Excerpt From Broken

Coming September 14th to Total-E-Bound!

Warning: This story features intimacy between twins and gay sexual practices. It is not suitable for persons under 18 years of age, or those who might be easily offended.



Tristan was sitting at the bar shelling peanuts when Gabriel slipped onto the stool next to him.

“Howdy, pardner,” Gabriel rumbled in his ear, reaching over to snag Tristan’s beer. He took a sip. “Enjoying the night life?”

Obviously tipsy, Tristan giggled. “It’s past my bedtime.”

“You ready to go home?”

“Nope. Red head.” He held his hands out well past his chest. “Big boobs. Be back in th-thirty hours.”

Gabriel chuckled, pretty sure his brother was too damn drunk to know the difference between thirty minutes and thirty hours.

He tugged Tristan’s arm. “Come on. We’ll wait for her in my car.” And while they were at it, he’d get Tristan home and tucked into bed.

“’Kay.” Tristan waved sloppily at the bartender. “Bye, Keif.”

Keith smiled fondly and waved back. “Take care, Tristan.” He nodded at Gabriel. “Brogan driving?”

“Yeah.” He’d had only two and a half beers, but he wasn’t taking any chances, especially if he didn’t have to. Brogan was waiting outside with his jeep to take them both home. Luckily, the crowd in Orion knew to be on their best behaviour. Any confrontation with the members of Thrice Broken was an automatic ejection and revoking of club rights. He went pretty much unmolested in his own place.

Wrapping Tristan’s arm around his neck and his arm around his twin’s waist, Gabriel supported his brother’s weight as they moved through the crowd. Tristan wasn’t fall down drunk. In fact except for a stumble or two, he walked under his own power. It was just easier to get them both to the same destination at the same time. Or so Gabriel told himself as he traded the body-heated club air for the cool, fresh air outside.

Brogan didn’t get out to open the door. The fucker. Gabriel smiled to himself, not even bothering to ask. He knew what Brogan would say. “I’m not a fucking chauffeur, boss.” True. He’d fired D’angelo three months ago and had never gotten around to hiring a new one.

Gabriel got Tristan into the jeep with little trouble. It was when they were both seated that the problem arose. Either Tristan thought he was with the buxom red-head or he imagined Gabriel could be his pillow because he cuddled right up to his brother, squeezing his waist and burying his face in the side of Gabriel’s neck. Tristan huffed then sighed, settling down.

Gabriel’s heartbeat picked up an anxious rhythm. Tristan was too close for comfort and parts of him were starting to take notice.

Brogan glanced up at the rear-view mirror. “You okay, Gabe?”

“Huh? Yeah, fine,” Gabriel said, praying it was too dark in the interior for Brogan to see how ‘not fine’ he really was with Tristan curled around him. He debated whether to try and pry off Tristan and, finally, decided that at least removing his arm would be a good idea.

No sooner had he wrapped his hand around Tristan’s wrist than his brother became animated—well, at least, his lips did. “Red head. Big Boobs. She reminded me of Bekah. Hmm…bitch.”

Brogan snorted with laughter in the front seat.

Gabriel ignored him. Curious, he asked, “Who is Bekah?”

“Ex. She left me after I lost my beer.”

More laughter from Brogan.

Gabriel tried to slap Brogan in the back of the head, but his arm wouldn’t reach unless he shifted Tristan. Idiot.

“You mean money,” Gabriel corrected.

“Erm…no…mag-ma-ga-zeen. Playgirl. Lost it, and she found it.”

His heart skipped a beat in his chest. Inadvertently, his fingers dug into Tristan’s shoulder until his brother made a distressed sound. “Sorry. Listen to me, Tristan. Was it Playgirl or Playboy?” He asked the question as if his life depended on it. It probably did.

Tristan huffed against his neck. “Playgirl. No gays for Bekah.”

“Holy shit!” Brogan said from the front seat.

Holy shit was right.