Page 6 of Breaking the Alpha (Serpent’s Tongue Ink #2)

R iver snatched the ‘Piercer Wanted’ sign off the door and strode into Serpent’s Tongue Ink, glancing up at the chimes announcing his arrival.

“I’ll be out there in a minute,” Birch called from the back. “You can take a seat and flip through one of the albums if you want.”

Doing just that, he perused one of the professionally assembled photo books of tattoos Birch had done over the last few years, impressed with his brother’s range.

He’d worked with three different talented artists out in LA, but Birch was, without bias, the best. He had an unrivaled eye for details, his placement of pieces carefully selected to highlight the art against muscles and movement.

His own tattoos, some of his brother’s early work, were netting him jobs because of their uniqueness and the seamless way Birch blended one into the other so they melded into a single piece of art.

For photographers, his tats were points of interest. For the companies he was hired to model for, they represented a look.

For his agent, they were a bargaining chip.

For him, they masked scars he didn’t want to see, scars his brother had promised to take care of when he’d placed another cheap plastic bandage on another fresh injury.

“Okay, I’m ready for you. I—” Birch walked into the waiting room and stopped, a grin spreading across his face. “You aren’t my ten o’clock.”

Holding up the ‘Piercer Wanted’ sign, he got to his feet. “No, but I think I’m gonna need to ask my future boss for time off to schedule in another piece.”

“You better not be messing with me.” Crossing the room in three strides, Birch engulfed him in a hug that took him back to his childhood in an instant. “Holy fuck, River. It’s good to see you.”

It had been three years since his last visit to Epson. Three years since he’d seen his brothers. Returning the embrace with everything he had, he stayed silent to hide the tightness in his throat.

With a good thwack on the back, Birch let go and stepped back, holding his arms out.

“So? What do you think? Jocelyn and I have been busting our asses after closing every night to reorganize the place.” Birch frowned at the freshly painted emerald walls and the long slate curtains framing the windows.

“I wasn’t sure about the green and gray combo she suggested, but I think it works. ”

“It looks really fucking good,” River replied earnestly, thinking back to the photos Birch sent him when Serpent’s Tongue first opened weeks after he left town. “Look at you, getting all civilized and picking out paint colors.”

Scoffing, Birch walked over to his desk and flipped open his appointment book.

“If you think this is civilized, you should see the shit going down back at the house. You won’t recognize it.

It’s so organized I can’t find anything.

And we have, like, eighty throw cushions.

And each has a place where it’s supposed to go, but I haven’t figured that part out yet.

” A sudden look of optimism overtook his usual surly expression.

“Are you serious about working here? I mean, I know you’re probably not in town for long, but I’ll take any time you have. ”

“Yeah, I have time,” River replied, keeping it light on the promises and easy on the amount of intel he was willing to share yet. “I don’t know how long I’ll be around since there’s some work stuff brewing in LA, but I’ll stay as long as I can and work whatever hours you need.”

Birch grinned, and as he did was struck by how much younger his brother looked when the weight of the world wasn’t sitting on his broad shoulders. “Come follow me to the back and I’ll show you the piercing station.”

While Birch gave him a tour of the area, muttering under his breath at every labeled and carefully arranged drawer and cabinet, River studied him closely.

Despite his griping about everything from the alphabetical ordering of the body jewelry to the sticky note reminders on which supplies were getting low, there was no mistaking the fact that his brother was a happy man.

And Birch had never been happy.

His older brother was the planner, the one who always thought before he acted.

He was the one who budgeted the meager paychecks and packed the lunches and ensured River made it to his court appearances on time.

When their father was still alive, Birch was the one who kept their paltry supply of bandages and antiseptic stocked, who squirreled away the money he made through odd jobs around town for those weeks when their dad left them with an empty pantry.

Birch organized only for their survival. Aesthetics was never a part of his calculated moves.

So seeing him standing in his own shop with black scripted labels everywhere and framed pictures of his best pieces displayed on the walls hit River hard.

His brother was now making a life for himself in the town he’d busted his ass in, all to ensure Grey and River escaped from it.

And he was happy.

“We have a bit of a backlog of people wanting piercings, so this week and next will be pretty steady for you if you’re wanting to start right away,” Birch called up to him as he crouched in front of an open cabinet.

“I’ve got feelers out for a permanent piercer, so no guilt for you when you have to get back to your LA life.

” He turned his head and looked up. “Things are a little crazy around here and you’re helping me out more than you know.

” Returning his attention to the stocked shelves, he cleared his throat. “But we can talk about that tonight.”

*

River pulled up behind Birch’s truck and killed the engine, resisting the urge to rip back out onto the street and get as far from his childhood house as he could.

But when Grey came barreling through the front door, his hair long enough to pull back into a disheveled ponytail, he got out and braced himself for the attack.

“Riv!” Grey hollered, tackling him down into the green grass he only ever remembered seeing a pallid brownish yellow. “Look at you, all sexy and shit.”

Wrestling with his younger brother for a minute before pinning him to the ground, he grinned. “Don’t you have some brainiac test or something to be working on?”

“Semester break before fall courses start,” Grey replied with a smirk. “I’ll be around twenty-four-seven to drive you up the wall.”

Pushing himself to his feet, he offered his brother a hand. “Still on track for the PhD?”

Birch walked over to them and slung his arm over Grey’s shoulder. “You know it. This little fucker is pulling off a 3.7 GPA with three advanced courses already under his belt.”

“He also managed to clean out the shed today, and he deserves pizza for dinner,” a woman’s voice called out from the porch. “It’ll be here in twenty minutes. River, hon, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Jocelyn.”

He looked over to see a stunning blonde leaning in the doorway, dressed sharply in a black blazer, tight jeans, and a red satin shirt. She smiled at him before her attention was diverted away by Birch bounding up the steps and mauling her long enough to earn an impatient groan from Grey.

“They do this constantly,” his younger brother complained. “You get used to it after a while, even if it is weird to see him like this.”

Weird didn’t begin to cover the change in Birch—the gentle way he brushed Jocelyn’s hair from her eyes, the relaxation in his movements, even the shift in his stance as the old guarded preparedness River had seen in Birch his whole life melted to a casual comfort.

For a moment, he wondered if he would ever be the same with someone.

Someone less LA couture and more barefoot hippie.

But now wasn’t the time to think about it.

Not when his pride was stinging from the fake number Angelina had given him and the tightness in his chest after she walked out was still making itself known.

Besides, now was the time to go into the house he’d dreamed of burning to the ground since he was seven years old.

While Birch and Grey went inside, Jocelyn held back until he joined her.

“Your room is made up for you and there are fresh towels on your bed,” she said, her steel-blue eyes warm. “It’s good to have you home. Grey has been bouncing off the walls waiting for you since Birch texted us.”

“Thanks,” he murmured as he stepped into the entranceway and took a moment to look around the main floor.

There were an awful lot of throw cushions.

Jocelyn eased past him and whispered something into Birch’s ear then patted him on the backside when Birch turned to Grey. “Go get River’s bags out of his trunk and take them up to his room.”

Grey grunted but obeyed, shouldering him on the way out and smirking when River’s balance went off for a split second.

He joined Birch and Jocelyn in the kitchen, his eyes drawn to the turquoise art on the place mats on their old kitchen table. “Are those octopuses?”

“Octopuses, sea turtles, whales and—” Birch tilted his head. “Seahorses. Beer?”

He shook his head. “No thanks. I have a major campaign shoot in a few weeks, so every beer equals an extra twenty minutes in the gym and it just isn’t worth it.”

Birch set his beer bottle down, shaking his head with a smile. “Jesus H. Christ. Who’d have thought people would be paying good money to have your ugly mug in ads?”

Before he could respond, Jocelyn slid in close to Birch and bumped him with her hip. “For the record, River, I would pay good money. So would my mom and every other woman in town.”

“Your mom, hey?” He liked her more and more every time she spoke. “So Jocelyn, that thug you’re snuggling up to mentioned you’re an accountant.”

“Forensic accountant,” Birch chimed in, his thumb moving across his phone screen. “It’s like an accountant on steroids. Take a look.”

Leaning in, he scanned the news articles mentioning Jocelyn, brows shooting up. “Woah. And this guy is the best you could do? If you ever want to trade up, I have a younger broth—”