For the Pride of a Crow

  FOR THE PRIDE OF A CROW

  (RED DEAD MAYHEM, BOOK 3)

  By T. S. JOYCE

  For the Pride of a Crow

  Copyright © 2018 by T. S. Joyce

  Copyright © 2018, T. S. Joyce

  First electronic publication: July 2018

  T. S. Joyce

  www.tsjoyce.com

  All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the author’s permission.

  NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental. The author does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for third-party websites or their content.

  Published in the United States of America.

  Cover Image: Wander Aguiar

  Cover Model: Victorio Piva

  Other Books in this Series

  For the Hope of a Crow (Book 1)

  For the Blood of a Crow (Book 2)

  Redemption of a Wolf (Book 4, Coming August 2018)

  Contents

  Copyright

  Other Books in this Series

  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

  Up Next in this Series

  For More of these Characters

  New Release Newsletter Sign-Up

  More Series by T. S. Joyce

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  “What are you doing, man?” Kasey asked.

  Ethan clenched his fists to ward off the urge to put his knuckles through Kasey’s teeth. “You have too many questions, and I don’t have the answers for you.”

  Kasey scanned the hole-in-the-wall burger joint and leaned closer. “I thought I was going to come out here and see them under you. I thought I would feel better about everything. It doesn’t make any sense you would take half of Ramsey’s Clan and then set them free. You’re going to get them killed. Crows aren’t good rogues. You owe them protection for what you did.”

  “For what I did? You seem to have forgotten who pressured me to call that Alpha Challenge. I seem to recall you in my ear plenty.”

  “You were supposed to take all of us! You were supposed to reset the Clan.”

  Under the table, against his tense thighs, Ethan clutched his fists tighter. “I was happy where I was, Kase. I was Second to the King of Crows. I was steady enough. You assholes kept pushing and pushing, and I was never meant to be king. Fucking look at me.”

  Kasey wouldn’t look him in the eyes. Most people couldn’t because they had turned pitch-black months ago and were never his human blue anymore. He could barely look at himself in the mirror, because all he saw was his destiny to become his father, Lucian, the Blackwood Crow. “Look at me,” he gritted out again.

  Kasey dragged his somber gaze to Ethan’s face for just a moment before he dropped his eyes to the table.

  Ethan sighed. “Do I look like I deserve a throne? Do I look like I would be a good king? A good Alpha? Something’s wrong with me. Go back to Red Dead Mayhem. Get the rogues back to Ramsey if he’ll take them. But don’t come here again. I want to be left alone.”

  Kasey shredded the corner of a napkin and shook his head. “Rike misses you.”

  “Rike’s fine. He’s better off without me around. His new mate can keep his Blackwood instincts for chaos steady. I would unravel every bit of work that little wolf does with him.” Crossing his arms over his chest, Ethan twitched his head toward the door. “Now, get out of here. You’re making my crow want to kill things.” Ethan smiled to reassure Kasey he was only teasing, but he really wasn’t. He’d wanted to fight the crow shifter the second he walked through the door. But Kasey didn’t need to know how big a psychopath Ethan was now. He would just blab to Rike, and Ethan would get attention he didn’t want or need.

  He wanted to go insane in peace.

  Kasey stood and ran his hands through his dark hair, hovered near the table as though he wanted to say something more, but another quick glance at Ethan’s face, and he changed his mind.

  That was one benefit to frozen demon eyes. People tended to leave him alone. Survival instincts were a powerful motivation.

  “Later, Ethan.”

  But Ethan didn’t return the sentiment as Kasey walked out of the restaurant. Saying “later” meant he intended on seeing Kasey again. And he didn’t. Sure, the legendary Blackwood blood flowing through his veins made him a murderer and a lunatic, but it didn’t make him a liar.

  The sound of Kasey hitting the throttle of his Harley as he turned onto the main road was the biggest relief in the world.

  Ethan rolled his eyes closed and inhaled deeply.

  God, he loved the sound of silence.

  “He’ll be back,” came a voice from the other side of the table. “He’ll be back, and then we can kill him.”

  Ethan eased his eyes open and glared at the ghost of Lucian Blackwood, his father. “Why are you here?”

  “Because Rike is boring. That boy turned out to be a pussy.”

  “You mean he turned out happy. Most parents would want that for their children.”

  “Boring.” His massive frame was translucent as he scanned the small restaurant. His eyes gleamed pure black, just like Ethan’s did now. Lucian pointed to a girl who bustled out of the kitchen’s swinging doors, only to trip on an untied shoelace. “What about her?”

  Ethan frowned at the waitress who was currently having the longest and most dramatic fall ever as she stumbled over a chair, spilled a burger basket against her ample tits, caught herself four separate times, and kept tripping over her own feet until she finally locked her arms on a chair where she’d tossed the burger basket and squished her hand in the French fries and condiments.

  “Son of a tit,” she muttered, her fair cheeks blazing the color of cherries as she rubbed her ketchup-covered hands on a napkin.

  She’d painted her lips bright pink and had her hair up in one of those pin-up girl hairdos. The Pepto-Bismol pink waitress dress wasn’t doing her any favors since it was lumpy and misshapen and didn’t hug any curves. She was a pink SpongeBob SquarePants.

  “You think she’s my type?” he asked his father.

  “Well, I didn’t say you had to fuck her,” Lucian said, staring at him like he was an imbecile. That was his loving dad—as big an asshole in the afterlife as he had been when he’d stomped around the earth.

  Ethan counted to three in his head and prayed to the powers that be for patience. Through clenched teeth, he asked, “Then what do you want me to do with her?”

  Lucian’s smile was empty, always empty, but his eyes finally had a spark of life to them. “Kill her.”

  And for the thousandth time in three months, Ethan wished Lucian would go back to haunting Rike and Ramsey instead of him.

  Lucian growled and vanished in a puff of oily black smoke. It happened so suddenly, Ethan
startled, the legs of his chair screeching as he shoved backward.

  “Number ten-ten?” the clumsy waitress called. She was staring right at him and scrunched up her face apologetically. “I just squished your burger.”

  Chapter Two

  Well, that was embarrassing.

  “Did you hear me? I said I just squished your burger,” Leah had called to the hairy biker who was staring at her from the back wall. The hairy biker, who was the only one in the restaurant, glanced around like maybe she was talking to someone else.

  He might be even weirder than her.

  “Well, I squished half of it. I think the other half is lost in my cleavage,” she mumbled, staring down at the open front of her hideous waitress uniform. There were at least a half dozen French fries down there. The top two buttons had abandoned ship during her ten-minute fall. God, she hated these shoes. They were two sizes too big, much like the sack-dress she was wearing. Thanks, Monica, for ordering the wrong size in everything. Heifer.

  “Bill,” she called through the kitchen window. “I dropped everything, and nothing is okay.”

  The cook stared at her with dead eyes and gave the saddest sigh she’d ever heard in her life. Bill did not like his job. He said the F-word three times in a row as he went to work making another burger basket, but she was a bright-side kind of girl.

  “Are you saying duck?” she asked hopefully.

  “No, Leah, I’m not saying duck.”

  “Geez,” she said, scooping the mess off the chair and onto the tray. “You could just pretend to be polite.”

  “Big quacking fucks with their cute little fucklings,” Bill said rudely.

  The hairy biker snorted.

  “Well, don’t encourage him,” she reprimanded the stranger. “He’ll only get surlier if he thinks he’s amusing someone.”

  “I care about amusing no one,” Bill called over the sizzle of the hamburger patty hitting the grill.

  “This is why Bill isn’t allowed to serve tables,” she explained to the quiet man.

  He narrowed his pitch-black eyes to slits. There was no white around the pupils. There hadn’t been the other three times she’d seen him here, either. Usually, the owner of this place, Monica, was his waitress, but today was his lucky day. Monica was getting a nose job, so Mr. Shifter got Leah.

  “You know,” she said cordially as she began wiping down the chair with a rag, “a gentleman would offer to help.”

  The chair creaked as he leaned back and crossed his arms. “Never said I was a gentleman. Besides, you spilled my food. I was hungry.”

  “Are all shifters quiet and angry all the time?”

  The man just stared.

  Leah shrugged. “Maybe Bill’s a shifter, too, then.”

  Still no answer.

  “It’s your eyes. They’re black as the devil’s. And when you were here before, the other customers moved to different tables when you sat down next to them, like you felt dangerous or something. You don’t ever bother no one, though. Mostly you just talk to yourself.”

  “You’ve been watching me?”

  “My momma raised me to believe in honesty, so yes, I’ve watched you. Mostly because you come in after the lunch rush and before the dinner rush, so it gets boring in here. There are only so many times I can clean the shake machine or refill the sugar packets.” Leah frowned. “Maybe I’m unhappy with my life, too. Bill! Do you think I’m unhappy with my life?”

  “Shut up, Leah.”

  She made a ticking sound behind her teeth. “I didn’t think so either, but I just wanted to make sure.” She tossed the rag on the tray with the rest of the mess, pushed the newly cleaned chair back in and stooped to tie her shoe. “My boss likes to shop online, and she got a wild hair to make a theme for this place so ordered us these sixties costumes. They’d looked cute online, but she found a site that was selling them for way less, and they came looking like this. It’s real hard to get tips when you’re wearing clown shoes and a dress that—”

  “You talk a lot,” the man said in a deep, gritty voice.

  Whoo, sexy. That was surprising since his beard was bushy and hid most of his face.

  She stood and straightened her dress. “And these lacey socks itch like a bitch. Oh, I shouldn’t cuss in front of you on account of you being a paying customer and all. This dress though,” she muttered, lifting it at her sides. She had to wear a petticoat with it to give it volume but the cut wasn’t right. It didn’t cinch in at her waist at all. “Well, you probably understand. You always wear long sleeves and your clothes are baggy. And I’m guessing your favorite color is black because I’ve never seen you wear any other color.”

  “I prefer silence.”

  “Huh. Don’t we all,” she said, hooking her hands on her hips and giving him a bright smile.

  “You prefer silence?” he asked, one dark eyebrow raised.

  “No.”

  He stared.

  She stared.

  The silence bothered her. “Your eyes look cool.”

  Smoothly, he slid on a pair of sunglasses, and the corner of his lip curved up in a smile. At least, she thought it did.

  “Your beard looks cool, too.”

  His chin dipped to his chest and his attention seemed to rest on her nametag. Either that or her boob.

  “I’m Leah.”

  “I’m hungry.”

  “Oh. Right. I’ll let you get back to talking to yourself.” She turned and walked away. “No judgement, though. I talk to myself too. BRB.”

  “What does that mean?”

  She turned, meaning to be all smooth, but tripped over the gosh-dang shoes again and barely caught herself on a chair. She cleared her throat and struck a nonchalant, sexy pose with her hip poked out. “A lady can’t give away all her secrets on the first meeting with a suiter if she wants to keep his interest.”

  The hairy shifter was looking at his phone. “BRB means ‘be right back’.”

  Leah scrunched up her face and spun on her heel, the rubber soles squeaking loudly against the tile floor. And on this day, the seventh of August in my thirty-fourth year, I shall still remain single and alone.

  “Burger’s ready. Try not to fuck it up,” Bill said loudly and dinged the bell.

  With a sigh, she pulled the basket from the counter and murmured, “Bill. Bill, Billy, Billanoid, Bill. I know that every time you insult me, it’s really your way of saying you accept and appreciate me.”

  “I hate you.”

  She winked and whispered, “I love you, too, Billy.”

  “It’s just Bill!”

  She smiled to herself as she lifted her knees higher to avoid a second helping of burger bosom and made her way toward the table. But she halted before she made it there. He had his head turned to the right and was talking to himself again.

  That always made her sad to see. Something was wrong with him. Anyone could tell, and the more she watched him, the more she understood. His voice wasn’t the only one in his head.

  Lonely life. Always sitting by himself. Riding his Harley away by himself. Today she’d been exited for him because he’d met a dark-haired man she thought might be his friend. But they didn’t seem like friends by the time the man left. And Hairy Biker Shifter had seemed relieved to be alone again. Head sickness was like that. Sometimes it was easier to be alone than hurt other people. Maybe all shifters were head-sick.

  “Want to be friends?” she asked as she made her way to the table.

  The man sat up suddenly and looked around the room with a frown. “What the fuck?” His attention landed on her as she set the food in front of him. “What did you just do?”

  “Uuuuh, I think I just became your best friend. Now you don’t have to talk to yourself. You can talk to me all you want. You have permission.” She pulled out a chair to sit across from him.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  She froze, her butt cheeks hovering mere inches from the cold surface of the metal chair. “Befriending you
.”

  “I don’t need friends and you’re…you’re…”

  “I’m what?”

  “Not my type.”

  That stung, so she straightened up, threw her shoulders back, and did what she always did when someone was mean. She plastered a smile on her face like she’d been dumb to the insult. She parted her lips to tell him to enjoy his meal, but he cut her off.

  “And I don’t need friends. I moved here to get away from everyone, and you just keep talking. To me. And making him disappear.”

  “Who?”

  Hairy Biker Shifter linked his hands around the burger basket and canted his head in a jerk. Like a bird. And now she couldn’t think of anything cool to say to dismiss herself.

  “I do talk a lot—”

  “I’m dangerous.”

  “Everyone is dangerous,” she said softly.

  “Not you.”

  Leah pursed her lips. She’d give him that one. “No, I guess not me. I wish I could hurt people back, but I can’t. Let me know if you need anything else. Extra ketchup is by the napkins.”

  She got up and walked away.

  “Ethan.”

  “I’m sorry?” she asked, turning.

  A couple with a trio of small children filed in the front door. Hairy Biker Shifter looked at them and then said, “Nothing. Forget it.” He pulled his wallet out and threw a twenty down, then palmed his burger and left the restaurant without looking back.

  “Ethan is your name?” she called just as the door was closing.

  He didn’t miss a single step on his way to the corner of the building. Utterly confused, Leah made her way to the huge picture window that took up the front wall and watched him sit on his blacked-out Harley motorcycle, eat his burger in four bites, and then rev the engine. He kicked the stand out from under the bike and, right before he blasted out of the parking lot, cast a frown at the window where she was standing. He couldn’t see in here. It was like one of them two-way mirrors, but she could see him just fine.

  The sound of his Harley roaring off made her stomach hurt a little, but she didn’t know why.