Boarlander Silverback (Boarlander Bears #3)(42)

“Come on,” Emerson yelled, tugging her hand toward the more concentrated crowd in front of them. “Audrey will find us. She’s got those tiger senses. Let’s see if we can get a good spot.”

Around a fight ring—or what she assumed to be the fight ring because she couldn’t see jack—there were wooden planks at different levels, and people were crowded onto them, yelling and waving fistfuls of cash. Finn would poop himself if he set foot in here. He’d probably give every single person a ticket and arrest as many as would fit in the back of his cruiser.

A sharp whistle sounded, and a tiny red-headed woman in a red plaid mini-skirt, black combat boots, and a T-shirt that read Stick it in my wormhole waved, then gestured them up onto one of the highest platforms. Alison grinned and waved back. She’d met Willa a couple times since she’d come to Saratoga. The fact she’d laced Finn’s cookies with laxatives made her like the Gray Back Second even more. Alison helped Emerson scramble up a few platforms until they reached Willa.

“Hey, Tats! I thought you were going to miss it!” Willa called over the noise. “You’re about to get super horny. There is nothing like seeing a shifter fight, and Judge has been working this crowd up all night for the grand finale. Lowlander Silverback versus Boarlander Silverback. This is going to be f*cking epic!”

It was in this moment that Alison got her first look at the fighting ring in front of them. There was a row of bystanders in front of the platforms, but the old crates with standing room only were still pretty close. It was a make-shift ring with wooden railing. The floor inside was splattered with dark stains—blood. And circling the ring were two very familiar men.

“Is that Clinton and Mason?” she asked Emerson.

“Yep! They’ve been going at it for weeks up on the jobsite. I guess they decided to go all out here, bare-knuckle boxing. Probably best. Mason is a beast boar with long-ass tusks. Clinton’s a brawler bear with teeth and claws, but Mason could have Clinton’s innards on the ground before he knew what hit him.”

As it was, Clinton and Mason were pounding the shit out of each other’s faces, and their torsos were mottled purple and green from bruises in different stages of healing. Both their jeans were dotted with blood, and their massive torsos rippled with muscle every time they swung. This was a completely different side of the Boarlanders she’d ever witnessed.

“Beer!” Audrey called, scrambling upward from a lower platform. She held four red, plastic cups with the fingers of one hand, and a bottled water in her other hand, so Alison knelt down and helped her up by the arms until she was balanced on the platform with them. “Georgia!” Audrey called, passing a cup across Willa to the Gray Back park ranger with the golden curls.

Willa also got a beer, as well as Alison, and after a quick clunk of their cups in silent cheers, Emerson gulped at the water Audrey had brought right along with them. Mason’s eyes were glowing like a demon now, and Clinton’s looked almost white.

When a heavy-hitting song came on the loud speaker, Willa and Audrey booty-bumped Alison and danced to the beat. And as Alison looked down the platform to the other Gray Backs who were cheering on Mason, and then to a lower level where several of the Ashe Crew were screaming for Clinton, a wave of catching excitement blasted through her. She’d never had a group of friends like this. Being friends with her would’ve put someone in danger, but these people were tough. Resilient. Supernatural. They could handle the grit that came along with her life, and not only that, but they’d been completely accepting from the moment Kirk had declared she was his.

“Ally!” Harrison called from behind them. The Boarlander alpha looked grim, and his eyes were too light as he gestured her down.

“I’ll be right back,” Alison murmured to the girls.

Harrison lifted her down and settled her on her feet, then reached up and took Audrey’s hand, kissed it, and let his lips linger as a look passed between him and his mate that was so intimate, Alison’s cheeks heated for witnessing it.

Harrison pressed his hand on Alison’s back, guiding her toward a set of what looked like old horse stalls in the corner. “Clear a path,” he growled at a rowdy group of onlookers. They parted immediately.

“What’s wrong?” she asked when the masses thinned out.

“You’ll see.”

And the second she rounded one of the huge stalls, she did see. Kirk was pacing along the back like a caged animal, and nearly blocking the door with massively wide shoulders was a giant stranger who slid her a narrow-eyed look. His eyes blazed green, and there was a tattoo that stretched down from the sleeve of his T-shirt to his elbow. It was tribal with bold, dark lines of ink. Kong.

“Who are you?” the man asked in a gruff voice.

“She’s mine,” Kirk gritted out.

“What?” Kong asked.

“Baby,” a pretty blond-haired woman said from against the wall. “If he wants out, you have to give him a way.”

Kong shook his head over and over. The air was chokingly heavy in here. “He’s in my group, Layla. It’s not that simple.” He jerked an angry gaze to Kirk. “You’ll choose the Boarlanders over me? Tell me why. I thought you were happy in my family group, Kirk. If I thought you would cut out, I wouldn’t have ever sent you up there in the first place.”

“Kong,” Harrison murmured.