Shaken and Stirred: M/M Mpreg Alpha Male Romance Read online

  Silas was a great brother. He was the best brother. He was all that Sam had in the world, and Sam was all he had. Most people would have been lucky to have a brother like him. To be honest, if Sam didn't have a brother like Silas looking out for him and helping him out, he'd probably feel differently about the whole claim thing.

  At the same time, for all of Silas' overprotective instincts and possessive nature, he was still a beta, not an alpha. There were some things he would never quite get. He thought being an omega just meant that Sam was basically a girl with a dick. He couldn't understand how much more went into it than that. He'd never be able to wrap his head around the different urges, the other hormones, the drives and needs that were apart from anything that a beta would ever experience. So yeah, sometimes Sam had to make his own judgments, and he was okay with that.

  Was sleeping with Logan really one of those times? That was the question that gnawed at Sam's mind as he drifted off to sleep.

  ***

  Logan's stomach burned. He'd submitted a report to Hartford about the valet incident the morning after it happened, and he'd hoped that it would just go away. Life didn't work that way. Life never worked that way. No, his superiors in Hartford had read his report, seen his deposits for the first two weeks of operation, and they'd sent out the big guns. No less a personage that Wesley Utkin, the managing director of New England Restaurants, was coming out to take a look at Trattoria Siena personally.

  As a general rule, Logan liked Utkin. Maybe liked wasn't the right word. He admired Utkin. He felt that Utkin was a strong leader, the consummate modern, white-collar alpha. Utkin didn't need to throw his weight and muscle around, although that was certainly an option available to him. He could just hang out and exist, and let his power and authority speak for him.

  Logan could only hope to achieve that level of wealth, power, and authority someday. For now, he had to hope that he just didn't embarrass himself too badly in front of his boss and hero.

  He knew the minute that Utkin walked in. He didn't pick up on his scent first. He was good, but not that good, not "sniff some guy walking in from the back of the restaurant and behind a half-closed door" good. No, he heard the way that activity fell silent all across the trattoria. The silence spread out in waves, like watching the destruction from an atom bomb in slow motion. First, the absolute front of the house went silent, the hostess stand and the tiny bar at the waiting area. Then the tables in the dining area, one by one. Finally the kitchen and drink area went quiet, and a knot formed in Logan's throat. Utkin was here.

  A small, borderline mutinous part of him jumped up in the back of his head to point out that the dining area going silent wasn't necessarily a good thing for Logan's bottom line. Logan ignored it.

  He rose to his feet as soon as Utkin's shadow fell across his door. Utkin smelled like tomatoes on the vine, magnified a million times, and Logan had to hope that his boss wouldn't want the door closed. He held out a hand. "Mr. Utkin. It's good to see you, sir."

  "Logan. It's good to see you too. Glad to see that the bears and locals haven't eaten you yet." Utkin laughed at his own joke and closed the door behind him. "I hope my car will be okay out back; all of my things are in it. Check-in time at the Portland Harbor Hotel isn't until four, for crying out loud. Can you imagine that?" He shook his head.

  "The alley behind our place should be fine, sir. The alley next door is privately owned, and the owners aren't friendly to us. They're likely to have you towed if they know you're connected with the trattoria and on their property."

  Utkin frowned. Logan didn't like that frown. It could mean anything.

  "Trouble with the neighbors, hm? What, the little dive bar?" He waved a hand. "Call their landlord, have them shut down. Seems simple enough."

  Logan swallowed. "Um, the bar owners own their building. And the land, all the way back to the fence. I approached them about using that alley for valet parking, and they were not receptive. Something about tenants in the apartment needing to get in and out."

  Utkin relaxed and picked up a pen off of Logan's desk. "Ah. You didn't offer them enough money. Hardly your fault, you probably don't have enough in the budget. We'll go talk to them in a little while. I saw your message about the incident with the valet and the motorcycle. Terrible business. Of course the valet shouldn't have been working if he was drunk."

  "No, sir, he shouldn't. I've had it out with the owner of the valet service provider and they're now giving valets a Breathalyzer before work and doing random spot checks during the night. The valet in question has been fired, as were two other valets who admitted to bringing flasks to work." Logan bit the inside of his cheek. "I put out a sandwich board, sir."

  Utkin's lip curled. "A sandwich board? Really?"

  "It draws attention to the restaurant, and calls attention to the valet parking service that we provide. It also provides a visual cue to the valet, before the legal parking space where Joe's patrons park their bikes, that they're encroaching on another parking space."

  "The thing is, Logan, I don't like that we're giving them any slack at all." Utkin unscrewed the pen and pulled out the cartridge. "I honestly wouldn't have signed the lease if I'd realized that the festering little boil of a bar was still in business. I thought, from the pictures, that it had been closed down."

  "Yes, sir." Logan bit his tongue. He'd thought the place was closed too, but that didn't mean that he'd approved of this location.

  "I figured that once we'd gotten some traction with this location, we could buy the vacant place next door and expand into it. Easy peasy!" Utkin continued disassembling the pen as he spoke, laying the pieces out on the desk. "Having that dump there is only going to make things more difficult for us. You said they're hostile?"

  "Well, sir, that's my fault." Logan's sense of self-preservation screamed at him to shut up, but he had to tell the truth here. "I was kind of offensive in my approach to them, and we got off on the wrong foot. For what it's worth, the sandwich board was the bartender's idea. He even helped me to find a vendor who could turn it around before dinner that same day."

  "Sounds like a resourceful guy." Utkin drummed his fingertips on the desktop.

  "He is, sir. I honestly can't understand what he's doing there." Logan shook his head when he thought about Sam and all of his potential. "When that accident happened, when the valet crashed that Benz, I was positive that there would be bloodshed. The biker who owned the bike was enraged, and his friends were looking for a fight. Then Sam came out and he defused that situation like it was nothing." Logan snapped his fingers. "Just like that. Kid should've been a lawyer or something."

  "Hm. Do you think he's around right now?"

  "Could be." Logan crossed his fingers under the desk. He didn't know if Sam was going to be there today, or if Sam would be in later, but it couldn't hurt to try.

  Well, it could hurt to try. He could show up and meet up with Silas instead. If Silas disliked Logan, he might shoot Utkin outright.

  Mentioning that to Utkin didn't seem like a great idea in Logan's mind. Acknowledging fear was never a good plan. Acknowledging fear of a beta would get him fired in an instant. "Let's go, sir." He stood up and grabbed his suit jacket from the back of the door.

  They headed next door. Sam smirked at Logan as soon as he walked in and, just like always, mixed him a martini. The handful of other bikers in the bar, not many at one thirty on a Tuesday afternoon, sniffed at the two men in suits and went back to whatever they'd been doing.

  "Well, if it isn't Mr. Trattoria." Sam wrinkled his nose and stepped away from Utkin. "What'll your day-drinking buddy have?" Huh. Logan wouldn't have thought that Utkin had a negative or unpleasant scent, but Sam didn't seem to want to have anything to do with him.

  Utkin fixed Sam with a cold, heavy stare. "My name," he said slowly, as though to a five-year-old, "is Mr. Utkin. UT-kin."

  "Right you are, buddy. Let me guess. You want a Charles." Sam grabbed another martini glass from the rack, revealing a litt
le strip of toned belly as he reached. He grabbed for a mixer glass and added ice.

  Utkin turned to Logan. "Seriously?"

  "I told you. Hostile." Logan sipped from his martini. He could have left it on the bar, but he didn't want to be insulting, and Sam made the best drinks anyway. Besides, he had a ways to go before he could go back to his rental anyway.

  Sam strained something dark into a cocktail glass in front of Utkin. "There you go." He turned to Logan. "What brings you by?"

  "Sam, this is my boss from New England Restaurants, Mr. Utkin. Mr. Utkin, this is Sam Marlowe, head bartender and part owner of Joe's." Logan put his drink down.

  Utkin tasted his drink. "Well, he's good at mixing drinks. What else is he good at, I wonder?" He narrowed his eyes and looked at Sam, licking his lips.

  The flames of jealousy licked up inside of Logan. They didn't need to. Sam's lip curled. "Dude. Gross. No. So not my type."

  "I drive a Porsche." Utkin sniffed. "I'm everyone's type."

  "I drive a Harley." Sam set his jaw. "Ain't interested in someone who can't." He rolled his eyes. "So why are you actually here?"

  "We came over to talk about that alley behind the bar." Utkin put his drink down. "We're willing to pay quite a bit of money in order to be able to park cars there."

  "And we're willing to call a tow truck every time you do." He jerked his head toward a white-bearded man in denim a few seats away. "Hey, Billy!"

  The white-bearded man waved.

  "Billy owns White Rider Towing. We like to give him the business. Keeps things in house, you know? He does okay, don't get me wrong. All the gentrification over in Portland means crowding, and that means people deciding to put their cars where they don't belong. That means that tow trucks are going gangbusters. Still, never hurts to make a little more money, right? Billy's got a grandson in private school with severe autism, so figure he can use all the business he can get."

  Billy gave them the thumbs up.

  Utkin frowned. "Who's really in charge here?"

  Logan winced. If his stomach had been burning before, now it was fully engulfed. The last thing that this confrontation needed was Silas freaking Marlowe.

  "Excuse me?" Sam's voice had gotten cool.

  "No one's really going to give an omega any actual decision-making authority. Go call the real authority. Your father, the alpha, whoever. I'll deal directly with him and no one else."

  Sam's green eyes flashed for a moment, dangerous and merry. "Hear that, guys? He wants to talk to the 'real authority' around here." The customers clustered around as Sam pulled out his phone. "Hey, Silas. Sorry to wake you on your day off. Trattoria Boy's boss is down here and he wants to talk to a real authority. Yeah, go ahead, we'll be here."

  Logan started to pick apart the black cocktail napkin that Sam had given him with his drink. "I don't think this was a very good idea, sir."

  Utkin gave him a frosty glare. "Of course it was a good idea. It was mine."

  Silas made it down the stairs in thirty seconds. His long brown hair hung uncombed behind him, wild and free. He'd grabbed a shirt, but it was on inside out. His face looked like a thundercloud, and his knuckles were scraped and bloody.

  Logan gulped down the rest of his drink. Sam had another one ready to go. His expression was unreadable as he passed it to Logan.

  "I hear you have a problem hearing the word no from my little brother." Silas walked right up to Utkin, standing so close to him that he could probably count the pores in Utkin's chin. "Are we going to have a problem?"

  "I merely wanted to have a rational discussion about the alley behind the bar, like proper business owners should."

  "And let me guess. He told you no, and you decided, Oh, I'm a big important alpha, I drive a Porsche, I don't need to listen to some long-haired omega with tattoos. Pay for your drink, get out of our bar, and get out of my sight. You don't get to decide that no doesn't apply to you because you don't think that the person saying it should be allowed to say it to you."

  Utkin stood up. "He needs to learn his place. He's a mouthy omega who'll never find an alpha if he doesn't get taken down a peg. And no is a starting point for business negotiations, not an end point. Which you would know if you'd gotten past the fifth grade."

  "You can go right on thinking that, but if one of the owners of this business told you no, then the answer will continue to be no while you're still rotting in your unmarked, forgotten grave, you overpaid prick." Silas put his forearm across Utkin's chest and started walking toward the exit. "And trust me, if I ever see you or your little lap dog near my brother again, you'll be finding that grave a whole lot faster than you thought."

  Silas backed Utkin right out the door, and then he walked right up to Logan. "Finish your drink and get out. Don't you ever think about bringing someone like that onto my property again. Not him. Not any of your other little alpha buddies. No one in a goddamn suit. Am I clear?"

  Sam put a hand on Silas' arm. "I think he gets it, big brother. Thanks for coming down."

  "Hey, don't worry about it." Silas slung an arm around Sam's shoulders. "The guy's a prick, and it's better than you having to fight him. You've done enough of that for one lifetime, I think. It's my turn now." He ruffled Sam's long hair.

  Logan frowned, eyebrows knitting together. What exactly was that supposed to mean?

  Logan pushed his drink aside. "I need to go." He paid for their drinks and left a generous tip. "I'm sorry about Utkin."

  Silas glowered. "You should be."

  Billy came over to walk Logan toward the door. "No hard feelings," he said. "I've seen you looking at the kid, and you seem nice enough except for the suit, so I'm going to give you a word of advice."

  Logan sighed. It wasn't the nicest suit, but he'd paid too much for it to be used as a scarlet letter. "What's that?"

  "Your boss has five minutes to move his rolling overcompensation out of the alleyway here before I call someone to move it for him." Billy patted his back. "Silas hasn't noticed it yet, and Sam's too nice to say anything."

  Logan sighed and went to go get Utkin's keys. When he got back from moving Utkin's car, his boss looked at him with a frown.

  "I don't think that this trattoria and that bar can coexist, Logan. Those apes are too intractable."

  Logan bit his lip again. It hadn't been the guys next door that had started anything. Still, Utkin was right. Joe's and Trattoria Siena couldn't exist on the same block. There was too much conflict there.

  "Also, that omega needs to be brought down a peg or two." Utkin glared at the wall. "I don't really care which one of us does it, but he can't keep mouthing off to alphas like that."

  "Sir." Logan fought to keep his hands to himself. There was no way he was going to let Utkin hurt Sam, not in any way.

  Chapter Four

  Sam looked up as the door opened. Things were starting to wind down, just a little, so he could see the door and not just a crowd of leather and denim. That was something, at least. Tonight had been a full house, as full as it got, and he felt dead on his feet. His whole world was a sea of pint glasses and wads of cash, changing hands in a never-ending cycle.

  When he saw who their guest was, he knew that the cycle had changed. He reached up onto the rack of glassware and grabbed a cocktail glass, and then he reached for the gin.

  "Aw, man." Silas' face screwed up like he'd bitten into a lemon. "Why'd he have to come in here, huh?"

  "Because we're open to the public?" Sam glanced over at his brother and mixed the martini.

  "Okay, but he doesn't count." Silas glared at Logan and went to go get another round for the guys at the pool tables.

  Logan sat down in a bar stool, one that was miraculously empty. Freddie, who had the seat beside him, gave Logan a hard look, but otherwise made no objection. Logan didn't seem to notice, for which Sam had to be grateful. He didn't need Logan to go getting all alpha on him.

  Sam slid Logan's martini in front of him. "What brings you by, Mr. Trattoria?"
/>   Logan glanced up at him. "Long day at the shop."

  "They're all long days. That's the hospitality business." Sam shrugged and got Freddie's refill. "So why did you come in here, of all places?" He turned his head from side to side, encompassing the entire taproom. "I mean, we're kind of a giant thorn in your side, right?"

  Logan smirked. "True. At least for now."

  Sam snickered. He didn't need to ask what Logan was talking about. "You honestly think that the town’s going to eminent domain this place so you can knock it down and expand yours." He shook his head. "Buddy, you want to keep paying those lawyers of yours such high fees, you can go right on ahead, but I can already tell you that it's not going to work."