Page 1 of Wild Card (Foster Bro Code #2)

Axel

Banshee trotted so close to my side her thick white fur rubbed against my black jeans. As I neared the junkyard gate, she whined in protest.

“I know, baby.” I crouched down, looking into her sad eyes as I scratched behind her ears. The tail curled over her butt gave a little wag. “But I’ve got to go out, and you’ve got to learn to handle some separation, huh? Because people leave.”

I should know. I’d been watching people leave since I was a kid. My parents left me not once, but three times before child services took me away for good. But they were gone even when they were there, so high they barely noticed me, so it wasn’t any great loss.

But try telling that to my four-, six-, and ten-year-old self. I’d thought it was a pretty terrible loss each time. I’d been a clingy little fuck, just like Banshee, when I’d come to my foster home here in Riverton.

“You should go eat your dinner with the others,” I murmured, “so I can sneak on out of here.”

My motley crew of dogs were chowing down near the old RV that I called home.

I’d rescued them all from the side of the road after their owners dumped them because it was more convenient than driving to the animal shelter—or maybe just because they didn’t want their friends and neighbors to see them abandoning their pets.

Whatever the reason, they were assholes.

Banshee had joined us two weeks ago. I’d seen that meth head Rusty Waters and his girlfriend, Candy, push her out of their old-ass Pontiac Firebird. What the hell they were doing with an expensive breed like a Samoyed, I didn’t know.

Poor Banshee had been a timid, trembling mess—and she was still anxious every time I was out of sight. Which was why it was so damned hard to leave her. But I didn’t have a choice tonight. Jett and Sully weren’t gonna let me bail.

“Sorry, girl.” I straightened up and turned for the gate.

Banshee skittered up against me again, high-pitched whines of distress escaping her. Shit. No way I could just leave her like this.

“All right, sweetie, come on.” I opened the gate wide and let her run out with me. I didn’t have to leash her; she stuck close to my side as I walked the few hundred yards to the old farmhouse my brothers shared on the property.

I’d lived there once too, but I’d realized that staying with my brothers made me too much like Banshee. I’d clung to them, turning them into my source of security. But when my big brother Gray left town without a word, the illusion had shattered.

He’d come back a few months ago, and he’d promised he’d never take off again, but the truth remained: I could lose them too. I probably would lose them all, eventually.

I had to distance myself—for my own good.

Banshee hadn’t learned that lesson yet. Now that she was with me, she wouldn’t have to. I’d never leave her—or any of my animals—the way I’d been left. I knew how much it hurt.

I let us in, the old screen door slapping shut behind Banshee, and followed my brothers’ voices to the kitchen, where a debate was underway.

“No, I don’t want to pose for photos,” Gray protested. “That’s ridiculous.”

“He made me do it for prom,” my youngest brother, Bailey, said.

Gray and his boyfriend, Emory, leaned against the kitchen counter, dressed in Riverton High colors—Emory in a baseball jersey and Gray in a hoodie with the Cornjerker logo on it, which was…wait for it…a dancing cob of corn.

I laughed. “Oh, shit. What is this, Gray? Are you one of the jocks now?”

“Shut up,” he grumbled. “I just wanted to blend into the crowd.”

“You can see why I wanted photos,” Holden said from his spot at the table. “I need photo evidence of this shit.”

“No way,” Gray insisted.

Emory looked mildly amused. “You can wear your leather jacket if you would be more comfortable.”

“Nah,” Gray said. “It’s a football game. The way I’m dressed is fine.” He leveled a glare at Holden, then pointedly looked at each of us, warning us silently to keep our traps shut. “Let’s go.”

“Okay.” Emory smiled. “Maybe we can get photos tomorrow when we go to the reunion banquet? Gray is going to be his usual badass hottie self, and I can’t wait to show him off.”

My brother rolled his eyes, but a smile tugged at his lips. He was totally whipped for Emory. The two of them were sickeningly sweet together.

I resented his happiness a little. He leaves for all that time, and when he finally comes back, he’s rewarded with love? Fuck that.

The more reasonable part of me understood that he’d been pressured to leave, that he had apologized sincerely for hurting me, and that Emory was a good anchor for him.

I wasn’t very reasonable, though.

Gray wrapped an arm around Emory’s shoulders. “Come on, golden boy.”

I caught sight of the tattoo on the underside of my brother’s wrist as they passed me. The Bro Code tattoo. It soothed some of my ragged edges. Gray had renewed his commitment to the family, and I was doing my best to trust he wouldn’t leave us again.

Emory was a good insurance policy, though. Gray would never leave him.

Banshee trotted over to Bailey, sitting nearest the doorway, and then Holden, sniffing and licking hands.

She’d been around them a couple of times, and she was friendly by nature, so this was my best bet if I wanted to get over to the warehouse district with enough time to set up for the poker game tonight.

“Holden, can you keep Banshee with you? She’s still a little antsy, and I have to go out.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Do I want to know where you’re going?”

“Nope.”

“Do I need to worry?”

I grinned. “About me? Please. I’m an angel.” At his skeptical look, I added, “I just need to get laid, man.”

It wasn’t a total lie. I was looking to blow off some steam.

I’d been keeping a low profile since Gray, Bailey, and I got tossed in jail for fighting two months ago, but I might do something even more reckless if I didn’t let loose soon.

“Banshee can stay with me,” Bailey offered.

“Nah, I need Holden to do it. Banshee will need lots of attention.” I met his eyes. “Might do you both some good.”

Holden’s hand stilled on Banshee’s furry head. “Okay.”

My oldest brother struggled with haphephobia, which was an aversion to touch.

It caused him a shit ton of anxiety, and he’d done years of therapy to get past the point where it sent him into full-blown panic attacks.

But it didn’t come easily. The flip side of that, of course, was that he got touch-starved.

His therapist had encouraged him to resume the exposure therapy he did as a kid—basically allowing touch more often, on his own terms, to grow his tolerance—but it was a difficult, slow process.

One way I could help Holden was with pet therapy. That was my term, not his doctor’s. Cuddling with a dog would do him good. Or, at the very least, it couldn’t hurt.

“Let’s go to your room, and I’ll give you a few tips.”

He nodded. Bailey knew better than to ask why that was necessary. Whenever Holden and I did this, we kept it between us. Holden didn’t like showing Bailey his vulnerability, though our kid brother was fully aware of it.

Banshee and I followed Holden down the hall to his bedroom. When we got there, Holden dropped onto the end of his king-size bed. He patted the mattress beside him, and Banshee hopped up.

He put an arm around her, sinking his fingers into her silky fur. His body relaxed a fraction.

I’d suggested he get a dog of his own. Hell, I’d let him adopt one of mine if he wanted. But Holden always said he had too many other things to worry about. He never did put himself first like he should.

“When’s the last time you were touched?” I asked.

He glared up at me. “I’m fine.”

“When?”

“Three weeks ago, I guess?”

“Accidental?”

“Yeah.” He grimaced. “Emory bumped into me in the hall, and it was early, so he wasn’t thinking. He grabbed my arm as he steadied himself, and, uh…” Holden bit his bottom lip and shook his head.

I could guess the rest. His heart had raced, his palms had grown damp, his breathing too fast. He’d practiced one of his deep-breathing exercises not to lose his shit, but the energy cost had probably been steep, with a rise and drop of adrenaline that drained him.

“Okay, so when’s the last time you had a good touch?”

“There’s no such thing,” he grumbled.

“I thought you told me you wanted to get better,” I said. “Avoidance won’t get you there.”

His shoulders hunched up, and his head dropped. “I know.”

I hated seeing my strong, bossy brother this way. He’d made so much progress over the years. He couldn’t afford to let it slip away.

“I just want you to try, okay?” I said a little more gently.

“Point made,” he said, burying his face in Banshee’s fur.

“Can I touch your hair?”

There was a long beat of silence. I waited it out, knowing Holden had to take the time to envision the touch, prepare for it, and accept it before proceeding.

“Yeah,” he finally said. “That would be…good.”

I was sure he didn’t mean good as in enjoyable. It would be good for him, though.

I stroked his hair, keeping my touch light.

He shuddered and took a breath. “One more time.”

I combed my fingers through his hair as gently as I could.

Holden kept his face buried in Banshee’s fur, hugging her close.

She was comforting and a reassurance that the touch was okay.

When he was young, when he was abused, he’d never had a pet.

It helped anchor him to the now, but his nervous system still reacted involuntarily.

I pulled away, and he looked up at me, face a touch pale but otherwise steady.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” he rasped. “Go get fucked, and I’ll cuddle your dog.”

I smirked. “Sounds like a plan.”

Holden wasn’t always this averse to touch. He’d gone through a period where he could hug his family members. But when he came back from college, he was worse. I wasn’t sure if it was his experience there or the clusterfuck our family had become when he returned, but he’d lost a lot of ground.

But then, we all had.

I gave Banshee one last pat, then headed for the door. She watched me go, a small whine escaping, but Holden spoke quietly to her, stroking her ears, and she relaxed.

I slipped out with only a niggle of guilt. She’d have all the attention she wanted tonight.

I borrowed Gray’s bike since he wouldn’t be needing it at the football game and kick-started it. The engine growled to life, vibrating between my legs, and I leaned forward, rolling the throttle to take off.

The helmet kept my long hair from blowing in my face too badly, and I made it over to the furniture warehouse Ruby Myers’s dad owned in ten minutes flat. She’d given me the key when we hooked up last week, and I had no doubt she’d be looking for a repeat tonight.

She wouldn’t get it, though. I avoided entanglements. I fucked around, nothing more. No point in getting any feelings involved in a good time.

Jett was waiting, his features sharp like a shark. Kind of hot in an intense I might fuck you or I might kill you kind of way. He was more wiry than built, but there was a coiled strength in him just waiting to strike.

“About time,” he muttered as I came to a stop and pulled off my helmet.

“Stop your bitchin’,” I said as I pulled out the key, brandishing it. “You bring the booze?”

“In my truck. Sully will be here to work the door.”

“Okay, then. Let’s get to it.”

We set up these games at different locations each time to avoid getting busted for gambling. The sexy Deputy Harvey had gotten wind of them and warned me I was playing with fire.

I’d only grinned and asked him if he wanted to burn up with me.

Harvey was a stick in the mud, though, and my flirtation had gone right over his head. “Watch it, Ax, or I’ll be putting cuffs on you again,” he’d said.

“Promises, promises,” I’d teased.

That time, the come-on had landed. His eyes had darkened, gaze sweeping over my body, before he’d abruptly walked away.

No doubt, fucking the sheriff’s deputy would be a bad idea, but damn, the man’s ass looked good.

If he could turn me on in that ugly-ass sheriff’s department uniform, then I didn’t stand a chance when I saw him in Levi’s at the local pool hall.

Still, I didn’t want to get arrested for real. For one thing, Holden would kill me. So we got more careful about moving locations and keeping the details on a need-to-know basis.

Jett followed me inside and whistled low. “This will do.”

I chuckled. “Right? Too bad we can’t do it here all the time.”

Ahead of us, sofas, chairs, and coffee tables were all crammed close together on a concrete floor.

Beyond them, dining tables and chairs filled the cavernous space.

Rows of furniture extended as far as the eye could see.

Industrial shelving held stacks of more chairs, coffee tables, and end tables above our heads.

Jett and I shifted things around, setting up two game tables. By the time we’d cleared a path and set up the makeshift bar by shoving two high-top pub tables together, it was damn near time to get started.

Jett rubbed his hands together. “It’s gonna be a good night.”

“Hell yeah.”

Jett was in it for the money, and that was certainly a nice perk. But I was all about the rush it gave me. The risk, the money changing hands, the intensity of desperate players, and the booze that turned the whole thing into a tinderbox just waiting to explode into threats or violence.

Not to mention the hot asses that would walk through that door, some of them more interested in making bets about how big my dick was than the cards at the table.

Yeah, the games were a good way to settle the wild beast I had inside. The one that craved chaos—a destructive force that wanted to burn the world down for the ways it had failed me.

For one night, at least, I’d satisfy the urge so that I could go back to pretending that I was tame like everyone else around me.