Boarlander Silverback (Boarlander Bears #3)(3)

“And then we came in the night, threatening them,” Alison murmured. Bile crept up the back of her throat, and she swallowed over and over, trying not to retch in front of him.

Kirk jammed his finger at the half-eaten deer. “That is the result of a spiraling grizzly who was fine before you came along. You want to survive this job you’ve been recruited to do? Try getting to know us.” Kirk spat in the grass and strode off. Over his shoulder he barked out, “Next time, leave your damned weapon at home.”





Chapter Two


Kirk was stretching his aching arm over his head when Harrison whistled so loud it echoed through the mountains. Lunch break was over. Thirty minutes had come and gone like a blink of an eye, and Kirk tossed the half-eaten sandwich in his hand a dirty look. He’d completely zoned out. What the hell was wrong with him?

He snorted. Alison Holman was what was wrong with him, probably because she shot him. He shook his head at his bullshit justification for why she was on his mind. Try to blame it on his sore, shot-up shoulder all he wanted to, but the fact was, he was intrigued by the woman. She was thin as a whip, which he usually wasn’t attracted to, and all tatted up. Another negative before she’d come guns a-blazin’ into his life, and now he couldn’t stop thinking about the intricate designs on her arm. She’d been wearing a white tank top, and her ink had gone all the way from her elbow to her collar bone and disappeared down the back of her shirt. He bet she was all painted up. He’d pegged her for a tough girl the first night she’d come for Emerson. A sexy, hard-souled, tough girl. But no. That wasn’t right because she’d given Emerson information that had provided her with a loophole to marry Bash. But why?

He chucked his sandwich into the brown paper bag with the rest of his uneaten lunch and stood. Dusting his pants, he remembered how soft her skin had been under his knuckle. She’d flinched away from him looking at her tattoos, but there had been that moment where she’d been silk under his touch. She wasn’t hard at all. Weapon wielding, tatted-up badass with her chopped, bleach platinum blond hair, delicate, animated, dark eyebrows, and her hard little pixie face. She’d smelled sad. And regretful after she’d pulled the trigger.

Good.

At his callousness, a long, low rumble echoed up his throat from his animal. He would never hurt a woman, but damn, he’d been pissed she’d been nosing around Harrison’s kill. Nosy cop. Her partner was an easy read. Here because he wanted to put shifters in their place. Full of bravado and thinking his badge kept him safe. Alison was different, though. She was a mystery his gorilla was suddenly and overwhelmingly eager to solve.

Kirk picked up his chainsaw from where he’d set it on the ground and followed the Boarlanders down the hillside toward the trees they still had to cut. They’d been talking all through lunch, but he hadn’t paid attention to a damned word. Mostly because Clinton was ranting again, and Kirk usually checked out when he went off. His issue this week? He was convinced the government was going to snuff them out of existence. They might, but hell, Clinton didn’t have to breathe constant life into the thought.

Nonchalantly, Kirk asked, “What do you guys think about the cops?”

“Brackeen and Holman?” Mason asked, hopping over a thin log. “Trouble.”

“I second trouble,” Bash said quick, lifting his hand like he was voting for second grade class president.

Kirk grinned and ruffed up his hair. “What else do you think, Bash bear?”

“I like Holman’s hair, and she has good posture. Brackeen is a dickweed. He reminds me of Clinton.”

Clinton was in front of them, but he graced them with an over-the-shoulder middle finger.

“I think we need to be wary with them,” Harrison said low, sounding troubled. “The woman smelled terrified of us, but she was still steady with that Glock. A dangerous combo.”

“Why do you think they’re really here?” Mason asked.

Harrison shook his head and climbed over a pile of felled lumber. “Nothing good. To watch us and give intel, maybe.”

“Definitely they’ll make our lives hellish,” Clinton muttered. “People have to check in with them like we live in some damned gated community? It ain’t like people are flooding up here. If they come, it’s because they’re invited. We should kill them.”

“No!” Kirk barked out, too loud and way too fast.

Clinton turned around and stared at him as if he’d lost his damned mind, which he had. “Okay, boy scout. Get Damon to eat them then.”

Mason groaned. “Clinton, you’re so dumb it gives me a headache. You heard Cora. She said keep Damon from eating people, not feed people to him.”

“Who would know?”

“Whoever sent them here, dumbass!” Harrison griped, swatting at a fly with his yellow hardhat before he put it back on his head. “No more suggestions from you.”

“We could be friends with them,” Bash said.

“People like them can’t be friends with people like us,” Harrison said softly. “They’re here for bad reasons, Bash. A friendship with them wouldn’t benefit us. It would give them intel. It would give them power over us. We would care about them right up until the moment they pulled the trigger on us.”

Kirk swallowed hard and wiped his chin on his throbbing shoulder. Harrison was right. Alison hadn’t even hesitated. She’d come weapon drawn and been fine using it on him.