Boarlander Silverback (Boarlander Bears #3)(5)

She hung up and huffed a humorless laugh. Normal life meant the mean streets of Chicago, a shitty, rat-infested apartment too close to the trains, her life at risk every day, and the constant internal reminder to not let herself get too close to anyone. People who got too close to her had short expiration dates.

On that dark thought, she pushed off the counter and sauntered through the small living area to the front door. Her cabin had the office sign on it, so she got to turn away the groupies. Lucky her. She didn’t even know what the hell Brackeen did all day.

She hooked her badge to the waist of her jeans, pulled open the door, and put on her neutral business face, which fell straight off when she saw who had pulled into the circle drive in front of her cabin.

A shiny green Mustang with black racing stripes, and leaned up against it like he’d been there all day was none other than Kirk Slater. Hole-riddled jeans graced his long legs, one foot crossed over the other, and a V-neck white T-shirt clung to his torso like a second skin. Dark two-day stubble dusted his chiseled jaw, and his dark eyes narrowed at her. Huh, his eyes weren’t the glowing gold of his silverback, but a soft brown instead. “Damon is ready to see you.”

“Oh,” she said, surprised. “Uuuh, I have to wait for my partner to come back.”

“He isn’t interested in meeting your * partner. Just you.”

“So, let me get this straight. You want me to drive deep into the heart of the dragon’s mountains without my partner. Without backup.”

Kirk laughed and shook his head. “We ain’t at war with you, Alison.”

“Ally.” She cleared her throat as her cheeks heated. Why the hell had she said that? “My friends call me Ally.”

“Lie.”

Oh yeah, she forgot about that whole built-in lie-detection instinct shifters had. “I wished my friends called me Ally.”

Kirk canted his head and frowned. “Half-truth.”

Alison closed her eyes as her mortification burned over her cheeks and up to her ears. “I don’t have many friends, but if I did, I would like them to call me Ally.”

Kirk waited a few moments too long in his response to be polite, and when he did talk, all he said was, “Get in.” Then he pulled his door open and slid in behind the wheel.

Get in? She cast a glance back at her cabin. Her holster was hung by the door.

Kirk rolled down the window. “Ally, if you want a ride to the dragon’s lair, get in now. No weapons, or you’ll piss me and everyone else off there. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“And I’m supposed to just trust you?”

“Have I given you any reason not to?” he asked, dark brows jacked up.

“I don’t trust anyone. Force of habit.”

“That’s a sad story. Now get your ass in my car before I drag you in here. I don’t want you traipsing all over the mountainside alone looking for Damon. The Gray Backs won’t be as nice as my crew.” His brows lowered. “I mean the Boarlanders, not my crew.”

This was a terrible idea, but Brackeen was down in Saratoga, again, and she’d been vying for this meeting with Damon since the day she’d arrived. And though she wouldn’t admit it out loud, a deep buried instinct told her Kirk was safe. Which was ridiculous because he’d probably told his crew about her shooting him, and he was most likely taking her into the woods to exact revenge. Despite her logic though, she wasn’t getting that hair-raising feeling she got when something was going south.

“You should know,” she said as she slid into the passenger seat, “I am trained in self-defense.”

“Yeah, I could tell by the way you went limp the other day when I charged.”

“I shot you first, smartass.”

Kirk let off a single, “Ha!” But then looked surprised that he’d laughed. He turned the engine, and it roared to life.

The seats smelled like rich leather, and he had an air freshener that read new car smell along the bottom. It hung from the rearview mirror, swaying back and forth as he pulled out of her circle drive. The Mustang was a manual transmission, so he shifted expertly and gassed it onto the main road. The unexpected speed tickled her stomach.

Kirk looked at her quick, his eyes on her smiling lips, before he dragged his attention back to the road. “Chicks dig the car,” he said.

“Oh, my God, you’re one of those guys,” she said, leaning back against the headrest.

“What kind of guys?”

“You know.” She narrowed her eyes and repeated, “You know.”

“Okay, cop, spill it. Tell me what kind of guy I am, based on your two seconds of talking to me.”

She sighed and stretched her legs out. “You’re cocky. Sexy and you know it. Drive the car for attention and because the shifter groupies in town drop their panties when you drive by with that rumbling motor. You’re a vroom vroom get-em-wet guy. You’ve probably banged thirty women in the back seat and at least five against the hood because that’s part of the bad boy lure. I bet I can guess what will come on the stereo if I turn it on. It’ll be something older and rocky with a hard-hitting beat. And you’re a one-chance kind of man.”

“What the hell does that even mean?”

“If I put my bare feet on your glove box, breathed on your window, smudged your leather, or brought a drink in here, you would never let me ride in your car again.”