Page 2 of Marked By The Filthy-Mouthed Grizzly

CHAPTER TWO

Erica

I hate funerals.

I never know how to act.

The last funeral I went to was for my friend’s aunt. That one was sad. The death was sudden and unexpected so everyone was upset. Everyone knew how to act there. Cry, look down, no smiling or joking around.

But how do you mourn when you’re not totally sure the people you’re mourning didn’t deserve it? That the world just might be a better place without them in it.

I stand under the heavy gray sky, wrapped in my black coat, the uncomfortable silence deafening as we all stare down at the two coffins in the ground. Mace and Knox Rourke. My half-brothers. Same deceased dad, different moms. Different everything, really.

I picture my funeral. People would be dressed up nice. They’d look normal. Sad. Not like this.

Every wolf shifter lowlife in the area has come out for the funeral dressed in their finest jeans and leather vests. Some came to pay their respects. Some to make sure my brothers were really dead. And some to posture and scheme to take their place.

You see, my brothers ran the Warhounds, a vicious pack of bikers full of growling, sneering, violent men. And my brothers were the worst of them.

I don’t know how Mace and Knox died, but they probably deserved it.

They were always up to no good. Always up to something violent.

Something tells me they had it coming.

I take a deep breath as I look at the dozens of chrome motorcycles parked by the entrance of the cemetery. I already saw one fist fight and two bloody noses before the first shovel even hit the ground.

I’ve been feeling uneasy all day. I get a little nauseous as I look around at all of the sketchy men hovering around the caskets like wolves circling a carcass, their eyes cold, arms crossed, stone cold expressions hiding what they really think.

My heart starts beating faster as I realize that my brothers aren’t here anymore to protect me. To keep these violent men at bay.

None of them would even think about getting out of line with me when Knox and Mace were around. But now that they’re gone?

I shiver at the thought.

We were never close. My mother made sure of that. She made sure I stayed far away from them growing up. I think she must have sensed the darkness lurking inside those boys and her motherly instincts kicked in.

She left my father when I was a toddler, moved us across the country to Louisville, raised me in the suburbs with my fellow humans, and left my shifter heritage in the past where it couldn’t do me any harm.

I didn’t even find out about shifters until I was a teenager and my dad insisted I come visit.

I was only thirteen, but the second I was reintroduced to my brothers, I knew something was off. They were the kind of men who made the air feel wrong when they walked into a room. The kind that has your warning bells ringing off the hook. The kind you stay away from at all costs.

I never brought friends around when I visited Dad. Never slept easy when my brothers were home.

They never harmed me, but I knew they weren’t good men.

And now they’re dead.

“Do you want to say something?” my aunt Jenny whispers beside me, her voice low and tight. She didn’t like them either, but family is family—or something like that. “It doesn’t look like anyone else will.”

I swallow hard and step forward.

They were my brothers. I owe them a goodbye at least.

The group quiets as I take a deep breath. A few heads turn. One of the men lights a cigarette, the smoke billowing around him ominously. I don’t smoke, but the nerves buzzing through me are craving one.

I clear my throat and look at the caskets in the ground. No one even bothered to bring flowers. Just two wooden boxes stuffed in the dirt. I don’t know why, but that brings tears to my eyes.

“My name is Erica Rourke,” I say with a lump in my throat. “I was Mace and Knox’s little sister.”

I smooth a hand down my coat, my heart thudding like it wants to run away without me.

“I didn’t grow up with them the way some of you did,” I continue to the cold blank faces staring at me. “We had the same father, god rest his soul, but different mothers. But they were my family, and that always meant something.”

I suck in a slow breath as I glance at the caskets, wondering which one is Knox and which one is Mace. I guess it doesn’t matter. It’s not like I knew who they were in life, why should it be any different in death?

“They were larger than life, my brothers. And filled with a restlessness that I never quite understood.”

Tears fill my eyes, but I power through.

“I hope that restlessness is gone now,” I say, biting my bottom lip. “I hope they’re finally at peace. And I hope they know their little sister came to say goodbye.”

I pick up a handful of dirt as my throat tightens and throw some onto each casket.

“Bye, Knox,” I whisper as a few tears roll down my cheeks. “Goodbye, Mace.”

My aunt crouches beside me and throws some dirt in as well. We walk away, hand in hand, as the men line up to do the same.

I stand to the side, pretending I don’t feel the heat of unwanted stares on my skin.

I feel a pair of eyes burning into me, and I turn my head to see who it is.

Banks.

Shit .

He’s checking me out and not being shy about it. He was always a creep, even when I was thirteen. Especially when I was thirteen. My brothers must have warned him to stay away, but who’s going to warn him now?

Tall, bony, with a ghoulish smile that never reaches his sunken eyes. He licks his lips when we make eye contact.

My stomach twists. Nausea hits me.

Great.

This is exactly what I need—a creepy wolf shifter hitting on me at my brothers’ graves.

I turn my back to him and focus on my brothers.

There must have been some good in them. Something I can cling to.

I’d like to have something to remember them by, even if it’s to help me remember to follow the light and to stay away from the darkness.

Maybe a tattoo… just a small one?

I feel a tap on my shoulder and I cringe as I turn around and see Banks’ weathered face in front of me. Can this guy just fuck all the way off?

“I always like to get fucked up after a funeral,” he says in his slimy voice. “You want to get fucked up with me?”

I swallow hard, wishing my brothers were here, just for this. Just to tell this asshole to get lost.

“I have plans,” I say in a firm tone.

He grabs my arm, a little too hard. “Break ‘em.”

My aunt Jenny steps up just in time. She never had the luck to be moved away from this place, so she’s tough as nails. “Get fucked, Banks,” she snaps, slapping his hand away. “Let’s go, Erica.”

She turns to usher me away, but I stop.

“I’d like to have Mace’s watch,” I tell Banks. “The silver one he always wore. Do you know where it is?”

His creepy eyes linger on my chest before he slowly looks back up. “Come to the headquarters and I’ll get it for you. And maybe then, we’ll see what happens.”

“Like I said,” Jenny says, pulling me away. “Get fucked, Banks.”

I don’t see the rest of it—the caskets getting buried. I don’t need to see that part.

I don’t need anything else.

My brothers are gone and I’m still confused on how to feel about it.

I’m still a bit of a mess.

We head back to Aunt Jenny’s house where I’m staying for the next couple of days and as we’re passing unfamiliar houses, I wonder how it’s possible that I came from this town.

How I fit in here.

But the only conclusion I can come to, is that I don’t.

This is not the place for me.

And I can’t get out of here fast enough.