Bear Read online

  Bear

  Tempest Elite MC Book #1

  Reagan Phillips

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Epilogue

  Staking His Claim

  Free Book

  Also by Reagan Phillips

  1

  Bree

  There are over three hundred Jordan Jacobs listed as living in and around New York City. I know this because I've spent the last six days hunting down the dozen or so who loosely fit the description in my head of what an army hero should look like.

  By the time I whittled the list down and removed those too old and too young, and contacted several by phone or email, my list shrank to two.

  The Jordan Jacobs I met living in Queens wished he was the man I was looking for. I realized the second he eye fucked me while I walked in the bar he asked to meet at, he couldn't be the guy my brother described as a mountain with perfect aim and a stare that crushed stones.

  No, this guy was a waste of time. But, I sipped my cocktail and smiled through the small talk, knowing as soon as this disaster ended, I'd be on the road to Williamsburg, and the very last Jordan Jacob's on my list.

  David didn't make friends easily. It was a trait we both shared growing up. But, those he let in his inner circle were special people and, as I drive my twenty-year-old Del Sol down a street leading to the ammo store and shooting range I found from a Google search, I'm sure whoever this Jordan Jacob's guy turns out to be, he'll have what I'm after.

  Answers.

  I glare at my reflection in the rearview as I slow to make a left hand turn into the shop's parking lot. Maybe this Jordan Jacobs will tell me why my brother decided to take his own life.

  The shop is quiet when I enter. A few guys in camo ball caps and faded shirts are handling the merchandise as if they were cradling newborn babies. I've never understood boys and their toys. Never had a reason to until now.

  A man probably ten years older than me with short blonde hair and blue eyes so deep they almost glow glares at me behind the counter. He's thinking dirty thoughts behind those gorgeous baby blues, and I sigh deeply, throwing up a silent prayer that I'm not being undressed in the mind of the one man who can tell me what I need to know.

  "You need some help with a piece, sweetheart?"

  His smile is sincere, but I can't get over the tingles crawling along my body with the way he's watching me with that lopsided grin.

  "I'm not really shopping. I was hoping the owner was here. Jordan Jacobs?"

  He thinks for a long second before one of the camo-clad dudes turns and addresses me. "There's no Jordan working here. You sure you got the right shop?"

  Thrown by his comment, I search for the store name and land on a card tucked into the glass cabinet under the front counter. "This is Elite Firearms and Range, correct?"

  "That's the place," Camo answers. "But we still don't have a--"

  "Scout." The man behind the counter shoots the name out like a command and jumps. When he steps around the counter, I back up until I'm pressed against a rack of soft rifle cases.

  "How do you know Jordan?"

  "I don't," I answer, my throat growing dryer by the second. It isn't until the man is standing feet from me that I realize the denim vest he's wearing over a white tee shirt is covered in patches. War vet is one I recognize from David's things. The rest I don't, but I've seen enough TV to know he's a member of some club. "I mean, I don't personally know him. I'm looking for someone my brother served with while in the army. He mentioned Jordan and New York often."

  "I guess your brother doesn't know you're here?"

  I swallow again, but no matter what I do, I can't help the dryness in my throat. "He doesn't."

  "Any brother who'd let you meet Bear alone isn't a brother worth having."

  "Bear?" I repeat, realizing it has to be some kind of nickname. The guys who served with my brother called him Clipper. He told me once it was because he gave the best hair cuts on the base, but knowing David, I'm sure there is more to that story.

  "Bear hasn't gone by Jordan in a long time. Most people around here don't even know he has another name. Might want to consider that when you meet him."

  "I will." Finally, getting somewhere, my throat loosens and I take a step closer. "You wouldn't be able to tell me where Bear is now, would you?"

  The man laughs. Up close, he isn't so bad. Well built and handsome in a rugged, overgrown beard kind of way.

  "Lit out of here pissed as hell about an hour ago. He'll be down at Grinders Bar by now, but I don't think that is how you want to meet him. Bear can be difficult on his good days, and today isn't one of those."

  "Grinders Bar."

  "Two blocks down and take a left. Keep going until you hit the railroad tracks. It's the next light down."

  "Thanks," I say, giving him a smile and turning for the door.

  "If he's mad when you find him, make sure you don't mention coming here first."

  I turn slowly and nod over my shoulder. "I won't say a thing."

  My stomach tightens as I slide into my car again and pull to the edge of the parking lot. I should feel relief and maybe even some weight lifting from my shoulders. But I don't. As I follow the directions that lead into a back alley. There are no street lights here except for the one in front of an old brick building, and the parking lot is so full I have no choice but to take the spot right in front of the door that blocks the entrance.

  I might need the quick getaway if Bear is anything like his friend said. It's been at least three years since David last saw him. A lot can change in a man in three years. I have what happened to David to prove it.

  As soon as I build up the nerve to leave my car and walk toward the front, the door slams open, releasing a mass of people into the parking lot. Screams and cheers fill the night air.

  There's a fight at the center of the crowd, and from where I'm standing, it seems three men are beating up on one. As soon as each man takes a swing, the man in the center blocks them with his forearm and lands a punch to their face, back, or gut, whatever part he can reach.

  It's not a fair fight, and the crowd is cheering on the threesome, not the lone boxer holding his own in the middle.

  Someone is yelling that this is the last time Bear crosses territory lines before a man from the crowd joins in, making it four against one. The fight is so unbalanced it's a joke, but no one steps in to help as the man in the center lands fist after fist, taking a few himself.

  I can't take my eyes off of him. He's twice the size of his attackers and disheveled with overgrown hair and a beard in need of a trim. His eyes, though. It's dark, and I can't see well from the moving crowd, but his eyes pierce through it all, and his gaze lands on me seconds before a punch lands on his jaw.

  I cover my mouth with my hands, watching the blood drop from his lips and his nose. His right eye is already swelling, and his cheek underneath is turning purple. This can't be the man I came here to find. This can't be the person David trusted most. The one I was supposed to run to if I ever found myself in trouble.

  Two men step from the crowd behind him, one with a beer bottle gripped in his hand. Fear flows through my body in a wave, and before I can think I'm shouting into the dark. "Jordan! Behind you."

  He turns to me, and I realize my mistake all too late. His eyes meet mine, and he seems lost, trying to understand his name on the lips of a stranger.

  A second is all it takes for his attackers to bash the bottle over his head while two more dip low and pick him up by the legs. They carry him over to my small Del Sol, and as I scream "No," they slam him onto my hood.

  "Get him out
of here, lady," one screams at me before they all spit at Jordan's limp body splayed out on the front of my car and disappear back into the bar.

  It takes a few moments for the shock to wear off before I round my car and stand over him, assessing the damage as quickly as possible. He's out cold and bleeding from his face, and if his smell is any indication, he's drunk enough to not feel a thing.

  This is the man David trusted with my life. This is the man who kept him safe overseas.

  My, how the mighty have fallen.

  I bend over him and check his heart rate then feel his cheeks for broken bones. Being a nurse helps in times like these. I can maybe get him up and home, but after that, I'm not sure.

  My eyes burn, and my breathing catches in my lungs. My last hope of finding answers is a bloody crumpled mess on my car's hood, and I have no hope left.

  Damn you, Bear, or whatever you call yourself. I really needed you to still be a hero.

  * * *

  Bear

  I don't know where the fuck I am. I'm moving. I can tell by the weight pushing my head forward no matter how hard I try to keep it back against the wall. I pry one eye open enough to see the light and the flashing lines of the highway whizzing by.

  "Where the hell am I," I ground out. My mouth is so dry I'm surprised I make any sound at all.

  The last I remember, some redneck A-hole called me out for looking at his ol' lady when all I really wanted was to read the logo on her shirt. Fuck, if I wanted a woman, I wouldn't have to scrounge one up at a dump like Grinders. Any of the sweet butts back at the club would jump on my pole the second I asked.

  I rub my hand over my head and try to open my eyes again. One is definitely swollen shut. The other hurts like hell, but I'm able to force it enough to make out the road again, and when I look to the left, I find a redhead driving what has to be the smallest car on the damn planet.

  "Is this some kind of joke? See how many drunk guys can you fit inside a clown car before one pukes?"

  "I don't find anything about this funny." Her tone is flat and louder than my ears can handle.

  I try to sit up more, but my head bumps the roof of the car, sending shards of invisible glass through my entire body. Patron vodka is not my friend. I should have stopped six shots and a handful of beers ago, but sometimes getting piss drunk is the only way to dull the pain.

  "I don't remember asking you," I answer. “How did I get in this tin can?"

  Little Red glances at me as if she'd like to push me out of her car. "I put you in here."

  I scratch my head and try to get a better look at her. She's a solid woman and curvaceous as fuck. Even so, I don't know how a woman could have gotten me to move anywhere without my help.

  "I didn't have much of a choice," she adds with a huff. "Your friends dropped you off on the hood of my car, and I couldn't just leave your body in the parking lot." She glances again, and I see fire flicker from the depths of her sea-green eyes. "Though trust me. I thought about it."

  "You should have." My back is aching, but I can't sit up the whole way in her car without banging my head again. I'm only able to sit up enough to see out the windshield. When a vehicle passes, and it's headlights flash over the car's hood, I want to drop my head back and cross back into the world of oblivion I came from.

  I left a dent in her car that stretches the whole width of her front and halfway to her windshield.

  "Fuck," I mutter.

  "Yeah. Fuck," she repeats. "Not that my car was in great shape, to begin with, but at least it looked decent before you body-slammed it."

  "Fair enough." I have cotton in my head, and I can't think past the pounding in my ears. "Who are you," I break through the fog enough to ask.

  "Bree. I'm taking you to the hospital."

  "No." I try to sit up, and my head slams into the roof again. Shards of invisible glass cut into every nerve in my body, and I wince from the pain. "Drop me off here. I'll make it home on my own."

  "Here?" her voice questions. "In the middle of the interstate? I don't think so, Bud."

  "I'm not going to a hospital." I have a stab wound in my right side that's still healing from my last visit to Grinders. If I'm seen by any doctor with a brain in their head, they'll call the cops. "The next exit. I can call someone to pick me up."

  "I'm not dropping you off anywhere other than a hospital or your home." She turns and glances at me again, and I see the determination in her eyes. She's a do-gooder. A savior of lost souls. She isn't going to give up until she's saved me. "You're choice, tough guy."

  "Home then," I grind out. "Though I'm not sure you'll like it much."

  "Try me," she says, and I'm hit by the need to do just that.

  This woman is different from what I'm used to. The sweet butts at the club would do anything I ask, but that's only because I'm the Prez, and an association with me makes them near famous in the clubhouse.

  Sure, they'll tend my wounds and paw all over me until I'm back up on my feet and ready for my next brawl, but I get the feeling Red here, wouldn't give me the time of day if I hadn't ended up on top of her car.

  "Two more exits down and take a right." I'm going to show her the easy way to the club. She can drop me at the front gate, and Doc can take me from there. He should be on guard duty with the prospects tonight. Red will take one look at our compound and bolt, solving my annoying little problem.

  Red drives in silence the rest of the way. I move between trying to watch the road and not being able to keep my eyes open. I'm going to hear from Gunner on this one. He told me to come to the club instead of Grinders. He knew this was going to happen tonight.

  Light from an overhead streetlamp fills the car, and I open my one good eye to take Red all in. She's got on jeans and a button-down, dark blue cotton shirt. "What were you doing at Grinders?" I ask, pointing a lazy finger at her outfit. "You're not dressed for a place like that."

  She doesn't take her eyes off the road. "It doesn't matter. Is this the place ahead?"

  The next left is the driveway into the Tempest Elite compound. We converted an old hotel into our clubhouse behind a six-foot cement wall before I became a member. Most of the single members and a few of the married ones live here full time while others keep a room here, but live in houses outside town.

  I've got the old owner's suite. A full bedroom, bathroom, and seating area to myself handed down from the former Prez three years ago. It suits me just fine.

  "Turn left up here and stop at the gate. I'll be fine from there."

  Bree pulls up to the gate, but she makes no effort to stop. Instead, she breezes by the guardhouse before Doc can step out to block her, and she pulls right up to the front of the main building. She puts the car in park, then turns to me. "I told you, I have no intention of dropping you anywhere. You're hurt, and you need medical attention."

  "And you're going to give it to me?" I smile. I can't help it. The way this woman wears determination like a shield, even in my sorry state, I want to pull it back and see what she has hiding underneath.

  She's gone from the car before I can argue and my door opens a second later. She holds her hand out and shakes it at me. "I can pull you out the same way I put you in, but I'm not sure you'll enjoy that."

  I've already figured out if I argue, she'll make this more of a scene then it already is. I take her hand and realize too late I needed it more than I thought.

  My back aches like someone threw a cinder block into it, and as soon as I'm on my feet, I see stars. I can't be sure if it's the shots of Patron or the fight, but when Doc slides his arm under my free shoulder, I don't push him away.

  "What the hell happened to you?"

  I roll my head to the side and glance at Doc, who's more interested in watching Bree's backside swing as she walks than he's worried about me. "Me and my big mouth." He'll know what I mean. I don't have to explain my actions in front of a stranger for my brothers to understand.

  Doc grunts to assure me he knows exactly what I'm talking
about.

  "How the hell did you get him in that cage?" Doc looks around me to Bree. I'd like to think I have her tucked in under my arm, but really she has half my body weight resting on her shoulders, and without her, I'd be face down in the dirt.

  "It wasn't easy," she says, glancing back at her small car. I can tell by the way her voice strains that I'm heavy and it takes a concerted effort to hold me upright.

  I shift more of my weight onto Doc and my bad back. It fucking hurts like hell, but I'm not going to let a girl carry me into the clubhouse. It's bad enough as soon as we walk in the front door, all eyes land on us.

  "We should have taken the back door," I groan in Doc's ear.

  Doc taps me on the chest with his palm. "I doubt you'd have made it that far, Prez. At least your room isn't up the stairs. We'll have you in bed in a sec."

  Bed. My brain fumbles the word like a freshman's virgin hands on a varsity football. I can't have this woman in my bedroom. No one but me has been in the suite in over a year. The Honeys and Sweet butts have been clawing at my door since the day I became Prez, but my heart just isn't in it anymore. I don't deserve even the fake kind of love they bring.

  Doc pushes my door open, and they both lead me to my bed. At least the maid we hired last month has been in, and the place isn't the usual shit show of unmade bed and dirty laundry.

  Doc and Bree lower me to the bed, and I sit, but the pain in my back spikes like shards of bone are ripping into my muscle, so I fall back on the bed and tell them both to leave.

  This pain, the one tearing through my body, is the only thing I do deserve. That's why I run my mouth at Grinder's when the memories get to be too much. I know what happens next will dull that ache. I know I'll end up in so much physical pain, I won't feel the emotional kind.