Son of Kong (Sons of Beasts #2)
T. S. Joyce
Chapter One
Torren had messed up again.
He blew out a frustrated breath and rocked his head back against the shower tile. The steaming water burned his mangled knuckles and ran rivers of dark crimson down the drain between his ankles. He’d been sitting here for five minutes trying to calm his heart rate, but it wasn’t working. Nothing did anymore.
That guy deserved the beating he got.
Fuck you, HavoK.
The public had just recently named his gorilla. Havoc for the crew his sister was in but with a K because he was the new Kong. Clever. It suited his gorilla just fine, so he’d been calling his animal that ever since the name had been splattered over the news like road kill after Covington burned.
Three huffed breaths, and a snarl blasted up his throat. His body tensed painfully as the silverback tried to take it again. He was sitting under the running water, heat turned up as high as it would go. Gritting his teeth against the burning of his muscles, Torren slammed his head back onto the tile three times and clenched his fists on his bent knees so hard, his blunt nails dug into his skin.
Vyr needed to put him down soon. His best friend, The Red Dragon, hated discussing it, but they couldn’t avoid it forever. Torren was a monster, and as much as he pretended to be a normal shifter, he simply wasn’t. He was the son of Kong. Marked with a big birthmark that covered most of his back. A birthmark that said he was supposed to be the silverback of the biggest family group. He was supposed to be the leading silverback in his shifter culture. And what had he done instead? Shunned his people because they were damn-near evil, and he wanted nothing to do with them.
Too bad his morals were killing him.
Too long with no family group under him, and now his fully mature silverback had hopped the crazy train and was riding it all the way down to Hell.
A knock sounded at the door.
“No,” Torren said, but his voice wasn’t human. It was too low and gritty.
Another knock banged on the door.
“I said fuck off, Vyr!”
The door swung open so hard it banked on the bathroom wall with a crash.
“Technically,” Nox Fuller said, “you said ‘no,’ and then you said ‘fuck off.’ Also, I’m not Vyr. Clearly. He is hideous, and I am the finest specimen of a man—”
“Nox, I’m in the shower, and if you say another word, I’m going to beat the shit out of you.”
“Been there, done that, got the scars,” he sang. He opened the huge shower door and, fully clothed in jeans and a black and white plaid shirt, sat on the other side of the sprawling shower, facing Torren. “Might wanna cover your dick-imus minimus. I can see your balls.”
Torren rolled his eyes closed and counted to three so he wouldn’t Change and rip Ob-Nox-ious’s throat out. And while he did that, he also clamped his legs together. “You know how you asked me to tell you when you were acting inappropriately?”
“So we can laugh together, best-friend-style?”
“No, to teach you basic social interactions and manners. That’s what you said.”
Nox’s blond eyebrows shot up, and he ran his hands through his laid-down mohawk. “Hmmm, I don’t remember that last part. I just like when you tell me I’m being bad so I can smile.”
“This is one of those inappropriate times. You shouldn’t be sitting in the shower with me.”
“Nevada said I need to try harder to speak your language.”
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” Torren groaned out. He was so exhausted he would give just about anything to have the power to snap his fingers and wish Nox away. He needed a week off from this idiot.
“You gotta gorilla problem.”
“Thank you for stating the most obvious thing on the planet.”
“Like…you don’t even try to hide the monster in your eyes anymore. You haven’t had brown eyes in three days. I’ve been watching.”
“Congrats on being a stage-five stalker.”
Nox smiled. “Thank you. Speaking of stalking, I followed you to the sawmill and watched you beat the shit out of those three boar shifters. You’re gonna start attracting attention our crew doesn’t need. Vyr is gonna burn your body, eat you, and puke you up, then yell at you and eat you again.”
“Well, what Vyr doesn’t know won’t hurt me.”
Nox rested his head back against the tile and narrowed his eyes, looked down his nose at Torren. “You need poontang.”
Torren frowned. He never could keep up with Nox’s train of thought. “What?”
“A mate.” He gestured to Torren’s healing knuckles, still bleeding a snaking stream of maroon onto the tile and into the drain. “You need steady sex.”
“I need you to leave.”
“And BJs.”
“Seriously, get out.”
“Nevada gives me head like three times a week, and I feel fine.”
“You Change all the time and you fight me every day.”
“So? I still feel fine.”
Torren heaved a sigh that turned into a deep rumble in his chest. Talking to Nox was exhausting. “I don’t need a mate. I just need to be left alone for a little while.”
“Well, as your new best friend—”
“You’re not my best friend. I can barely stand you.”
“Well, last week you said you hated me seven times, and now you can barely stand me so that’s best-friend improvement. Plus, when you find out what I’ve done for you, you are going to fall into friend love with me, and Nevada will be proud, and I’ll get even more head.”
“Nox! Go. Away!”
Nox pulled a piece of soggy paper out of his back pocket, leaned forward, and handed it to Torren. “You’re welcome,” he whispered like a weirdo.
God, he hated Nox.
Torren snatched it out of his hand and unfolded it, ripping the wet paper in two places with his roughness. The ink was smeared, but he could still read it.
Cinnamon. There was a phone number underneath. “Cinnamon sounds like a stripper name.”
“A hot stripper name,” Nox agreed, nodding once. “And she’s agreed to bang you once a day for two hundred dollars a week. She even promised to let you call her your mate.”
Torren pressed the heels of his hands against his closed eyes to alleviate the headache that was building there. His right eye began twitching. Nox had that effect on people. “Can you please let me finish my shower now?”
“If you say I’m your new best friend. And that Vyr sucks and is a dickhole and you hate him.”
“I’m not going to say that.”
“Fine, say that you strongly dislike him.”
Torren wanted to sleep for three days. Maybe Nevada would knock him over the head with a frying pan. Or maybe he could convince Vyr to burn him and eat his ashes now. It would be quick and painless, unlike this conversation that was killing him little by little.
“Whenever you’re ready,” Ob-Nox-ious murmured, flicking two fingers at him.