In the Eyes of Crazy(2)

Trying to keep from turning bright red, because that would be the icing on his uncomfortable cake, Land followed Larissa and her two girlfriends to the door. She paid the cover charge, he got IDed, then they headed inside.

Loud music assaulted Land’s ears. Strobe lights made it difficult to see. He squinted, trying to make out details of the place. When his eyes adjusted, allowing him to make out features, he figured the place looked like a typical night club. A bar stood in the middle, like a kiosk. The dance floor was beyond that along with an empty stage against the far wall. Booths lined each long wall and tables filled every other available space.

Larissa grabbed his arm, catching his attention. “Don’t get lost,” she admonished.

He realized he’d been standing and staring. Someone shoved him from behind, sending him stumbling forward several steps. Instinctively, he glared over his shoulder at whoever’d hit him.

“Oh,” he murmured, his head tipping back. At six feet, Land had never considered himself short, but this guy was huge. Broad shoulders, thick arms, and a scar creasing his left cheek, gave the leather-clad man an air of danger. Land wanted to run, but his feet seemed glued to the floor.

To his surprise, the big dude simply nodded and muttered, “Sorry,” then turned and headed in another direction.

Land watched the guy settle into a booth crowded with men. They were all shapes and sizes, but there was one thing they seemed to have in common. All of them wore some form of leathers. A biker gang, he realized.

“Well, look who’s here,” Larissa muttered in a voice thick with something Land couldn’t determine. “Over two years and he looks almost the same.”

That time, Land recognized her tone. Bitterness. He had no idea who Larissa was talking about, but evidently it hadn’t been a good experience.

Not interested in his sister’s drama, Land headed toward the table where her friends were waiting. Unwilling to sit just yet, he slapped the table and said, “I’m the birthday boy, so first round’s on me. You all can get the rest of my drinks tonight. How’s that sound?”

Trisha, a slender brunette with killer legs, grinned up at him. “I like that plan. I’ll take a White Russian.”

“Get me a Cosmo, please,” Gracy requested distractedly, her focus on a black-haired man who was giving her the once over.

“What do you want, sis?” Land asked Larissa. All the shouting over the music was already starting to give him a headache. Maybe if he got buzzed, that would ease and he’d be able to figure out how to tell if anyone was interested in him. Yeah, and pigs could start flying, he thought bitterly.

“Oh, are you sure?” Larissa asked.

“Yeah.”

“Um, how about a Green Martian,” she said.

Land nodded. He’d recognized Gracy’s drink, but sure hoped the bartender knew what the other two were, because he had no clue. “Okay,” he said before anyone could change their mind.

He discovered getting to the bar wasn’t as easy as he’d hoped. Land circled the busy rectangular booth that made up the bar. Nibbling his lip, Land contemplated the wisdom of sliding between two large men when an arm settled over his shoulders.

Looking left, Land found himself staring directly into a pair of gray eyes. He opened his mouth to say…something, but then the other man’s focus dropped to his lips, stealing his breath with the heat darkening the guy’s pupils to the shade of slate.

Then the guy returned his focus to Land’s eyes and said, “You need help getting to the bar, hot stuff?”

Hot stuff? Is this guy for real? Land swallowed hard and couldn’t help sweeping his gaze over the guy. Same height, so about six feet, red hair cropped short, whipcord lean body with plenty of clearly defined muscle beneath his tight t-shirt and…oh…dark gray leather pants that currently matched the man’s eyes.

Awe, what the heck?Wasn’t hooking up what he was here for? “Yeah, that’d be great.”





Chapter Two


When Payson had smelled the dick-swellingly good man’s scent on Sam, he’d wanted to throttle his friend for finding the human first. Knowing he couldn’t do that, Payson had done the next best thing. He’d twisted Sam’s nipple, hard, and ordered him to tell him who he’d been talking to.

Sam had grabbed his hand, shoved him away, and demanded to know what the fuck he was talking about. That had, oddly enough, eased Payson’s hyena. Fortunately, he hadn’t needed to answer, for Sam had continued, “I almost bowled some skinny black-haired human down. Of course I was gonna apologize.”

“Can you point him out?” he asked.