Bailey Bradford - Southwestern Shifters 06 - Reverence (8 page)

Well, that was certainly blunt, and not in Harley’s plans. He shook his head, not willing to screech over the music like his would-be seducer had done. Harley squeezed between a couple of men then made his way to the bar. Once there, he glanced back and only felt relief when he saw that the weasel hadn’t followed him.

Harley pointed to the first familiar bottle on the shelf. “Give me a couple shots of that.” He watched as the top-shelf tequila was poured into two shot glasses for him. He didn’t really like tequila, but it made him horny as hell even if he didn’t get a hard-on. Fine, it gave him courage, or demolished his restraint, pride, whatever, so he didn’t have to be alone. The top-dollar stuff wasn’t as awful as the tequila he’d drunk when he’d been poor—which he wasn’t anymore. There’d been a nice stash of cash in that blue duffle bag. Drinking helped alleviate some of his guilt at accepting the money.

The bartender set the drinks in front of him. “Enjoy,” he said before ambling down to the next person wanting a drink.
Harley tossed both shots back quickly, forgoing the salt and lemon routine. He’d forgotten to ask for either of them, anyway, but since his goal was to get shit-faced what did he need props for? The alcohol burned his throat, his chest, his stomach, his nose. Harley wiped his mouth with his hand and turned on the stool, looking for a likely prospect that didn’t give him the creeps. Weasel-man was already occupied with another guy, one who wasn’t put off by him like Harley had been. That was good, he let the last remnant of fear he hadn’t known he was holding in regards to Weasel slip on away.
He caught a glimpse of someone entering the club, which shouldn’t have been a big deal, but for some reason his pulse began racing and his stomach felt all fluttery. Possibly he shouldn’t have taken the two shots so quickly, but he’d done it before and hadn’t felt queasy…although, he didn’t exactly feel queasy, more like… He didn’t know what, and couldn’t concentrate on it as he stood, trying to see whoever had come in.
“Fucking have to be short, don’t I?” he grumbled, forgetting that he tried not to talk to himself out in public. He caught glimpses of movement, but with the crowd, the lighting, and him being shrimp-sized, it was hopeless. Harley cursed and climbed onto the stool rungs. He still couldn’t see for shit and decided pursuit was his best option. The bizarre impulse was irresistible, and Harley put the buzzing in his head and body down to the alcohol. Maybe it combined with some liquor remaining in his bloodstream or something from last night.
Harley was halfway across the club when he became aware of a distinctly uncomfortable sensation in his lower region. He stopped, stunned as he realised he had an erection, and, since that hadn’t happened in over a month, he hadn’t exactly packaged himself in the most comfortable manner. His poor dick was being pinched and it hurt like a bitch. Harley flashed back to when he’d woken up, the drying mess he’d found. Was his libido going all bonkers on him? What the hell was happening?
His pulse leapt and he stopped worrying about his cock, searching the crowd for a man he couldn’t have described. An instinct he’d never known he had was driving him, making him turn left and march through the crowd, or try to, anyway. There was an odd sense of familiarity thrumming in his head, which made about as much sense as the whole scenario unfolding for Harley. Fighting it seemed stupid. He needed to find out who’d just come inside as badly as he needed to find some comfort for the night. Harley pushed at guys who ignored his barked ‘excuse me’ and slapped away hands of others who tried to stop him. A small part of his mind asked him what the hell was he doing, and Harley told it to shut the fuck up. He had to go, to follow whatever invisible thread was reeling him in.
Breaking through a wall of bodies, Harley saw a shuffling gait, a tall, form, but details were impossible since he was grabbed and spun around.
“Looking for me?” Weasel asked, grabbing Harley’s wrists.
Harley made a sound that scared him a bit, an angry, snarling sound that tore from his throat as he dived forward, intent on hurting Weasel for impeding his progress. “Get the fuck away from me,” Harley shouted, the music still too loud and his temper fraying at the seams, letting some of the rage ooze out of him.
He lashed out as soon as he finished speaking, pivoting slightly and kicking. Harley slammed his heel into Weasel’s knee and the man bellowed, reeling backwards and taking Harley with him. Panic seared into Harley, he wasn’t sure why and didn’t pause to examine it, instead jerking and shoving until he was freed. He got up and scrambled back as onlookers finally began to catch on to the fact that something not exactly consensual was going down.
Harley turned and bolted, searching for that shape, that uneven gait he’d spotted moments earlier. He thought he caught a glimpse of the man in the corner, where the shadows played heavily over the person occupying a small table, then he was grabbed again, jerked right off his feet, and no amount of fighting was getting him free.
“Cut it out, you little shit,” a harsh voice barked in his ear. “We don’t tolerate fighting here, no matter how cute you are, so you’re gone, buddy!”
Fuck, the thickly muscled arms around him belonged to one of the freakishly huge bouncers! Harley still struggled and the arms tightened until he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t even beg not to be tossed out, and he was pretty sure he was fixing to pass out from lack of oxygen when he was set down rather roughly outside. “Don’t bother coming back, dude.”
“I”—Harley gasped, sucking in air—“didn’t—”
“Don’t care who started what,” the bouncer said, walking to stand in front of him. The man had a face like a well-used punching bag, he thought dumbly. “Don’t care, don’t matter, don’t come back. Other guy’s been banned too, but he’s gotta wait for his ride.” He cocked his head just as sirens rent the air. “And that’s probably it. You better run, buddy.”
Run? He could hardly fucking stand after being squeezed half to death! Plus, his insides were still raging for him to go back and find—
“Now!” the bouncer snapped, giving him a shove. “I’m trying to keep you from being arrested, you idiot! We only called for an ambulance, but cops will probably show up too!”
Harley had no desire to wind up in jail, but leaving felt wrong in ways he couldn’t describe or comprehend. An ambulance turned the corner and more vehicles with flashing lights followed it, and that broke Harley from his stupor. He turned and stumbled the first few steps, then he ran as if his heels were being nipped by hell hounds.
But he didn’t go far, taking the first cross-street he came to and flattening himself to the side of a building there. Harley panted, his chest heaving more than it should have been for such a short run, but his whole body was being weird. Even his stupid dick was still hard, and probably raw from being rubbed like it was. Harley sucked in some air and eased to the edge of the building. He carefully peeked around the side, back towards the club, and flushed with heat when he found himself looking at a broad chest.

Val’s fucking leg was keeping him from moving as fast as he wanted to. He’d seen the fight in the club, had been trying to get up and get to Harley, who for some reason seemed to have zeroed in on him. Maybe he’d figured Val for a shifter. There’d been an intense look to the man, and if Val’s senses had been working right—well, they weren’t, and Val had been confused and aroused because Harley was fucking gorgeous, and Val had kind of been stunned stupid for a few seconds right before Harley had been grabbed. It’d taken all of Val’s patience not to knock every man out of his way as he’d gone after Harley, and yet he’d still lost him.

Or so he thought, until he almost ran into Harley. Val hissed as he stopped so quickly his thigh protested with a painful cramp. He slapped a hand to the brick building to steady himself because otherwise he was probably going to fall right over on the smaller man.

“Did you—” Harley began, then he bit his bottom lip and gave Val an unmistakably hungry look. Val felt that stare like a caress over his entire body, and his dick grew hard, his balls tight. His damned nipples ached for a touch, and he fisted his hand on the wall as he struggled for his composure. So much for staying off Harley’s radar.

Harley stepped back and Val couldn’t move, once again in that stunned stupid phase. His wolf whimpered inside him, or did something, pulsed or wiggled, he didn’t know what. He just felt it a bit stronger for a moment as he stared back at Harley. Telling himself he was already busted and there was no point in running didn’t alleviate the nagging voice in his head that said he’d royally fucked up. What would happen when Harley found out who he was and that they were neighbours?

“I saw you,” Val blurted, “we’re neighbours.”
“Shut up,” Harley snapped. He cocked his head to the side and his expression went from hot to suspicious and hot. “Wait. What? Come here.” He stepped back and pointed in front of himself. “No, wait. The diner.”
And, with that, Harley turned and sprinted across the street, giving Val a grand view of his pert ass. Val sighed and wondered what the hell was wrong with him, throwing that out there. Though to be fair it might have been for the best. Harley had seen him and there’d be no passing each other in the hallway, ignoring one another like strangers were sometimes wont to do. At least he had a few minutes to come up with an explanation for how he’d ended up at the same club as Harley had.
Harley kept checking over his shoulder, watching, Val supposed, to see if he was following. He did, but at a slower pace. He needed time to think and his leg really was bothering him, making his limp more pronounced. Unfortunately, he kept getting distracted by the sexy man in front of him. It’d been way too long since he’d got laid, and Harley was appealing on every level. Val could almost swear even his wolf was cheering him on, but that was probably his imagination.
When Harley bypassed a diner and went instead into another club, Val almost kept walking. What impulse kept him from doing so, he couldn’t say, but following seemed the wisest choice since he needed to explain the bit about them being neighbours.
Besides, Val was betting Harley thought the club would offer some sort of privacy without them being alone. The music blaring would make it hard to hear, unless they were very close to each other. Others wouldn’t be able to catch what they were saying, and there would be people around—bouncers, at least, to watch out in case Val tried anything with Harley.
Val was almost flattered that Harley would think him any kind of threat, considering the shape he was in. Surely Harley didn’t know he was a shifter, which was the only real reason Val could imagine Harley thinking him dangerous.
Val entered and paid a small cover fee to a burly man right inside. He glanced around and saw Harley waiting off to his left. Had he picked that side deliberately, since Val was blind in the left eye?
Harley didn’t let him get too close, turning and darting farther into the club. Much like Scoundrels, this place was packed, but it wasn’t a gay club as far as he could tell. Maybe he wouldn’t have to worry about Harley getting groped there.
Making his way through the place, Val struggled to keep his temper. Normally, he was pretty level-headed, but he was tired, hurting, and stressed over having fucked up so majorly already. Added to that, he was turned on by Harley, enough so that he was considering risking his Alpha Anax’s wrath by giving in if Harley wanted him. Val tripped over someone’s foot or possibly the floor, so shocked was he at that traitorous thought. He caught his left thigh on the edge of a table and nearly crumpled in a heap as hot pain seared all the way to his hip.
“Careful,” he heard as his waist was clasped firmly. The heat from the pain melted into a different kind of heat, one spreading to his balls and cock, making his asshole tingle. Val blinked rapidly, because his vision was blotchy at best just then.
“Here, let me help you, okay?”
Val grunted, though he doubted it was heard. He let himself be manoeuvred, let Harley fit himself under his left arm to help support him. Val settled his arm lightly on Harley’s shoulder and the desire he’d felt flared to heights he hadn’t experienced before. Val wanted to bend Harley over the nearest surface, take him, right in front of everyone at the damn club. He wanted to pound into the sweet roundness of Harley’s ass, feel that flesh giving beneath his thrusts.
“Excuse us!” Harley shouted. A few people nearby looked at them and moved, and soon Harley had them standing in front of a tall table near the bar. “It’s a little quieter here,” Harley said, coming up on his toes to speak near Val’s ear. “Sit down, I’ll get our drinks. What do you want?”
Val frowned, puzzled by the man at his side. Why wasn’t he freaking out? He must not know Val was a shifter, and probably, yeah, probably thought he wasn’t much of a threat. He was right, in a way. Val was still stronger than most guys, but he wouldn’t hurt Harley. All he wanted, really, was to fuck him until they both passed out from it. And, of course, to keep him safe, as he’d been ordered to do.
He realised Harley was staring at him expectantly. Val lifted his arm from those thin shoulders and immediately felt an odd tug of loss. He pulled out a chair and sat, wondering what the hell was wrong with him. “Whisky,” he muttered, then repeated it louder when Harley cupped a hand to his ear. Jesus, why couldn’t the guy have picked the damn diner? This shouting for conversation was going to get annoying in no time at all.

“Give me a shot of your best tequila and whisky—” Harley stopped. His potential hook-up for the evening hadn’t specified how he wanted it. “On the rocks,” he hazarded a guess. He turned to look at the attractive stranger who’d captivated him for some reason. Tall, brawny but not overly so, and with short brown hair and an eye patch, the man just called to Harley. For the first time in weeks, he wanted to feel another man in him, splitting him open over and over as he fucked him.

“Hey, your drinks,” Harley heard and he turned back to find the bartender waiting. Harley handed him a couple of twenties, and when the man nodded, he picked up the drinks and went back to the table. Truthfully, talking didn’t seem so important anymore.

That was why Harley had skipped the diner, but his plans had kind of backfired, because what used to be Darlin’ Dick’s a few months ago now clearly wasn’t a gay club anymore. There’d be no taking the man into the bathroom or backroom for a blow job, not without risking both their necks, possibly quite literally.