Beck Bear (Daughters of Beasts Book 2), Page 2
T. S. Joyce
“I’m not.”
“Liar. Since when do you keep secrets?”
Juno shrugged up one shoulder and traded one secret for another to distract Remi. “I totally got another eviction notice on my condo.”
“Well, that is the least surprising thing ever. You have to pay like a million dollars for a one bedroom. I don’t know how you keep up with the cost of living there.”
Juno snorted and checked the email that just came in. “I don’t keep up, apparently. My landlord is going to kick me out this time. He ain’t bluffin’.”
“Maybe that’s what’s supposed to happen,” Remi said so low Juno almost missed it.
“No, that’s definitely not what’s supposed to happen. I’m not supposed to fail at the one thing I’ve poured my entire life into.”
“Juno, look at your life. You are a puppeteer. An organizer. You got me to these mountains and sent a bunch of strippers to my apartment to get me moving again. You organized for all of my stuff to be brought to Tillamook, Oregon from Sacramento with like…no preparation. And you still kept up with your work. And you probably are doing the same stuff for Ashlynn. Am I right?”
Ha, she’d just organized Ashlynn’s birthday party in Damon’s Mountains from her office hundreds of miles away. “Yep.”
“When was the last time you slept for more than four hours at a time?”
“The year was nineteen-ninety-one—”
“I’m serious, Juno!”
“Okay, Mom. I don’t require a lot of sleep like normies. I’m fine.”
“You have bags under your eyes.”
“Rude,” Juno said, looking up from the email she was writing long enough to give Remi what she hoped was a withering glare. “And besides, eyebags run in my family. It’s genetics.”
“Brighton Beck doesn’t have eyebags, and he’s like twice your age. Neither does your mom. Werebears age well.”
“I hate when you call us that. We’re bear shifters, not werebears.”
“You’re the only werebear in existence with eyebags,” Remi muttered.
“Oh my Goooood,” Juno drawled out, resting her head back and rolling her eyes at the roof of the truck. “What do you want me to say? Huh, Remi? I love my job and I love working and I’m fine. Everything is fine. You said we wouldn’t talk about work.”
“You don’t pick up my calls.”
Juno growled. It had been a while since her inner bear cared enough about anything to growl. What did Remi want from her? She was doing the best she could. Lucky Remi, she’d found a good life. A safe life. A good Crew and the perfect mate. It was good for her, but that wasn’t Juno’s story and never had been. She’d known from age eighteen that her twenty-seventh year on this earth would be her last. And she’d chased a dream with the time she’d had. A mate had never found her, but a passion for music had, probably thanks to her dad, her upbringing, and her hundreds of hours at old bars watching her dad and uncle play to the crowds who would come out to see them. Her fondest memories were of sitting in the studio with the world-famous Beck Brothers, but to her, they were just Dad and Uncle Denny. As an adult? She’d wanted to hold onto that passion and make a career for herself outside of Brighton Beck’s shadow. Living in some Crew with the perfect mate wasn’t her fate. It was Remi’s.
A wave of homesickness took her, but Juno didn’t even know for where. Her condo? So she could escape Remi’s callouts? The studio she watched all the cookie-cutter bands record the same songs over and over and over? Damon’s Mountains?
Had she wasted her life?
Juno, seriously, you’re missing it.
Had she wasted her life on this dream?
Juno bit her bottom lip to keep it from trembling and kept her face carefully angled toward the window.
“When are you going to tell me what’s really wrong?” Remi asked.
Juno sniffed and forced a smile as she reached for the radio dial. “When I’m dead.”
“That’s not funny, Juno-Bug.”
“Oh my gosh, I haven’t heard that nickname in ages.”
Remi turned up a gravel mountain road right by a mailbox and pushed the truck higher and higher. “Remember that Halloween your dad actually dressed you like a June bug?”
“I looked like a dung beetle.”
“And remember me and Ashlynn begged to match, so our moms had to make the same costumes?”
Juno giggled and set her phone in her lap. “Yeah, and we all looked like a trio of little cockroaches.”
Remi was cracking up now. “We thought we were so cute, but our parents took us to that costume contest at Moosey’s, and we all tied for Most Disturbing Costume award. We even got those little blue ribbons and everything.”
“I still have those somewhere.”
“You have mine, too?”
“Yeah, and Ashlynn’s. You two always threw everything away so I kept them with my stuff. I had these big plans to make this big scrapbook of our memories.”
“Why didn’t you ever do that?” Remi asked.
Juno wiped tears of laughter from the corners of her eyes and shrugged. She looked back out the window. At the snow, towering pines, boulders, and uneven terrain. She rolled the window down and inhaled deeply the pine scent, frost, and fresh air. God, it smelled so good here. It really was like Damon’s Mountains.
“I don’t know,” she answered as Remi pulled to a stop in a clearing near an old truck and a navy Bronco. “I guess I just ran out of time.”
Chapter Four
He should rip Grim’s roses out of his dumb landscaping just to teach him a lesson. That lesson being “Don’t tell me what to fucking do.” This happened every time. Rhett had his one day off a week, and every single time, Grim ordered him to work it. He was tired, worn to the bone, grumpy, hadn’t been sleeping at nights, and all he wanted to do was go into town and see Sara. It was tradition to see her on his days off, and Grim had been ruining that.
“Rhett, I’m not playing. Get your ass on the processor.”
“Fuck. Off. Grim! I’m not taking over Kamp’s machine just because he doesn’t feel like working today.”
Grim’s eyes flashed gold in the shadows of his porch. His voice came out a snarl when he said, “It’s his day off.”
“Welcome to the club. It’s my day off, too! Who does the schedule? Because this happens every time.”
Grim let off a single, echoing laugh. “Remi makes the schedule. You know, the female you brought to our mountains because you thought it would be fun? Maybe you shouldn’t have slashed her tires, left mouse traps in their trailer, put chocolate jelly beans in her coffee grinder, and bought their kid a motherfucking naked mole rat whose sole purpose in life is to bite everyone. Maybe then she would care about your days off.”
“Aaaah!” Rhett yelled. He hated everyone on this mountain. Okay, that wasn’t true. He actually secretly really liked them, but they were all getting on his damn nerves today. He needed to Change. And kill something. Or start a bar fight. Or drink all of Kamp’s new batch of Pen15 Juice, aka the best beer in Oregon.
His phone vibrated in his pocket, and he snarled at it. All he wanted to do was flip this row of brats and eat a big-ass, greasy lunch, but everyone seemed to need shit from him. He checked the glowing screen.
Fucking Drew with his fucking stalking, perseverance, and can-do-attitude. Rhett had made the biggest mistake in the world the day he’d signed with that money-hungry agent slash manager slash asshole. This is a new number, he texted Drew. Who is this?
Nice try, Rhett. Where the fuck are you? You were due in the studio three days ago! We have to pay for every day you don’t show up. You are in breach of your contract. We are going to sue your ass if you don’t deliver. Hear that part clearly! I will ruin you! Cut the shit and call me. Now.
Rhett stared at the fire in the grill and considered throwing his phone in there and cooking it right along with the bratwurst. Thinking of going back to his old life made him want to puke.
Rhett!!!!!
He just wanted to go see Sara.
Everything would feel manageable if he could just get Grim off his case long enough so he could sneak away. That was one bad thing about being part of a small Crew. When he’d been with the Saga Pride, no one gave a shit if he disappeared for a little while. But here, he always had someone watching him.
He tracked Grim’s progress as the Alpha meandered off his front porch, sliding his yellow hard hat over his black mohawk, his gold, suspicious eyes on Rhett. So Rhett graced him with his favorite finger and told him, “Have a good shift!”
When Grim muttered a string of curses and disappeared into the woods, Rhett huffed a little sigh of relief. He burned the tips of his fingers when he pulled the brats off the grill and onto a paper plate. He took a bite of hellfire and did that blow-dragon’s-fire out of his mouth while singeing every taste bud, just like all bratwursts should be eaten.
Plate of spicy wieners in hand, he patted his back pocket to make sure he had his truck keys and strode for the trail that led to the parking lot and farther down the mountain. When he spied his rusted-out old Chevy pickup, he grinned because this was it. Escape without the twenty questions from his nosey Crew. Grim was working, Kamp was sleeping in, and Remi, the nosiest Crewmate of all, was in town picking up her friend.
But when he was halfway through the flat field to his truck, he heard it—the soft rumble of Kamp’s truck. Mother fucker. Rhett walked faster, but when he tried to open his truck door, it was locked. When his inner lion growled, he didn’t even try to swallow it down. Everyone was obnoxious with their breathing and existing and showing up at inopportune moments.
Weiner down! One of the brats had rolled off the plate as he was rushing to dig his keys out of his pocket. “Fuuuuudge pops!” Poor bratwurst. It’s only job in life was to be delicious and eaten, and what had happened? It had rolled into the dirt before it had made it to a belly. That was tragedy right there.
And here was Remi, climbing the final ridge in Kamp’s big black F150. Stupid jerk had bought a new truck when he started getting paid consistently. And now he was all devoted to making the Crew finish their shifts. Annoying. All Rhett wanted to do was coast by with just enough to take care of his sister. He needed what he needed and nothing more.
“Hi!” Remi called out her open driver’s side window.
Crap, now he was going to have to converse with her. “Bye!”
He unlocked the door and set the brats on the seat, but something was behind him. Something big and dangerous. Something that raised the fine hairs on the back of his neck. He turned slowly, and there was a girl. She was tall, only a couple inches shorter than him, and her hair framed her face in perfect golden waves. Her makeup was done up like she was ready for the runway, and she wore a business suit.
She was staring at him with a spark of recognition, a frown drawing down her delicately arched eyebrows. Her eyes were bright silver.
“I found you,” she murmured.
Oh, shit. Distract her with insults.
“You found nothing, lady. And why the hell are you dressed for a business meeting? Look around you. You’re in the wilderness.”
“I know you,” she murmured, her frown deepening.
That pissed him off. Pretty girl, but just another nosey person in his life.
He dragged his attention from those striking silver eyes to Remi. “Keep your friend on a leash, Novak. The least you can do is let us keep our privacy here.” He tossed her one last dirty look for bringing her fangirl friend out here and hopped up in his truck, slamming the door beside him so hard his rig rocked.
Now he was gonna have a fan all over his life, taking pictures of his trailer and selling information. He bet that in ten minutes she would be all over Twitter, crowing about how she’d found Rhett Copeland. Well, she hadn’t found jack-shit. He wasn’t Rhett Copeland the country singer anymore. He was just Rhett of Rogue Pride, perpetual fuck-up, and disinterested in anything outside of this little corner of Oregon.
“Rhett!” Remi called as he pulled away.
When he glanced back once in the rearview, Remi looked hurt. Hurt? What had he done? Just asked for privacy. She was ruining everything. How long had it taken him to find sanctuary, and the first thing Remi does is get him busted?
He ripped his gaze off Remi’s pout and back to the girl. She was a silver-eyed beauty. With his luck, she probably had a thousand followers on social media. Everything was stupid.
He gunned it and spun the tires on the dirt, zoomed down the mountainside, and didn’t look back again.
He was going to have to find a new hidey hole around here. That thought made him feel empty in his middle. As much as he pretended to hate this last-chance Crew, they’d grown on him.
I know you.
Wrong.
Nobody knew him.
Chapter Five
“What the hell is wrong with him now?” Remi murmured.
Shocked. That’s the only word to describe Juno right now. Complete and utter shock. She hadn’t in a million years expected to come face-to-face with Rhett Copeland. The Rhett Copeland. The young badass of country who wrecking-balled his way through Nashville and hit every award on his debut album. As a shifter! An open-to-the-public shifter. Not only did he have the voice of a motherfreakin’ angel, he could rip on guitar and drums, and he’d done more for shifter public relations than just about any other person in existence right now. He’d gotten droves of human women fawning over a lion shifter. A lion shifter! The tide of bitterness toward shifters had turned because he’d blazed a trail, both middle fingers up, no fucks given.
And then he’d disappeared.
Like…people-calling-the-police-filing-a-missing-persons-case disappeared. The world had been playing Where’s Rhett? for months. Teams of fans were dedicated to searching their towns. His agent was on the news, bullshitting about how he was just in hiding, writing his next album, but any shifter could hear the lie in his answers. He didn’t know where Rhett was either.
It had stunned the music industry. First album sold millions, he looked steady on social media, was hilarious, took the sex appeal attention in stride, gave great advice to up-and-coming artists trying to do the same thing he was doing, was the perfect puppet in interviews, well-behaved, and no stories of drinking or drugs ever hit the media. And then he vanished as if he’d never existed at all. And all during a time he was supposed to be recording his second album and releasing some hyped-up single.
The mystery surrounding Rhett Copeland was the biggest gossip and speculation to ever hit the music industry.
And here he was…looking completely different but just the same all at once.
He’d cut off his perfect shoulder-length rock ’n roll hair, and now it was short on the sides and all mussed up on top. He’d given up his clean-shaven look for a short beard that made him look rugged as fuck. Those eyes, though…he couldn’t hide those eyes.
Dark blue like storm clouds, but they turned the color of ice when his animal was riled up. Girls would faint at his concerts if his eyes turned colors. There were rumors in the shifter world that he’d trained himself to change the colors on cue instead of only changing when his lion was agitated, just to demolish the ovaries of the swooning girls when he sang.
Every interview that she’d watched, he’d been polite, kind, caring, and as steady as a river.
But he sure wasn’t as steady as any river anymore.
“What happened to him?” Juno asked Remi as the taillights of his old pickup disappeared over the ridge.
“How could you not tell me you are in a crew with Rhett Copeland?”
“Copeland. I didn’t even know his last name …” Remi’s eyes went round. “Copeland. That singer dude that went missing?”
“Remington Novak, you didn’t know you were in a Crew with motherfucking Rhett Copland?” Juno yelled. “What has happened to your mind, girl?”
“Well, I don’t listen to country, and I didn’t follow the story. I only heard about it, and my mind has been a little preoccupied with leaving the city and finding a mate and settling here!”
Juno looked around the woods, focusing on one tree and then another and another. Her thoughts were racing a billion miles per hour. Rumor had it his label was about to drop him. Drop. Him! If she could get him to sign with Halfstone Records, she would be on easy street for the rest of her short life. She would make her mark on the industry and maybe, just maybe, not be forgotten in the first year she was cold in her grave. “What do I do?” she yelped.
“Uh, you can unpack your bags and go ATVing with me?”
“No, about Rhett! God, he’s really handsome in person. Like…really hot.”
Remi scrunched up her face and stared off in the direction his truck had disappeared. “Rhett is?”
“Yeah.” Juno’s heart was beating too fast. She pressed her fingers against her wrist to check her pulse. Was she going to Change? “That T-shirt clinging to his muscles. He sure didn’t let himself go. He’s probably put on twenty pounds of mass since he was touring. His eyes are all drop-dead-gorgeous blue, and I could see the line of his pecs right at the top of his loose collar. And that beard. I’m totally into beards. I mean fans. Fans are totally into beards. The world is going to freak out when they figure out he isn’t dead in a ditch somewhere! Did you see the way he walks? Like a damn Alpha. Like he could eat anything in his path.” Juno let off a little hungry growl. “And did you feel his animal? He’s a total Beast.”
She ripped her gaze away from the trees to talk about Rhett’s sexy fingers, how good they look playing guitar, and how he could probably make a girl come eighty times in a row with those fingers, but Remi was staring back at her like she’d lost her mind, horror written on her face and her skin a little green around the edges. “I’m going to vomit if you don’t stop talking about Rhett like that. He is a disaster, Juno. You don’t want nothin’ to do with that one.”
