Their Forever Home [Men of the Border Lands 13] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)
Men of the Border Lands 13
Their Forever Home
Vella, Carver, and Lance are traveling to find a home in a new community they’ve heard about to the west. Can they compromise and put aside possessive tendencies in order to become a family? Will they be accepted into their forever home, or will one of the men’s past ruin any chance they have at a safer future among others?
When it comes down to decisions on who is part of their family, will Carver make the cut or will he be forced to move on? And can Vella forget about Carver’s past if she does accept him into their family unit?
Genre: Futuristic, Ménage a Trois/Quatre, Science Fiction
Length: 45,761 words
THEIR FOREVER HOME
Men of the Border Lands 13
Marla Monroe
MENAGE EVERLASTING
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
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A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK
IMPRINT: Ménage Everlasting
THEIR FOREVER HOME
Copyright © 2015 by Marla Monroe
E-book ISBN: 978-1-63258-869-2
First E-book Publication: January 2015
Cover design by Les Byerley
All art and logo copyright © 2015 by Siren Publishing, Inc.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
PUBLISHER
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
Letter to Readers
Dear Readers,
If you have purchased this copy of Their Forever Home by Marla Monroe from BookStrand.com or its official distributors, thank you. Also, thank you for not sharing your copy of this book.
Regarding E-book Piracy
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This is Marla Monroe’s livelihood. It’s fair and simple. Please respect Marla Monroe’s right to earn a living from her work.
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DEDICATION
I want to thank Kay Hughes, a wonderful reader who has come into my life and given me not only her support and friendship, but her quirky sense of humor and the ability to make me smile even when it hurts.
Kay, if I could give you your own pair of Border Lands men, I’d do it. The best I can do is dedicate this book to you and promise that if I ever come across a pair of them wandering loose in the world, I’ll ship them right to you.
Thank you for all the help, the book suggestions, and the virtual shoulder when I needed it. This one’s for you!
Marla
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
About the Author
THEIR FOREVER HOME
Men of the Border Lands 13
MARLA MONROE
Copyright © 2015
Chapter One
I’m going to die.
Vella Lockhart slowly stood to her full height of five feet four inches, for what it was worth, and glared at the four men watching her with excitement. Lust fairly poured off of them as they looked her up and down, pausing on her breasts before continuing the journey south.
“Well, looky here, boys. Looks like we have ourselves a woman without a man to protect her. What do ya say we take care of her as ours? Like that idea, Z? I sure do,” a dirty-blond-haired man said. His stained teeth and unkempt appearance only made it more obvious that she was in deep trouble.
“Think she can handle four of us, boss?” a shorter man asked as he danced from foot to foot.
Vella nearly laughed when it reminded her of the kindergarten children she’d occasionally watch when their teacher had something to take care of. Before the crash, when thousands of natural disasters had begun the devastation of the world, she’d been a school secretary. At the time, despite what had happened, she’d always thought they would recover and life would eventually return to normal, but then the diseases finished off just about everyone who’d survived. Now it looked like she was going to die or become a woman for four dirty, scary-looking men. At this point, Vella was leaning toward dying rather than have one of them touch her.
“I think she’s a bit touched in the head, boss. She’s smiling,” the dancing man said with a frown.
“Naw, she’s just excited to find us ready to see to her needs,” the one the boss had referred to as Z said.
Vella watched the one in the back who hadn’t said anything. He bothered her more than the others. Not only was he not speaking, but his scarred-up face and the way he opened and closed his fists over and over frightened her. He would be the one to worry about.
“Why don’t you come over here, sweet thing? Let’s all get acquainted,” the leader said.
“I appreciate your offer to take care of me, but I’m not interested. Several of us are heading out west to meet up with the rest of our family.” She knew it was useless to argue with them, but Vella needed more time to come up with a plan of some sort. If not, she would die fighting them.
“So where is the rest of your group, sweet thing?” he asked, cocking his head and looking around. “Don’t see no one else around.”
“They’ve gone on ahead a little ways. I just needed to sit here a bit longer. I’m not in as good a shape as they are.” Boy, was that an understatemen
t.
The truth of it was that she was in terrible shape, though she’d lost a good bit of weight with the world’s demise—after the year of catastrophes when it felt as if Mother Nature had unleashed her fury on everyone. Vella had lost most of her excess weight due to poor food supplies and the never-ending work to survive when she’d been part of Marcus Lemming’s community. To her, it seemed more like a commune than the extended family their leader, Marcus, had promised.
The one they called boss chuckled, and it spread throughout the little group until he stopped. His eyes held an unhealthy light that left her wondering if they’d somehow gotten hold of some weed or found a stash of drugs somewhere, which worried her even more.
“Don’t look out of shape to me,” said the pee-dance man, still shuffling from foot to foot.
“Me either,” Z said with a crooked smile.
“I want her,” the silent-till-now scary dude said in a deep harsh voice.
“Stand in line, Bear. We all want her. You’ll get your turn,” the leader said with a sick smile.
“No. I want her now,” he said, pushing through the others as if they were just weeds in his way.
For the first time, Vella stepped back. She might have been able to fight the others off. Well, maybe not. But there was no way she could handle this guy. He was built like a freaking gorilla on steroids. He’d crush her if he got hold of her.
He kept coming.
“Look. No disrespect or anything, but I really don’t want this.” She saw the determination in his eyes and added, “Please.”
She looked over her shoulder and groaned. The only way she had open to her was to jump into the freaking deep stream, or river, or whatever it was, and pray she didn’t drown or maybe freeze. It was the middle of fall, but early snow that had fallen up north must be melting again. That meant the water was bound to be icy.
The other men scrambled to stop the big guy from grabbing her. They all argued and punched each other like some Three Stooges comedy of errors. The one called Bear didn’t seem to even register their attempts to thwart his efforts to get at Vella. He would rape her and probably kill her while he did it. It was there in his eyes. For a few precious seconds, she froze at the stark reality of her situation.
Then the curses of the men as they pretty much hung on to him in an attempt to stop his advance snapped her out of it.
The one thing going for Vella in that moment was that they didn’t bother looking at her face as they struggled with Bear. If they had, they might have noticed her will to survive and caught on to her plan to jump. Whether that was an actual will to survive or a choice between methods of death, she wasn’t sure. All she was sure of in that moment was that she didn’t want the mountain of a man called Bear to touch her.
She sucked in a deep breath and let it out. Then again, only this time, she held it and turned around to jump off the short ledge to the water below.
I’m going to die.
* * * *
“Still say making a home with the group we heard about is a good idea,” Lance said.
Carver “Bull” Windom didn’t agree, but then, he wasn’t a normal guy wanting a family and friends to build a new life, either. He was an antisocial ex-biker, ex-bondsman kind of guy who had trouble fitting in anywhere these days. At least when he’d been with The Rebel Riders as their Sargent at Arms he’d been part of something bigger than his own troubles. Now he was alone. Well, unless you counted his new hanger-on, Lance Backer.
Carver still wasn’t sure why Lance had latched on to him and refused to leave. It wasn’t like he’d been particularly nice to the guy. Hell, he’d all but told him to fuck off after that fucking rainstorm had trapped them together in the cave over two months ago. He’d made the mistake of talking to pass the time, and now he seemed to be stuck with a damn sidekick he’d really like to kick in the side.
Hell. Who am I kidding? He’s kind of grown on me. Yeah, it’s official. I’m all kinds of fucked up in the head now.
“Why would they take us, Lance? We’re two men without a woman. They shouldn’t let us anywhere near theirs. It’s too dangerous in this world to expose your woman to single men. I’ve seen even good men change when there’s a woman involved,” he said with a snarl.
“It’s still worth a try. If nothing else, we can find a place close by and maybe trade with them for things we don’t have,” Lance argued.
Carver stared at his new self-appointed friend. Lance was a thirty-five-year-old lawyer with sandy-blond hair and blue eyes. He screamed money and success with his waspish good looks that would have passed any Aryan skinhead’s test. Carver wasn’t of that mind at all. He and the MC he’d ridden with hadn’t adopted that type of racism. Despite being called The Rebel Riders, it was rebel against the norm, the social morals of man that crushed their freedoms. Yeah, they’d run some weed, a few guns, and owned a few strip clubs, but they’d kept the hard stuff out of their towns.
Lance’s good-boy looks had fooled him once. Despite his outgoing personality, the man was deadly in a fight and stronger than he looked. Carver had gained a new respect for the man when they’d been jumped by some fuckers who’d wanted their weapons. Carver had more than held his own and stopped one asshole from planting a knife in Lance’s back. Lance was a solid guy, but he had screwed-up ideas and plans.
Those people will take one look at me and refuse to even let us live close by. I’m not angel, and I won’t be changing my stripes this late in the game.
He’d already pretty much decided that once they got close enough to the camp they’d heard about, he would slip away from Lance so the man would have a chance at getting in. If he stuck with the man, they wouldn’t let him in even if Carver walked away. No, that was his plan since Lance was going to steering them in that direction no matter what Carver said.
“Whatever. I’m going to start calling you mule, though,” he said with a half-smile.
“Why? I’m not an ex-biker,” Lance said as his mouth turned down in a frown.
“’Cause you’re stubborn as one.”
“Screw you, Bull. You never did tell me how you got your name,” Lance said with a scowl.
Carver laughed. “Not a story for mixed company, man.”
“What the hell? It’s just you and me.”
Carver sighed. Lance didn’t get it. He was too normal to deal with his kind of shit or his past. But, if he didn’t tell him, Lance would drive him crazy about it.
“A road name is like a nickname that sticks with you for life. Most guys in a club would never even know your real name. It’s given to you by another club member based on something that happens on a ride or at the club. Mine was given to me because of two things.” Carver wished he had a smoke. Those had long been gone, though. There was nothing much left in any of the stores and houses worth taking anymore.
“I tend to be like a bull in a china shop. I bulldoze over everything and anyone in my path when I’m on a rampage or a mission. I don’t back down and I don’t settle,” he said, looking at the other man.
“Yeah. I can see that. What’s the other reason?” Lance asked.
Carver grinned. “First time I decided to play with one of the sweet butts who hung around the club, we were having a party for one of the guys coming home from overseas. I’d refrained from doing any of the girls at the club when I first got patched in. Wanted to figure out who was who and how it all worked. By the time the party for Shaggy rolled around, I’d pretty much figured out who I wanted to steer clear of and who wouldn’t be so bad to spend some intimate time with.” He stopped and picked up the canteen to take a sip of the refreshing water. Talking made him thirsty. The only good thing about settling down in one place for very long was that he could set up a distillery to make some home brew.
“Anyway, I grabbed T.J. and let her go down on me. When she pulled my dick out, she fell back on her ass and yelled. It grabbed several of the guy’s attention, and everyone laughed at how T.J. had gotten bowled over by the
size of my cock. She told them I was hung like a bull and she wasn’t shoving that down her throat or up her cunt for a million bucks. The name stuck after that,” he said, watching Lance’s reaction to the story.
“Holy shit! Really? Sure as hell don’t want to get in a pissing contest with you then. Sounds like you’d win hands-down,” he said, shaking his head.
It surprised the hell out of Carver. He’d have expected the man to laugh and call him on it, or at the very least not believe him. The bastard kept surprising him every time he thought that he finally had him figured out.
“Come on. Time to move on. We’ve been sitting here so long my ass is numb.” Carver stood up and stretched, popping his neck from side to side.
“Crap, man. That weirds me the hell out every time you do it,” Lance said with a grimace.
“I stiffen up when I’m not moving. Don’t want to start walking without all my parts working at top speed. Too much danger out there to screw up,” he told him.
Lance was built more like a swimmer, or maybe a bicyclist, all lean and sinewy. It meant he didn’t get as stiff as Carver did with his bulked-up body. If he didn’t stretch the kinks out, he’d pay for it later, either with muscle cramps or with screwing up in a fight because he wasn’t loose enough.
“That stream on the map shouldn’t be too much farther now,” Lance said. “We can fill up our canteens and decide on whether to try and cross there or look for a better spot.”
“Water’s going to be nipple-stiffening cold, Lance. It might only be fall but those early snows will be melting now. We’ll have to look for a bridge to get across, no matter how narrow or how shallow it is. A dip in water that cold will give you pneumonia no matter how warm it is out here.”