yes!”

  Simon swallowed down his fear. He felt ... odd. As if his ability to believe Finn was fading, being replaced by the beginnings of a true panic attack. “I ... I think so,” he said, trying to back up a step or two. “Whatever you say.” He clenched his fist tight around the strips of leather. “Just don’t hurt me, please? I’ll be on my way, and I’ll never tell anyone about this. All right?”

  Finn looked shocked and hurt. “Simon? You believe me, don’t you?”

  Another crashing sound was heard. Glasses? Mirrors? Bad luck, bad! Simon’s heart leapt into his throat and lodged there, pounding rabbit-fast and shrieking with pain. Everything within him sent one single message loud and clear: Run! Run now! Run fast! Get away from here!

  With a low groan of terror, he tried ducking past Finn to flee.

  “No!” Finn yelped, catching Simon by the middle. “No, don’t! Don’t! Please, stay -- please!”

  Simon struggled as hard as he could to run.

  Finn held him tight and would not let go.

  Gripping Simon by the waist, Finn struggled to calm the man down, all the while avoiding a kick to the nuts or an elbow in the ribs. “It’s all right, man, it’s all right!” he soothed desperately. “You still believe me, don’t you? Come on, now, it’s me. We’ve been talking and everything’s been going great. We’ve been getting along. Do you know how many centuries --”

  Simon let out a ragged cry of horror and struggled all the harder. The penny finally dropped. The magic’s broken, Finn realized. I messed it up somehow. He’s more frightened of me now than he ever was before.

  I can’t let this happen. Can’t let him go. I want him. Want him so much. Gods, I need him. He has to stay and listen -- I have to make the magic work for us again --

  Frantic, he grabbed at Simon’s thrashing limbs, desperate to make him stand still and listen. “Say it again!” he demanded. “What you said before, to break the geas. Come on, man, talk!”

  Simon struggled harder. One blow got lucky and drove into Finn’s stomach, knocking the breath out of his in a noisy gasp. He automatically let go, and Simon -- Simon ran, as fast as if the hounds of hell were at his heels.

  No!

  Finn made a desperate lunge, tackling Simon to the ground. He couldn’t let him go -- not now, not when he’d been so close, not when he’d found there was someone out there clever enough to make the magic work for him, not against.

  “Listen to me,” he ordered raggedly as he writhed his way up Simon’s struggling body. “You have to listen. You’ve got to believe me! I know you remember what it was like just minutes ago. You weren’t afraid. You weren’t! Come on, man, come on, please, Simon, please!”

  Finn reached Simon’s torso and grabbed his flailing arms, pinning them in place. “You have to let me in, Simon. Let me talk to you. You have to feel it one more time. You have to let me love you!”

  Simon screamed, a low, horrible man’s scream, like the sound of a male banshee wailing for the dying. “No!” he managed to choke out. “No -- can’t -- you’ll kill me -- don’t, please don’t! Let me go!”

  Finn was far beyond common sense and being clever. “You have to feel it,” he said, pinning Simon’s arms flat. He struggled for something that would work. “I’ll hurt you,” he said desperately. “Hurt you and whip you and leave you bleeding. Don’t believe me. Don’t listen to a thing I say. Come on!”

  Simon shrieked again, a sound truly horrible to hear. He kept fighting, but beneath his fingers tightly gripping the man’s wrists, Finn could feel Simon’s heartbeat begin to stutter and buck. Oh, gods, he’s having a heart attack, or just about to!

  “Please,” he begged, bending down to rain kisses on the back of Simon’s neck and shoulders. “Please, I just want to love you. Why don’t you believe me anymore? Why can’t I get back in?!”

  “You -- Stop! Stop this instant! Do you hear me?”

  Finn jerked up, stared into the face of -- Liam. A Liam who looked tired and worn, but also definitely and seriously pissed off. Behind him, arms folded with some articles of clothing, face marked with annoyed ennui, was the bartender from the Last Chance. Trey.

  Liam turned to Trey. “Yes, I know they are not supposed to break out of your domain. I had thought if Finn and Simon met halfway --” He raised his hands helplessly. “Things were going well.”

  Trey gave Liam a dry look.

  “They were!” Finn protested. Simon gave a low moan.

  “I’m sure,” Liam said. He sighed. “You have to go back and, Simon, you must go with him.”

  “No!” Simon begged, although he seemed to have lost the strength to physically fight. “Liam, he’s going to kill me!”

  Liam knelt and put two fingers under Simon’s chin, lifting his face so that their eyes could meet. “He will not kill you,” the incubus said gently. “Finn has problems, but he only wants the best, and his intentions are nothing but good. Go with him, and with Trey, this man here, to the Last Chance. You belong there, and so does Finn, but only for the moment.”

  “Liam ...” Simon begged.

  “Hush, now, hush. I know best. Trust me, Simon. Just a little longer, and you will understand it all.” Liam bent to press a kiss on Simon’s forehead. Finn felt the man’s body shudder beneath him with a ripple of lust, the inevitable side effect of an incubus’s touch. It traveled through him as well, filling his heart and his cock with an ache that burned for completion.

  Liam fixed Finn with a glare. “You be careful,” he said in a low voice. “No more of this foolish panicking. Remember how you did it right, once, and do it thus again.”

  Finn shook his head. He didn’t dare voice any words, but tried to transmit in his gaze. How can I, when I can’t even talk to the man?

  Liam sighed. “Very well. I may yet owe Amour another trinket for bending the rules until they break, but here.” He bent, his lips resting first lightly on Simon’s, then on Finn’s. Finn stiffened with the contact, then felt a roll of something warm rush through him.

  “Now, you may at least communicate. Love has many voices. Find the one I have been allowed to give you. Be warned, though, it is only good for the two of you,” Liam said, standing up. “Even I have only so much power to share, especially on this night when I am needed elsewhere. So many elsewheres.” He rubbed his temples. “Trey, take them now. They are yours until they are no longer yours.”

  Trey nodded, looking disgusted. He tossed his armful of clothes at Simon and Finn, a worn flannel shirt and a pair of old jeans. The message was clear. Simon should get dressed, and they both had to follow him.

  Creakily as an old man, Finn peeled himself off Simon and let the man stand. Simon got to his feet as rustily as Finn had, looking anxiously from Liam, who nodded reassuringly and patted his arm, to Trey, who gave him his patented Blank Look.

  Simon refused, or didn’t think, to look back around at Finn. Slowly, he bent, picked up the clothes and began to dress. Finn watched him sorrowfully, those beautiful legs and that glorious ass being covered by loose, soft denim ... But the physical aspect was only a tiny part of his overwhelming grief.

&
nbsp; In Simon, Finn knew now -- knew -- he’d found the one man who could break the magics that had held him prisoner for so very long. The one man he could fall in love with -- no, hell, had already fallen for, hard and fast. But he’d screwed it up, probably beyond all hope of reclamation.

  Or perhaps ... Finn paused, touching his lips, still tingling from Liam’s incubus kiss. Perhaps he still had one small hope remaining.

  He’d find out when they got back to the Last Chance.

  He suspected they’d all find out a lot, and probably more than they wanted to know.

  Chapter Seven

  Blind and dumb, doing only as he’d been told because he could not, simply could not, think for himself just then, Simon stumbled along behind the silent, sullen bartender and in front of Finn. He could feel the man slouching along behind, gazing at him with sorrowful hound-dog eyes.

  Simon stifled a hysterical giggle. No doubt the bartender, Trey, thought him quite mad already. It wouldn’t do to reinforce the notion. Though if the man was used to the likes of Finn and even Liam, a full-blown fit probably wouldn’t dent his ennui.

  A small laugh escaped anyway. He was fully dressed, save for his feet, but he felt naked. A shirt on his back and jeans on his legs, all his privates decently covered, but they weren’t clothes. They weren’t armor, because they weren’t his suit. His three-piece suit, God rest its soul, whatever Amour Magique had done with the thing. Without it, he was helpless as a -- what did children do, when they wanted to be especially vicious? Country or city, it didn’t matter. They’d turn turtles or beetles on their backs to watch them squirm, legs flailing about to right themselves.

  Simon felt as if he was trapped inside a carapace, unable to protect himself, flipped about at the whim of a larger, carelessly cruel force.

  He did not like it.

  I’ll hurt you, he kept hearing, over and over, ringing in his ears. I’ll hurt you. Unconsciously, Simon shivered, wrapping his arms around his chest. He couldn’t sort himself out when it came to Finn. The Irishman had been first terrifying, then a puzzle, then a delight, and then the worst possible sort of monster.

  What was he now? Simon dared a peep over his shoulder, looking quickly away when Finn’s glance flickered up to meet his own. He didn’t understand Finn. Out of the terrible loop of physical violence and tongue-ties, the rational part of his brain insisted that Finn was what he claimed to be: a leprechaun, albeit an unlucky one, who meant the best, but achieved the worst. He comprehended how Finn could have panicked and not thought about what sort of effect his words and actions would have.

  All the same, Simon didn’t know if he could forgive Finn.

  In front of him, Trey came to a stop and grunted. Simon looked at him curiously, realizing they were in front of a locked set of double glass doors. Looking up further still as Trey fished a key out of his pocket, he saw the sign formed of half-lit neon, and finally, the crazy mirth burst out of him. “Last Chance Bar & Grill?”

  Well, it was either laugh or cry, wasn’t it? He couldn’t stop giggling, even as Trey bumped the doors open with a hip and led them inside, a crowd of unattractive men gaping at him from every bar stool, table, and booth. This was where he belonged, he supposed. Leave it to even a building to make it clear he had no place with the young and beautiful.

  He would go, then, to his appointed doom.

  His own Last Chance.

  Stalking along behind Simon, with a thousand things to say and a hundred ways he wanted to apologize all but choking his throat, Finn didn’t dare open his mouth to let a single one roll off his tongue. Damned if he’d take a chance on being misunderstood, and for pity’s sake, the last thing he wanted to do was upset Simon further. When he thought about what he’d done earlier, so desperate to make himself clear, it made his green blood run cold.

  Finn was no rapist. Never had been, never would be, and he hated all the low-life bastards who resorted to violence to get their rocks off. He’d not planned and definitely not wanted to make Simon think Finn would take him by force. But, by the gods, he realized how it would have looked. He should have known Simon would think Finn was planning that very thing. Fuck! He wouldn’t be able to blame Simon if the man never wanted to get within five feet of him again.

  To be on the safe side, he walked six feet behind Simon, a nice, careful, harmless distance. And if that gave him a fantastic view of the man’s long, strong legs in their borrowed, tissue-soft jeans, or his shapely bare feet padding almost noiselessly over the carpet, or the graceful bunch and swell of muscles beneath the well-worn, kitten-fuzzy green flannel shirt, or ... well, he was only male, wasn’t he?

  A man, and something of a Dom. He’d played at the mental game over the years, but now that he’d been faced with someone who could and would be a proper sub to love and be loved in return -- dangled like a candy and then cruelly and abruptly snatched away -- Finn knew it was the role where he belonged. His new favorite playground. He had a lot to learn, he knew, but the fun he’d have in getting trained up proper!

  If his luck ran true to form, though, he’d have to find someone else to play with.

  He’d wrecked it all with Simon, no two ways about the matter. From the way he walked, and the courage with which he’d faced down his fate, Finn knew Simon would be a proud man in his day-to-day life. A man like that might play submissive games, but once he got over his shock and dismay, he wouldn’t give a damned thing up to someone who actually tried to hurt him.

  Nope. Finn could scratch Simon right off his list of ... one.

  Finn resisted the urge to kick the carpet as he followed along in Trey and Simon’s wake, all the way into the Last Chance. Just inside the main door, he paused long enough to deal a truly filthy glare to the crowd of losers staring at them with open mouths. If they so much as said one nasty word to Simon, so help him, he’d wish them all joy throughout the rest of their lives and laugh at the consequences.

  Fortunately for the lot, they kept their mouths shut. No one said a word, but Finn felt a swell of sympathy rise -- aimed not at him, of course, but at Simon as he made his way to the bar and slumped onto an empty high stool, elbows up and his face in his hands.

  Finn sat a few feet away, staring helplessly at the man he’d hoped would be his lover while cursing himself for a fool. No glimmer of a daydream left there, now. But all the same, he could keep an eye out for Simon. He could and he would.

  So help him, gods of Ireland.

  Simon ignored the drink that Trey had fixed for him without asking and slid down his way. It bumped into one of his hands, bounced off the knuckle, and he left it to sit where it would. From the fruity smell, it was some concoction far too frou-frou for even the likes of Liam at his most fairy-like. Strawberries and coconut. The smell of it turned his stomach.

  He would have drunk it, though, if he’d thought it could stop his mind whirling and churning on its single focus -- Finn. God! Why couldn’t he get the Irishman out of his mind? No matter what he tried to think about, idly or intently -- Amour Magique, the Brotherhood, Liam, being trapped in the Last Chance itself -- his thoughts kept flying, arrow-fast, back to the sorrowful green eyes whose gaze he could feel fixed upon him.

  Never there when he looked up, of course. If he glanced out of his fingers, Finn would be staring glumly at his wine cooler, picking off shreds of the label and rolling them into tiny balls.

  What was the problem with the drinks in Last Chance, anyway? Did they have to be as equally pathetic as being stuck there, as pathetic as the men who were caught in its web? A nasty-spirited reminder or a cruel joke?

  Simon would have killed for a properly aged bourbon. Neat. He had a feeling Finn didn’t like his cooler, from the way he sipped at it occasionally and the faces that he made -- And there, again. There! Finn!

  Simon lay his forehead on his arms and groaned, soft enough to avoid notice. He had to get Finn out of his mind. Stop thinking about his lean body that belied the corded, surprising strength in his long arms. The way
he’d felt in that moment when Liam had interrupted them.

  What was he, sick? To think in that one moment, when Liam’s voice had taken away the panic and fear, to remember ... The feel of Finn on top of him had been unbearably erotic.

  He’d had a flash -- what someone else might have called a vision -- of him and the Irishman naked in bed together, Finn above and he below. Arms and legs twined together, mouths pressed tightly, kissing without finesse, but with a definite hunger that could not be denied.

  Simon groaned again, but not from despair or dismay. Rather, he felt his cock beginning to rise again for, what, the third time that night? Three erections and nary an orgasm to show for them; he’d get blue balls for sure. Or rather -- he almost giggled -- green balls?

  He blinked against a sudden visual of himself pressed up against a wall with Finn’s hand down his paper-thin jeans, working his cock with those skilled, callused fingers, his mouth eating a trail of kisses down Simon’s neck, and oh ...!

  Simon caved in on himself a bit as he almost came in his borrowed pants. Only a deep, shaky breath and force of will kept him from embarrassing himself. But from the way some of the men around him raised their noses and inhaled curiously, Simon had a feeling Finn wasn’t the only not-quite-human in the Last Chance. Come to think of it, what had that bastard Zachary called him? A “mundane,” a “normal”? Oh, sweet Lord, what if he was in the minority, not the majority?

  Simon dropped his head back down, rolling it to and fro on his forearms. Keeping all that in mind, Finn didn’t seem such a bad alternative. In fact, he seemed more and more appealing all the time, and Simon wasn’t sure if that frightened him or, worse, turned him on.

  Based on what he knew about Finn, he thought he could forgive the violence the Irishman had shown. Finn’s tongue-tie had worked against him, too, ruining what could have been the start of a beautiful friendship for the both of them.