The Devil's Brew (4 page)

“I’m not going to fuck you. And you’ve got your jeans on. Shut up for a moment and just… feel this, baby.” Kane’s mouth was now on his neck, then chewing down the curve of his shoulder, small rounds of moisture leeching into his shirt where Kane’d nibbled. “Hold on to me.”

He had nowhere else to hold on to. Truth was, he couldn’t think of any place else he’d
want
to hold on but Kane’s massive shoulders and strong arms.

Then Kane’s shoulder pressed up into his chest, and Miki felt the blunt end of his lover’s finger enter him, forcing him up off the counter with a crook of his joint.

Then he really lost his shit.

His world closed in on him, becoming only the aching sear of his cock begging for release and the slow, steady push of Kane’s dry finger into the depths of his body. Kane retreated for a second, then slid in again, deeper with each short, agonizing stroke, until Miki writhed against his lover’s body.

“God, fucking hell.” Miki laid his head on Kane’s shoulder, biting at the man’s T-shirt to give his mouth something to do other than scream. Kane’s own mouth was busy, gnawing at what he could reach of Miki’s shoulder and neck.

The strokes grew longer, picking up in pace, and Miki reached for Kane’s dick, cupping the man’s length as it grew under Kane’s jeans. He tried to work his own hand into the gap between the denim and Kane’s flat belly, but the fit was too tight, leaving Kane’s fat cock out of reach.

“I want to touch you,” Miki pleaded with his lover. “Damn….”

The abrupt chirping of Kane’s phone dashed every scorching thrill Miki’d built up. The initial chirp churned off into some kind of salsa-dance-inducing tune. Kane stilled, then sighed, resting his head on Miki’s shoulder. Then came the heart-agonizing slide of Kane’s hand leaving not only Miki’s body but also the back of his jeans.

“I’ve got to get that. Fuck.” The Irish was still there, but it’d hardened into the granite gravel Miki associated with Kane’s cop voice. “It’s Sanchez.”

“Think he’s calling to wish you a happy Valentine’s Day?” Miki growled. He’d been close, and if possible, Kane’d been even closer to shooting off.

“Sorry, babe. People like killing each other on Valentine’s Day. Kinda like it’s a murderer’s holiday. More than Halloween.” Kane gave Miki a final sweet kiss and pulled away to wash his hands. He caught Miki’s narrow-eyed glare. “I’m not… fuck. Um….”

“You had your fingers up my ass. Dude, I get it. Your phone.” Miki shook his head. “I’m more pissed off at Sanchez, and it’s not even his fault. Fucker.”

He got off the counter, trying not to wince at the echo of Kane’s play when he slid over the hard stone edge. Crossing his arms over his chest, he lifted up the saucepan’s lid and sniffed at the fruity mixture simmering on a low flame. It smelled like berries and jalapenos, but he couldn’t figure out what the hell Kane was going to use it for.

Or used to have planned for it, since when he put the lid down, Kane was staring at him with a too-familiar apologetic expression on his face.

“You have to go.” Miki sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Yeah.” Kane reached for him, pulling him into a hug. “I’m sorry, baby. It’s fucking Valentine’s Day, and I wanted to… shit, you know I love you, right? I wouldn’t leave if I didn’t have to.”

“Dude, if someone killed you on Valentine’s Day, I’d sure as fuck would want a Morgan to come by and kick some ass.” Miki cocked his head. “Someone’s dead out there. And someone somewhere loved them. They deserve to know that whoever did it gets their ass nailed to the wall.”

“God, I fucking love you.” Kane’s kiss deepened, leaving Miki with very little air. “I’m going to grab my things and be back as soon as I can, okay?”

“Okay.” Miki nodded, and Kane gave him a sweet smile. “Just tell me one thing. What the fuck do I do with the food?”

Juniper wine and long shots of gin

That’s where this damned hell all begins

Blood on a mirror, taint of a sin

He’ll break my heart

And get under my skin

Can’t help myself.

Butterfly on a pin.

Lord help stop this damned madness

’Cause he’s done pulled me in.

—“Crazed and Moonshined”

“T
HIS
WAS
a damned stupid idea.”

Dude looked up from the Tyrannosaurus rex bone Kane gave him earlier. The dog had no comment. Even more insulting, the terrier cocked his head for a brief second, regarded Miki with curious brown eyes, then fell back to chewing on his prize.

“Thanks. I fucking really appreciate how much you give a shit about my nervous breakdown.” Miki blew air out from between his pressed lips. Another glance at the oblivious dog only confirmed Miki’s suspicions. Not only did the terrier not give a fuck, he also scooched his butt around so he didn’t have to watch Miki’s futile attempts at Valentine’s Day.

“Great.” He turned around to look at his original present. The one he’d bought for Kane way before he’d let Damie talk him into the second stupid thing he’d purchased. “I so suck at this.”

He’d searched for a couple of weeks before he found someone who could hook him up, and even then his source had been reluctant to cough up what Miki’d asked for. A stealth delivery during Kane’s working hours deposited a huge crate into his garage studio.

One he’d thankfully paid extra to leave on a trolley because the crate was too fucking heavy for him to move around by himself. Even pushing it out of the studio and into the main part of the warehouse was a bitch and a half. His knuckles were hurting and scraped raw from being slammed against a doorjamb when the crate went left when it should have gone right, and for some stupid reason, he’d thought a crowbar would help him open the fucking thing.

All he’d done was jab himself in the balls with its blunt end just as he noticed the handle-and-tie mechanism on one side.

Once he’d gotten the sides off—he was going to leave the damned thing on its trolley—Miki stood and stared at the tree, wondering what the hell had crawled into his brain and told him what he’d dug up was a good idea.

“Why the fuck did I buy him a chunk of wood?” It was a very large chunk of wood. Almost as tall as Miki and certainly wider, it sat on its trolley, a sullen sentinel to Miki’s stupidity. Then he remembered the car and Damie’s delight at seeing it in front of the warehouse. “That’s what it needs. A bow. Or something.”

The red monstrosity he’d shoved into the Cherokee was way too damned big, but he remembered the boxes of Christmas stuff Kane dragged in during the holidays. There were things in there—sparkly things—and they could definitely do something to snazzy up the solid mass of bark and wood taking up residence in the front room.

He found several plastic bags and spools of ribbon. Sitting on the floor in front of the raw, fragrant wood, Miki opened up the first bag and was immediately covered in a rainbow explosion of bow confetti. They were all different sizes and patterns, a dizzying array of color Miki figured would at least brighten up the dull, dusty brown exterior.

Even if he had to duct tape them to the surface, because the small sticky tabs on the backs of the bows didn’t seem to be doing the job. He’d remembered the trick of doing tape loops and stuck the bows firmly into the wood’s bark. Surprisingly, the first bow stuck and held, a metallic-green beacon of hope glimmering in Miki’s eyes.

The rest of the bows went on as quickly as the first, although a few needed extra pushes to hold. He ducked and wove around the thick column until the whole thing sparkled and shone with embellishments. Stepping back, Miki took a good look at what he had done.

It was a horrible mess. The wood needed something else. Something red or sparkling.

“Okay, now what?” There was a tangle of white lights sitting in the box, taunting Miki like a poisonous snake rattling in the shadows. The trolley was a short distance from a plug, and Miki shrugged, snatching the strand of lights from its poorly concealed hiding place. “Why the fuck not?”

By the time he was done, the tall piece of wood was a bright, shining column of lights and bows.

A very ugly bright, shining column.

Past five beers drunk ugly.

“Jesus, what am I doing?” He stepped back, and his knee buckled, weakened from his time on the floor. Miki caught himself before he went down, grabbing at the couch for balance. “Kane’s fucking insane for screwing me.”

The wood didn’t answer. Instead it sat there on its trolley, blinking and flashing away, quietly mocking Miki.

His cell phone rang, and Miki grabbed it, falling into the soft confines of the couch. He thumbed the screen and answered, thankful for the break from the downward spiral he’d built for himself.

“Hey,” Miki sighed. “I’m glad you called. I kind of fucked up, and I really badly need your help.”

“W
ELL
, M
IKI
boy, why don’t ye tell me what the fine hell it is first?” Donal circled the spazzy tall piece of wood. “Other than something ye’d see at a modern art museum.”

“It’s koa. From some place called Kaiwiki.” Miki shrugged helplessly. “Some guy named Primo sold it to me. For Kane. It fell. So, he could sell it. Not sure why, but that matters when you get that kind of wood. Kane had some, and Dude stole the one piece he had. It’s kind of how we met.”

“How much have you had to drink?” Donal eyed him. “Because you’re babbling there, son.”

“I babble when I get nervous. I start singing when I’m fucking terrified.” He chewed on his lip. “It’s kind of why Damie put me on the mike. Pretty sure in about five seconds, I’m going to start belting out ‘it’s a small world’ or something. He’s going to
hate
this.”

“It’s a good present, especially for m’boy.” The older man eyed the wood. “Ye could do with less lights. Maybe only a few bows. Several of the big ones will do. Want me to be helpin’ you?”

“You have no fucking idea how much I want you to help me,” he muttered. “Maybe you could start by shooting me in the head.”

“I’ll be avoiding that one, boyo. How about if ye’d be starting a pot of coffee for us, and I’ll start by stripping this poor thing loose of its bindings?”

By the time Miki got the coffee machine working and spitting out enough brew for two full cups, Donal had the chunk of wood stripped and draped with two strands of tiny faerie lights. Miki stood just beyond the circle of white light, amazed at how the man could take the disaster he’d wrought and turn it into something that didn’t burn out his eyes. Handing Donal one of the cups, he sighed in appreciative amazement.

“That looks great, dude, thanks. Really. I mean, no words kind of good,” Miki muttered.

“Pity. I’d have liked to hear you sing a bit. Maybe even something from Queen.”

“Can’t go wrong with Freddie.” Miki nodded enthusiastically. “You’ve saved my ass. Big time. Thank you.”

“Anything for one of me boys,” Donal said, taking the steaming cup from Miki’s hand. “Come on, then, let’s sit and talk about what’s botherin’ ye.”

Miki stood in stunned silence. He didn’t know what to
do
with Donal calling him one of his boys. The Irish-born cop didn’t seem to notice Miki’s slack-jawed shock and ambled over to the large sectional taking up a substantial amount of space in the warehouse’s living room. After stepping over the gnawing terrier, Donal sank into a corner of the couch with a sigh of contentment.

Sipping at his mug, Donal twisted slightly and beamed at Miki. “Ye make a damned fine cup of coffee, Miki boy. Course I learned at a cop house, and we’re not known for our brew.”

Miki couldn’t remember the stumble over to the couch, his mind still in a fog, but by the time he plopped down into the soft cushions, he’d shaken most of the numb off of his tongue. Cupping his hands around his nearly too hot mug, he sipped cautiously, hoping the steaming liquid would knock some sense back into him.

Instead his brain seemed to have handed over any common sense to the primal lizard part of its core, because rather than a polite expression of gratitude for Donal’s assistance, he blurted out, “You really meant that?”

“About the coffee? It’s verra good, son.” Donal peered at him curiously.

“No, not that. You guys would drink liquid goat shit if someone put it in a cup and called it coffee,” Miki snorted. “I mean the whole… ‘one of your boys’ thing. I don’t know what to do with that. Hell, I was just telling Damie that.”

“Ah, Miki boy.” Donal’s eyes—so much like Kane’s—softened perceptibly. “Yer as much mine as any of those that I’ve had with m’bride. I thought ye knew that.”

He kind of did. He just had a hard time believing it.

“Dude, I’m five kinds of fucked up. If I were Kane’s dad, I sure as shit wouldn’t want him to hook up with me.”

“Do ye really think that of yerself, Miki?”

“I couldn’t even get Valentine’s Day right.” He jerked his head toward the column of wood. “I had to talk his
dad
into coming to help me fix this—I bought him a
dead tree
!”

“First off, it’s a very nice dead tree. Perfect. And secondly, ye didn’t have to talk me into coming. I’d come anytime ye called.” Donal set his cup down, then took Miki’s from his hands. The second mug joined its brother on a roadie crate, and Miki found himself folded into Donal’s thick arms as he was pulled into a fierce hug. “Miki boy, there’s nothing wrong with ye. Yer not someone I ever imagined with Kane because I couldn’t even begin to imagine someone
like
ye. Yer perfect for m’boy.”

“Okay, anyone ever shoot
you
in the head? Because, dude, you sound like you got popped one,” Miki mumbled into Donal’s shoulder. “Maybe one too many football games. Blow to the head. That kind of stuff.”

Everything else he said was lost in the bulk of the Irish man holding him.

It felt good to be hugged. Especially by Donal. The feel of the embrace was so different from any he’d gotten from Damie or Kane. Beyond comforting, there was a protectiveness he couldn’t describe. Like if he held on for just a minute longer, he’d be all better once he let go. He put his arms up and hugged back, letting himself feel the strength of the man who’d taken him under his wing.