Boarlander Silverback (Boarlander Bears #3)(22)

“Kirk!” Bash yelled.

The man on the ground didn’t even flinch. She was growing more and more concerned at his proximity to the fire. “Is he dead or just sleeping?”

“Who, Clinton?” Emerson asked, glancing at the man in the road. “Nah. Bash told Clinton the potholes in the trailer park needed to be fixed.”

“And Clinton being the poop chute he is said the road is fine as it is. Which clearly,” Bash said, looking around at the destroyed road, “it ain’t.”

“So then Bash said the potholes were so big he could catch a fish in one,” Emerson said.

Bash moved a toothpick from one corner of his mouth to the other side. “And then Clinton said if I caught a fish in one, we could fix the road, and he wouldn’t throw a piss-fit.” Bash pulled the line of his fishing pole from the deep pothole, and Alison yelped as he pulled out a sizeable flopping fish.

“Oh, my gosh, you actually caught a fish in there?”

Emerson wrapped her arms around her stomach and giggled. “No. Bash caught the fish in the river and brought it back here. When Clinton saw it, he went into a rage and set Ant-hillia on fire.”

“Ant-hillia?” Alison asked.

“Yeah, that’s the giant anthill that Clinton has been waging war on. He keeps kicking it down, but the ants keep building it back up.”

“Why doesn’t he poison them?”

“Because he said there’s no honor in poison,” Bash said with a matter-of-fact nod of his head.

“So he set fire to it?”

“Yep,” Bash said. “Doused it in gasoline and lit it up because he was so pissed at losing the bet. And then instead of bleeding me like he usually does, he drank himself stupid and passed out in the street.”

Emerson grinned. “Progress.”

Alison’s head was beginning to hurt.

Harrison, the titan, musclebound behemoth alpha of the Boarlanders, kicked open the door of the first trailer on the right, gave her a suspicious glare, then walked past them all with a sloshing bucket in his hand.

When he dumped it over Clinton, the man sat up and gasped out, “Nipples.”

“Your pants are about to light on fire,” Harrison gritted out.

“So you dumped the water on me?” Clinton slurred through a deep frown. “Why didn’t you put out the fire?”

“You started the fire. You put it out!”

“Nipples is the name of a mouse,” Bash explained through a distracted smile as he settled the fish back in the pothole pond. “Clinton is mad because we wouldn’t let him have one of her babies for his trailer. Everyone got one but Harrison, who said he didn’t want mouse shit in his food, and Clinton because he can barely take care of himself.”

“Shut up, Bash!” Clinton said, struggling to his feet.

Kirk came out of the first trailer on the left with an armload of what looked like ceiling tiles. “Hey,” he said, coming to a stop on his porch. He tossed the demolition materials over the side of the railing into a knee-high pile of debris and pulled his gloves off as he jogged down his porch stairs. He yanked out a pair of earbuds blaring music, and his face transformed into a big grin. Kirk cupped his hand at his mouth and yelled, “Hey, Clinton!”

“What?” the swaying man demanded in a grumpy tone.

“One, your shorts are too short and your dick is hanging out, and two, I’d like you to meet my mate.”

“I don’t even care anymore,” Clinton said.

Bash and Emerson snickered quietly.

“You don’t care about me bringing a girl into the trailer park?” Kirk asked.

“We’re already going to hell, Kirk,” Clinton slurred. “Might as well do it thoroughly.” He stumbled off toward a trailer at the back of the park, mumbling to himself. Alison couldn’t understand a word he said until he yelled over his shoulder, “Maybe I’ll get a million mates!”

“I like when Clinton is drunk,” Bash said in a giddy voice.

Kirk came at her with his arms out like he was going in for a hug, but her anger was back now, and she slapped his pec before he could embrace her. It stung her palm, but he didn’t even flinch. Now she was even madder.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his dark brows lowering with concern.

“Am I your mate, Kirk? Am I?”

Kirk narrowed his eyes into wary little slits. “Yeees.”

“Then why did you just upload your profile to diddleaboarlander dot com two days ago?” Yep, she was shouting, but so what?

“Bangaboarlander dot com?” Emerson asked.

“I didn’t,” Kirk barked out. “I’ve never even been on that damned site. You want to blame someone for uploading anything about me, blame Willa.”

“Of the Gray Backs? Why the hell would she upload anything about you? Kirk Slater, six foot three, loves hugging, ready for a mate.” Or something like that. “Sound familiar? Seven thousand hits from horny women!”

“Uh, that wasn’t Willa,” Bash said.

“Damn straight. It was this two-timing, conniving, *-chasing liar!” Alison bent down and picked up a handful of mud, then chucked it at Kirk. It splatted satisfyingly across his neck and cheek.

He jerked in surprise and closed his eyes. And when he opened them again, they were glowing a flaming gold.