Sherman's Pride [Spirit of Sage 6] (Siren Publishing Classic ManLove) Read online

  Sherman was shocked when Chaz punched him in the chest, hard, looking furious.

  “Max and Harley have suffered more than you could possibly know,” Chaz scolded angrily. “They were both buried beneath this town, for months, and watched as friends of theirs slowly starved to death. They were pumped full of drugs by the monsters of the cult, and then discarded as though they were hunks of garbage. Neither one of you needs to treat them as though they were some prize at a funfair.”

  Stalking off, Chaz followed his friends, disappearing from sight as he rounded the corner, heading in the direction of Café Anglais, John’s place.

  “Crashed and burned?” Misty drawled, smirking at Sherman, who stared after his mate in dismay. He’d put his boot in it, big time.

  “Fuck off,” Sherman retorted, scowling.

  “Did that really happen?” Misty asked, changing the subject.

  “Did what happen?” Sherman stared at his friend, confused.

  Misty rolled his eyes. “The two little sex kittens, Max and Harley. Did they really get dumped beneath this town?”

  Sherman nodded, and began walking again, with Misty falling into step beside him. “This place was under siege, totally controlled by the cult. They did some terrible things to the people here. I guess Max and Harley are still feeling the after effects, even now.”

  The café came into view. Sherman sighed heavily and braced himself. He was going to have to do some groveling now, for upsetting his mate. He heard Misty snigger beside him, and scowled at his old friend. He really hated groveling.

  * * * *

  Chaz caught up with his friends and invited them to join him for coffee, his treat. The café now remained open until ten at night, with several new employees to help out. Kevin and Kieran had taken over the new pancake and waffle house across the street, since Ethan had decided to stay at the café now that his brother, Douglas, was blind.

  Entering Café Anglais, Chaz saw John, a British ex-special forces soldier and the resident wind-up merchant, at the counter mixing up a batch of cookie dough. Manning the coffee machine and cashier’s station were two men who had been rescued from a facility in Idaho, Bryce and Callahan. Friends of Ethan’s, they had accepted the new job eagerly, having survived their own horrors at the hands of the cult and wanting to get on with their lives, now. They were in their mid-twenties, and getting used to dealing with John’s laid back style of management. The big Brit was definitely a unique individual. Chaz grinned at the man, and prepared for battle. Chaz had avoided the café for a while, knowing the kind of teasing he’d get from John since he’d found his mate.

  “Max, Harley, why don’t you order what you want?” Chaz told the two young shifters gently, who stood beside him nervously. “I’ll bring the stuff over in a minute.”

  The brothers nodded, pointing to what they wanted, and scuttled off to a table away from the big window, at the back of the large café. Chaz watched them sadly. The duo were caracal shifters, and were taking a long time to recover from their experiences. Chaz had the feeling there was more than one thing going on with the brothers, and he was worried about them.

  He wandered up to the counter and looked at the display of pastries, donuts, and other delicious treats. Almond croissants, chocolate brownies, small sponge cakes dripping with cream and icing adorned the brightly lit counter unit. There were savory offerings, as well, but Chaz decided his sweet tooth needed sating tonight.

  “They don’t appear to be happy,” John said quietly, and Chaz glanced up, startled at the serious tone to John’s voice.

  “No,” Chaz replied, keeping his voice down. “I asked if they were okay, and Max started to say something, but Harley freaked out and practically ran away. I’m worried about them. Especially about Harley. He seems so fragile.” He looked over to his young friends, and saw the pair talking earnestly together. Max held his brother’s hand, and appeared to be reasoning with Harley.

  John leaned closer, resting his hand on the top of the counter, and fixed Chaz with an intense green gaze. “Their brothers, Victor and Miller, were in here earlier,” he said, his voice barely audible. “They were arguing about something, but I couldn’t make out what it was about. I did hear Max and Harley’s names mentioned, though. See if you can coax Harley to tell you what’s wrong. He has a lot of friends here who will support him, no matter what. We’d like to help.”

  Chaz nodded, and ordered three almond croissants and three chocolate eclairs. While John got the order ready, Chaz moved on down to where Bryce waited by the till.

  “Hey Chaz,” the smaller man said, smiling. He was a couple of inches shorter than Chaz, and had brown hair that was neatly styled, with a quiff at the front. He had blue eyes which twinkled merrily, and he looked happy. Chaz was pleased. Bryce had been in a bad way when he’d been rescued. It had taken him and his friends a while to recover from the ordeal.

  “Hey, Bryce. How’s it going, working for big bad John?” Chaz grinned as he heard John’s snort in response.

  “He wouldn’t want to be anywhere else,” John said, smirking.

  Bryce grinned, as well, shrugging. “Nobody else would take the job,” he said with a laugh, and Chaz chuckled at the jibe.

  “That wouldn’t surprise me,” Chaz drawled.

  “Now, now, gents, let’s not be too hasty with the insults,” John said, arching one brow. “Just remember who’s in charge.” He smiled slightly when Chaz giggled.

  “Here you go, Chaz, one soya latte and two hot chocolates, with sprinkles and cream,” Callahan said, placing the brimming cups onto a tray, adding utensils and napkins, plus the plate of pastries that John had brought along. Callahan was six feet tall, with blond hair cut into a short Mohawk, with piercings in his ears, nose, upper lip and eyebrows. He wore guy liner in a vivid gold which made his greenish-blue eyes pop.

  “Thanks, Callahan,” Chaz said, inhaling the delicious scent of coffee and chocolate. “How did you know what we were going to order?” He knew that the brothers had chosen their pastries but not a drink, scurrying off before he could ask.

  Callahan jerked his thumb to John, and grinned. “The big bad boss here said it looked like Max and Harley needed some chocolatey goodness, and you a nice shot of caffeine.”

  Chaz eyed John in surprise, who raised a brow, almost daring Chaz to comment. Instead, Chaz thanked his friends, and went to join the two caracal shifters. Sitting down, he dished out the beverages and pastries, and sighed a little, taking a sip of his latte, enjoying the warmth sliding down his throat. It had been a long day. And he still had to deal with Sherman after his outburst. He’d even punched the guy.

  “You didn’t need to do this, Chaz,” Max said, and then smiled a little. “But we’re very glad you did. Callahan makes the best hot chocolate.”

  Callahan gave him a thumbs up, grinning back, before turning and wiping down the counter.

  Chaz watched as his friends took their long-handed spoons, and began to scoop up dollops of whipped cream. The sheer pleasure on their faces as they savored the creamy substance had Chaz smiling a little sadly. He remembered when he had first been rescued by Joe McKellar and his crew. There had been so many things he’d missed out on, having been taken from his parents at a young age and used at a petting zoo until he got too big to be handled safely. Then he and his fellow inmates had been left to fend for themselves, beaten when they balked, and half starved. Max and Harley had been through so much worse. It was gratifying to see the blissful delight they took in the simplest of things.

  “We didn’t mean to mess up your evening,” Harley said after a few seconds of silence. “I’m sorry.”

  Chaz reached over and held Harley’s hand gently, squeezing lightly. “Sweetie, you didn’t mess up anything. The big lug, otherwise known as Sherman, needs to learn to keep his thoughts to himself sometimes. He made a comment I didn’t like, and I told him so. When he’s ready to come and apologize, he can find me.”

  “I think he just did,” Max whisper
ed, looking nervously at the door. Chaz sniffed, scenting his mate, but didn’t turn around. He smiled inwardly. Sherman was so sweet. Big and bold and dominant as hell…and putty in Chaz’s hands. Except in the bedroom. Then, the large alpha was completely in charge—and Chaz loved it. He’d loved being dominated by his mate, had loved being taken over as Sherman had devoured his cock and then eaten out his ass. It was something Chaz wanted to repeat over and over. He kept thinking up all kinds of naughty fantasies that they could explore together. Role playing might be fun. And sex toys.

  “Gentlemen,” Sherman said, his deep voice sending shivers down Chaz’s spine as the big man approached. “Misty and I don’t want to intrude, but we would like to apologize for being insensitive earlier.”

  Chaz looked up, startled by the sincerity in his lover’s tone. He glanced at Misty, and saw equal surprise in the man’s brown eyes. He bit back a smile. Apparently Misty wasn’t sure he’d done anything wrong. The big shifter turned his gaze on Max and Harley, and the deep brown of his eyes went liquid with compassion.

  “Yes,” Misty said, holding out his hand. “I’m sorry that we scared you off. That wasn’t our intention. We don’t like scaring people that we like.”

  Harley looked at the big shifter, wide-eyed. “You like us? But you don’t even know us.”

  Misty smiled gently, the expression at odds with the fierce tattoos adorning his face. “Harley, we’re pretty good a judging character. Maybe you’d like to find out if you like us?”

  Harley exchanged a look with his brother, and the two nodded, and invited the burly ex-cons to sit down.

  Dragging over a couple of chairs, Sherman and Misty looked at the hot chocolate longingly. “Let me get you something to drink,” Chaz said. “Are you hungry?”

  The men nodded, eyeing the pastries hungrily, and Chaz laughed. “Go on, eat up guys. I’ll get more.” They obeyed, grabbing a couple of pastries each and chowing down greedily. Max and Harley giggled at their obvious delight, and had to grab the last two pastries on the plate before they were demolished, too.

  Before Chaz could get up, two more hot chocolates appeared, courtesy of John, plus a plate piled high with more food.

  “Thanks, John,” Chaz said, smiling at the man.

  “I decided that such a sweet apology deserved an equally sweet accompaniment,” John drawled, smirking at Sherman and Misty. “I was fresh out of crow pie.”

  Sherman flipped him off with a sneer, chewing on an éclair, a dab of cream smeared at the corner of his mouth. “Laugh it up, English,” he retorted.

  “Oh, I intend to,” John said, winking, and then returned to the counter.

  Chaz giggled at Sherman’s wry expression, and the gleam of amusement in his beautiful gaze. His dreadlocks hung down his back, giving him a badass look, and his caramel-hued irises shone with evident enjoyment at the exchange.

  “I’m sorry that I upset you,” Sherman said quietly, looking sideways at Chaz, who melted at the sincerity in his mate’s gaze.

  Leaning forward, Chaz licked at the blob of cream on his man’s mouth, and then kissed him, sharing the taste. Sherman gave a low growl of approval and took control, kissing Chaz back passionately until Chaz was left gasping for breath.

  “Apology accepted,” Chaz said when he could breathe again, and heard a round of applause from everyone in the café, blushing furiously as he saw Sherman’s wicked grin. He shifted uncomfortably, his cock hard as steel. He’d nearly come from just a kiss. Sherman should probably carry a warning sign, he was so sexy.

  Sherman stood up, took a bow, and then sat down again, a little closer this time, his leg flush with Chaz’s. He heard Max and Harley giggle at his flustered confusion, and wafted a hand in front of his face.

  “That was hot,” Max grinned, dipping into his hot chocolate again and licking the spoon with delicate greed.

  Chaz caught the look on Misty’s face and had the feeling that the big guy was a goner…Max might just be his mate.

  “Why thank you, young sir,” Sherman said, doffing an imaginary cap. “I do try.”

  Chaz rolled his eyes, but didn’t balk at the heavy arm that wrapped around him. A moment later he was sitting in Sherman’s lap, and the big guy began nuzzling at his hair like a big kitten. He shivered, and then sank into his mate’s embrace, cuddling closer. Just then, three more of Sherman’s crew wandered into the café, and called out a greeting. Harley shot a startled look at one in particular, the man named Jester. Tall, black hair with the most mesmerizing hazel eyes. Chaz saw interest in Harley’s gaze, along with a kind of confused sadness, before Harley ducked his head, staring down at the table, looking miserable.

  “Is he your mate?” Chaz asked gently.

  Harley looked tearful, and nodded. “I think so,” he said, sniffing. “But he won’t want me.”

  Chaz shot Max a look, seeing the concern in the man’s gaze. “Why would you say that? You’re gorgeous, Harley.”

  “Because I’m not supposed to be a boy,” Harley admitted, big tears falling down his face. “I’m trapped in this body, and I don’t want to be. That’s the reason that me and Max were taken by the cult. Our family disowned us, and we ended up with the cult. They did all kinds of nasty experiments on us both, trying to convert us back to being ‘normal’—me a boy and Max straight. They didn’t like freaks.”

  “You’re transsexual?” Misty asked, tilting his head and then looking down at the table. “My brother was transsexual, too,” he said gruffly, clearing his throat. “He identified as female from a really young age, three or four years old. It got to be too much, and he—she took her own life when she was thirteen. Her name was—”

  “Misty,” Sherman said softly, patting his friend on the shoulder.

  Misty nodded, looking sad. “That’s why I chose this nickname,” he said. “To remember her. My real name is Michael.”

  Harley stared at Misty, looking shocked. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know.”

  Misty looked up and smiled at Harley. “I never really understood what Misty was going through, thinking it was just a phase. We were twins and she acted as though she was dealing with everything just fine. Our parents sent her away, for a few months, and when she came back, it was as though she’d just shut down. By the time I realized how miserable she was, it was too late. She hanged herself. My parents are still alive, and were devastated at what happened. They thought they were helping her, but it turns out the place they sent her to lied about their credentials. They weren’t proper psychologists or counselors trying to help, but bigots who wanted to force their own narrow-minded hatred onto her. They bombarded Misty with pornographic images, Bible bashed her, and forced her and her classmates to keep repeating stupid phrases or write a gazillion times that they were flawed and had to believe in God in order to change. It was a form of emotional torture.”

  Harley’s eyes glimmered with tears of sympathy, and he placed his hand over Misty’s, offering comfort. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “Our parents have never really understood, either. They have a hard enough time accepting that Max is gay, let alone that I identify as another gender entirely.”

  Misty squeezed Harley’s fingers. “I didn’t understand Misty either, and that’s part of the problem. I didn’t really know anything about what being transgender meant. I know it’s complicated, but I should have been more understanding, and supported her more. That’s on me, and since then I’ve read up on the subject as much as I can. I don’t ever want anyone else to have to go through what she did.”

  The other three of Sherman’s friends walked up, carrying drinks and plates, and pulled another table over. Jester sat close to Harley, looking at him intently.

  “Did you say that you were transsexual?” he asked, and Harley nodded.

  Surprisingly, Jester smiled and held out his hand. “Welcome to the club,” he said warmly, his white teeth gleaming against his tanned skin.

  Chaz gasped out loud, and saw the equal shock on Harley an
d Max’s face at the startling admission. “What did you do, eat bricks for breakfast to get so big?” he asked without thinking, and then covered his mouth with his hand, burrowing his face against Sherman’s big chest in embarrassment at the faux pas.

  Jester laughed out loud, sounding genuinely amused at the question. “No, I had hormone replacement therapy in Europe, which helped with the muscles and…maleness. I always had kind of androgynous features, but during my transition, after I had reassignment surgery, they did some cosmetic work on my face as well. The height came naturally. I was a string bean when I was sixteen, before I got the treatment. Then I began to fill out. This was the end result.” He gestured to his physique, the broad chest and ripped pecs and biceps.

  “You’re beautiful,” Harley said timidly, blushing furiously.

  Jester smiled widely, looking pleased, and began preening for the younger shifter. “Thanks, little one.” He chuckled. “Does this mean you won’t be running away from me as though the hounds of hell are chasing you each time you see me?”

  Harley gave a tiny giggle, and nodded. “I’ll try,” he said shyly.

  Jester cupped Harley’s face gently, stroking his thumb across Harley’s lips. “I’m glad,” he murmured, and then kissed Harley’s cheek.

  Chaz’s heart melted at the wonder on Harley’s face, and the utter tenderness displayed on Jester’s. Then he glanced at Max and saw a similar look on his face as he stared at Misty. It appeared as though first impressions about the newcomers to town were a little off. These guys had suffered their own torment and had a surprising depth to them. They were far more than just ex-con bikers.

  Cracker spoke up, lifting up his fists to display the words etched into his knuckles in black ink. Cracker and Squeaks were written there. “My sister was transgender, too,” he said. “I used to call her Squeaks, but she was christened Stephanie. She’s the reason we all ended up in San Quentin,” he said, looking fierce.

  “Yeah,” Fester interjected, his blond Mohawk quivering as he sipped at his coffee. The guy had a similar name to his friend, Jester, the result of a fascination with a certain sitcom known as the Addams Family. “There was a gang who liked to shake their balls around the neighborhood, trying to be macho. They kidnapped her from her own home, when we were at work. Cracker and his sister lived with Sherman, his mom, Kathleen, and their stepfather and stepbrother, Daniel and Kaden Steadman. She was only fifteen. When we went to get her, we got into it with the gang, who were still beating on her and attacked us, as well. We killed some of her kidnappers, and it was recorded as a homicide. The courts didn’t believe us when we said that we’d had no choice but to kill them. All of us were tried at the same time. They seemed to ignore what had happened to her. Two of the gang escaped. We never heard what happened to them, certainly not from jail.” Then he smiled, an evil smile that showed no remorse. “I’d do exactly the same again. Those bastards deserved to die for what they did to Squeaks. Fucking monsters. We were too late to save her life, but we sure delivered some poetic justice.”