Page 1

(Kong)

“Alright, which one of you fuckers lowered all the chandeliers!” Kong bellowed as he surveyed the room, seeking out the most likely candidate.

The problem with a club with the word Jokers in the title was that too many of these fuckers went out of their way to live up to the moniker.

The humor was lacking as the lumps on the side and top of his head throbbed from how many times he’d accidentally slammed into one since he’d stepped into the room.

That hadn’t happened since he’d raised the damn things after they’d been installed, citing the sheer idiocy of having someone Teddy’s size oversee the installation.

How the hell was he supposed to judge what was safe passage for a big man to pass under, especially one who stood a half-head taller than any other in the room?

When Danger stepped from between Wreck and Micha to wave and then flip him off, Kong considered snatching the man up and using him for a lawn dart, only the damned chandeliers would just get in the way.

Instead he smirked, returned the single-finger salute, and tossed a glance over his shoulder, locking eyes with the golden-haired flirt behind the bar.

“Hey kid, bring out a round for the house and put it on Danger’s tab.”

“Yes, sir,” the kid replied and immediately started bustling around, loading pitchers on trays and filling them with a confident air about him.

Kong didn’t know how long he’d been with the club, but he hadn’t spotted the blonde the last time he’d visited the chapter.

The kid was strong too, stronger than Kong had expected him to be.

When he stepped from behind the bar and left the trays behind, Kong wondered what the hell he was up to, until he watched the blond come around the front of the bar and hoist the first tray onto his shoulder, carrying it through the crowd like he didn’t have a care in the world.

The guys parted like the Red Sea for him too, being careful not to jostle the tray or the pitchers he carried.

That ass, snugly encased in dark blue cutoff jean shorts, is one Kong would have remembered too, not that he’d have tried to tag that.

The top of the kid’s head barely reached Kong’s elbow, and yet he strutted through the crowd, putting two pitchers on every table he came to until he ran out.

He didn’t zig-zag or play favorites either.

He went right down the line, then went back for the next tray, one after the other, until every table had been served, and no one bitched about it either.

Interesting.

No vest, not even a property-of patch sewn on the ass of those shorts.

He had an impressive array of ink running down his arms, and not a damn one of those pieces looked cheap either, though none of them looked to have been done by Mark or anyone who worked out of the club's tattoo parlor. Kong should know. They were the only ones he’d allowed to ink him since he’d joined the club some twelve years before.

Jesus fuck, who’d taught that kid to move?

It was like he was dancing through the crowd as he headed back to the bar, and yet no one touched him; they barely paid him any attention at all.

The behavior wasn’t normal, not within these walls, unless he was protected by someone.

He looked almost disappointed when he got back to the bar without anyone stopping him or trying to get his attention.

Ahh.

Kong, who had witnessed similar isolation tactics from club members in the past, now understood the situation.

He’d either pissed someone off, or they weren’t sure that they could trust him yet and were keeping him at arm’s length, waiting for him to fuck up and show his true colors or pass whatever tests had been put into play to safely vet him.

He was walking a tightrope, and yet, he never ducked his head and never truly let it show that their dismissal bothered him.

Kong caught a glimpse of it in his eyes, but only because he was looking.

The way he’d sauntered past all the badasses in the room was impressive.

He carried himself like a scrapper, a pretty little scrapper with a pierced tongue that he ran over his lips.

One Kong would love to feel run against the underside of his cock.

His eyes never darted around like he was worried about violence popping off.

The way he held himself suggested that he’d be ready if something happened, and yet Kong was willing to bet his fingertips would touch if he wrapped them around the little scrapper’s waist; he was just that fuckin’ compact.

But not fragile; nothing about him looked fragile.

He had a running back’s build, now that Kong really had the time to study him.

Still, touching him was yet another thing that wouldn’t be happening.

He’d sworn off men that size a long time ago, but damn, it was hard to quit watching him.

That mouth looked soft and warm, but a little too small for what he was packing.

All of him was just entirely too small to handle what Kong longed to do with him.

Even Kat had looked impressed at the way he’d handled those trays, which told him that she was still struggling to make up her mind about him.

Moments after he returned to the bar, Kong heard someone bellow about a lack of shit paper in the john.

Without any prompting from Kat, who took a step in his direction, the little scrapper strode to the supply cabinet and emerged with a cart loaded not only with toilet paper but also with cleaning products to spruce up the bathroom.

It was a shitty job, literally, but he didn’t balk at having to go.

Holy fuck, his eyes, when he crossed beneath one of those chandeliers Kong was still cussing out, were mismatched.

One a bright, glittering emerald, the other a brilliant sky blue.

He caught Kong looking too and flashed a wicked grin before flicking his tongue out, just enough to show off his piercing.

Oh, he was putting that tongue to good use if he kept it up. There was only so much teasing a man could take, especially a man in a seven-month drought.

Kong didn’t turn his attention back to the conversation going on around him until after that scrappy little bit of eye candy disappeared into the men’s room, and even then, he thought about what it would be like to press up behind him and see if he’d be open to letting Kong get off by rubbing all over him.

Yeah, he’d talked himself into it now; he’d have to find out what the blonde’s name was and when the fuck he got off so he could get him the fuck out of his head before he became a distraction.

It wouldn’t have mattered if Kong’s intention was to head back up to Kill Devil Hills in a couple of days, but this was his home charter.

Now that the northern rebuild, expansion, and refurbishing projects were finished, he was home for good and intended to get settled in with a place near the water that he could call his own.

He was getting too damned old to be living in a cramped apartment.

A little house near the sand would let him return to his beach bum ways and set up a proper office with a drafting table and a desk he didn’t have to hunch over as he got started on the blueprints for the new projects Mark had assigned him.

Mind made up, he headed for the bathroom, but he only made it a few steps before a hand landed on his shoulder and he turned to see Wreck standing there with a shit-eating grin on his face.

“I may have helped Danger with the chandelier thing. Welcome back, fucker. Try not to dislocate anyone’s hips while you’re here.”

“I’m stayin’ fuck you very much,” Kong grumbled, but the comment smarted, despite his refusal to let it show.

The son of a bitch just had to go there right when he’d made up his mind to have a word with the blonde about if he had any plans for the rest of his evening.

That night with Wreck had been what turned him off smaller men in the first place, and Wreck hadn’t even been that small, just shorter than him by a good four inches and lacking the bulk he had now.

And still he’d managed to hurt him.

As much as the reminder sucked, Kong had needed it.

That little flirt behind the bar wasn’t anywhere near the size Wreck had been back then, and he never would be.

That trip to the hospital, with Wreck groaning in the backseat and swearing up a storm whenever he’d nailed a pothole, was burned in the back of his mind.

He’d break the little blonde in half if he ever tried to bounce him on his cock, but damn, Kong wanted to with a desperate longing that was making him rethink his own rule.

There was just something about him and the way he’d made Kong seek him out with just a glance.

Deep down, he knew what else it was too.

That Yes, sir the kid had given had gone straight to his cock.

He hadn’t heard sir from anyone in months, and even that had just been a fleeting night in a playroom.

Sir was someone he longed to be on a daily basis, but where the fuck was he gonna find a boy he wouldn’t be afraid of playing with too hard?

“Hey, you haven’t met Bellamy yet, have you?” Wreck said, having to yell over the rowdy cheers that filled the room as Creature finished destroying Grimsley in an arm-wrestling contest.

“Nope,” Kong remarked, grinning as he pulled off his jacket and stalked that way. “But it’ll just have to wait.”

Creature grinned when he caught sight of him and patted the table before taking a swig from his beer.

Everyone backed the fuck up as Kong settled in for a true battle of the monsters.

Now when the fuck had he missed that big bastard coming into the room?

He was the only club brother that pound for pound was a match for him, and this little contest of theirs was the rematch he’d been itching for.

Two years ago, Creature had defeated him and damn near torn Kong’s bicep in the process; he’d been straining so hard.

He hadn’t lost since. And he wasn’t about to lose tonight.

It was good to see Creature again, though, and as they clasped hands and their eyes met, someone started laying out odds and collecting bets.

“I’ve got a hundred on me,” Kong bellowed as Danger covered their hands with his own and made sure they were ready.

“You’ve already got my standing bet for the night,” Creature said, as they tensed, poised for the match to begin.

“Go!” Danger bellowed.

Around them, the room erupted into words of encouragement and last-minute bets, while muscles strained and he and Creature did everything in their power to slam the other’s hand down on the wood.

Sweat beaded up on his brow as they sat deadlocked, Creature inching things to his side for a moment before Kong forced them back upright, though he couldn’t get Creature’s hand to budge even a fraction from the center position afterward.

His shoulder cramped, his bicep ached, while Creature’s long hair clung to his forehead, growing damp the harder he strained.

He felt the moment when everything shifted, and Creature grunted and squeezed his hand, tightening his grip as Kong slowly muscled his arm down, inch by agonizing inch.

The struggle to rebound had Creature gritting his teeth and growling, only to sag in defeat moments later when the back of his hand struck the wood.

Cheers erupted, and someone passed Kong a beer that he took a long swig of, his eyes meeting mismatched ones as he went to set it down.

The look of admiration he caught in them right before someone told the blonde to bring a bottle of whiskey doubled the interest Kong already had in him.

He was almost too busy watching him walk away to snag the wad of bills someone waved in his face and way too interested in that ass to count it.

Danger knew better than to fuck with his money anyway, so Kong wasn’t worried; the man did the accounting for every club business and handled the taxes too, keeping them on the up-and-up and the government off their asses.

He was no pencil pusher, despite his job.

He’d taken the classes to become a CPA because he had a good head for numbers and Mark had asked him to.

The club had even footed the bill to get him certified.

It was always better to keep things in-house. That was just the way of their world.

And speaking of in-house.

The blonde headed back behind the bar when Kong saw Kat approach and speak to him before taking the bottle herself, a fierce look on her face when she approached the one who demanded it.

Whatever she said to him sent his fingers fumbling for his wallet and the cash he quickly extracted and forked over.

He looked fucking contrite too. Another face Kong didn’t recognize.

If the dressing down he was receiving from Kat was any indication of how she felt about him, he wouldn’t be around long enough to be worth meeting.

The blonde with the mismatched eyes, though, now that was another story.

“Creature, always a pleasure,” Kong said as he stood, drained his beer, and carried the empty mug up to the bar to drop it off and have a word with the object of his obsession.

“Better not take two years before we do that again,” Creature called out as he walked away.

Kong was sure it wouldn’t, not now that he was home for good.

He’d left a good man up in Kill Devil Hills that he’d trained personally.

Draven would be more than capable of handling any new construction plans that cropped up.

He was a good guy, if a little mouthy sometimes.

But his fists could back up whatever shit his tongue got him into, and that had earned the Outer Bank’s chapter’s respect.

In the end, that was one of the few things a man could take with him to his grave. The respect of his or her club brothers, the kutte they were buried with, and a bottle of their favorite whiskey to sip until they reached the other side.