I think he’s probably had three drops of his grog — and I mean three of those little eye-dropper sized drops – so I finish his hunt for him. He’s not a drinker no matter what booze you serve him, but there’s no reason to waste the alcohol.
As I do all of this, because my bartending skills are up there with the best, I keep talking.
“Flynn and Steve had been escorted out of town by our official welcoming committee. There aren’t a lot of communities where shifters have bunkered down and taken control, but I grew up in one, and the key to survival was in not drawing attention to ourselves and not letting outside shifters step foot inside town. Which left them on the town limits and at the same petrol station that I was at,” I say.
“It’s a good thing we had to stop for fuel or we would have been long gone,” Steve says, accepting the new drink.
“I was ignoring all of you,” I say.
“Because you had your head under the bonnet swearing at your engine,” Steve says.
I shrug, there’s no denying it. I’d seen two of our local police cars drive the guys to the town limits, then drive off. Time passed, the guys parked under the cover where cars could fuel up, and where there was enough light to fold out a map and for them to drink coffee while discussing options. I may have been in the dark, and the rain, and ignoring them, but I noticed that much.
I noticed the rumble as a convoy approached. The lead truck was painted down the side with the bright colors of a circus logo. Two shifters sat in the cab, several cars behind that. Two more trucks. All moving under cover of darkness. All smelling like fear and pain. A scent so dark the storm didn’t even dampen it.
And that dog-box on the side, I’m not even sure how I saw its contents through the night, but I saw Puss’ eyes. I saw straight into his tortured soul, and it turned my whole world upside down.
They didn’t make it past me.
I tore their shit to pieces. Broke Puss free from the case he was in and carried the guy out of the wreckage. I still have no idea what came over me. Just that I acted first and have never regretted it.
Puss lifts his glass and clinks it into Steve’s bottle.
“I told you he’s a sucker for seeing people fight their own battles. Flynn wasn’t walking away from that,” Steve says.
“And on the stroke of midnight Steve kept me alive, while Flynn and Tas tore the circus to pieces,” Puss almost says, some of those words were nothing but gulps as he finishes his drink.
We didn’t end the circus. Made a mess of a few trucks, killed a few assholes, but not all of them were there that night, and we know the damn circus is still sneaking its way around the country.
Puss shoves his empty glass toward me, then seems to think better of it and instead reaches over and takes the bottle of Jimmy – the closest option — swigging straight from it.
“I can pour you another?” I offer, my tone softening in an echo of the pain he’s processing.
He gives me a little shake of the head and swigs from the bottle.
“But I never got my car going, so we drove off in Flynn’s,” I say, pushing the conversation along.
Lochy knows Puss was in the circus — that’s all we’d said before. He was in. Now he’s not. End of story — for a very long time.
“Should have dropped you at the next town and kept driving,” Flynn rumbles.
“Nah, you love us too much now,” I say, lifting my glass toward my lips but hovering it as I push for even more distraction by adding, “You need us, and you love us, and deep down you want to find our catalyst and mate our asses. You want to know what it’ll be like fucking one chick with four other blokes.”
Flynn damn near snorts his drink out, barely managing to choke down his mouthful. He runs the back of his hand under his nose, his eyes beginning to water. Yep – pretty sure he has four different types of liquor burning his sinuses right now.
“Fuck-up,” he snaps, which is the slightly more serious version of shut-up.
“It’s going to happen,” I push.
Flynn downs the last of his glass in three solid gulps then motions for me to top him up. His jaw is tense and his gaze hard as he watches me pour the spirits.
I would bet Sharon and her advances are what’s on his mind, but it looks a little more serious than that. I don’t press. The guy wouldn’t give me answers even if I did.
“But you’ve met his mum,” Lochy says, pointing specifically to Flynn. “Did you go back to your hometown the next day?”
“Good people,” Flynn says.
“Of course I went back,” I tut. “But not for a few months.”
“A year,” Steve says, doing a shit job at trying to cover it with a cough.
“It was my dad's funeral,” I say — which shuts Lochy right up. Of course we went back to bury the old man. And I speak to Mum every other week. She’ll probably do some damage when I do go back again though — it’s been a few more years since last time.
“To funerals,” Lochy says, toasting his last mouthful to the body on the floor. “May they give us a reason to live.”
Then he and Flynn slide their glasses forward, and I finish my own to catch up. Puss only hands the Jimmy back when we’re all looking at him, waiting for it to finish our mixes. I get the Three Wise Men Go Hunting into his fingers as quickly as I can.
The man has a past, one that has cut him deeply, but he never lets it hang over him for long. Seeing him act like this is almost a relief — everyone has to crack sometimes.
“So, basically, we’re all lucky bastards?” Lochy sums up.
We lean together for a ‘cheers’, then turn toward the body. The four of them swiveling on their stools, sipping their drinks.
“Unlike that bastard,” Lochy adds.
“Why take the hands?” Steve asks, his head tilted to one side.
“Quicker than cutting off ten fingers, would taking fingers even be possible in wolf form?” Lochy asks, shrugging.
While none of them are looking I slip the bowl of nuts from the bar.
“Or because he touched someone he shouldn’t have,” I suggest, thinking of Sharon once more.
“Whoever was in that last seat. Nobody mixes beer and water,” Lochy says.
“Agreed,” Puss and I mutter in unison.
I pick up the lemon wedge without looking down, squeeze it over the nuts, and before Lochy realizes they’re gone, I slide the bowl back in the exact same spot on the bar. Leaning on the bar and getting dangerously close to the bottom of my glass — again. At this point, there’s a chance the room has started to tilt.
The whole shifter healing thing sure ups the tolerance — but it doesn’t eliminate my ability to get drunk as a motherfucker.
Sharon storms through the door, flicks her hair back, and scans the room as she declares, “Bloody reporters.”
Lochy snorts at her.
“Are you drunk?” she demands.
“Yep,” I announce, lifting my glass in the air.
“What the fuck?” she gasps, approaching like our unprofessionalism can be ‘shushed’. “Forensics is here.”
She reaches for Lochy’s glass, but he holds the thing wide, then tries to chase it with his mouth, standing and downing the contents before smacking the glass on the bar.
I chuckle, finishing my own with the same thump down of the glass.
“Out the back door, now. Out!” she growls.
Flynn turns on her, standing to his full height and growling back.
A rabbit fucking shifter has nothing on a bunyip.
She swallows hard and backs off, muttering, “Sorry.”
“Come on, mate,” Lochy says, nudging Flynn towards the kitchen — and the back exit.
But before the shark shifter with blue hair gets too far he snatches up a handful of nuts.
Everyone turns to escape. I wait a beat for the bar to clear before hopping over it.
“It’s this kind of shit, getting wasted at a crime scene, that’ll get you all killed,�
�� she mutters, adding, “Get out of here, and I’ll see what I can do.”
I ignore her, watching Lochy. He cracks the shell on a nut, pops it in his mouth, followed quickly by a few more — then spits them out with loud splutters. As soon as he can breathe he turns sharply on me.
I hold my arms wide, saying, “I didn’t do it!”
Sharon
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!
They’re pissed as fucking farts, and I don’t care how many times I have to say fuck in my head to get myself to calm down. Fuck!
Forensics is still collecting their things, and I’m pretty sure the guys are out of the building by now, so I don’t actually have to do anything there. But I do have to get Steve separated from the rest. I can’t do that when they’re staggering around the city. Where did they even park?
My gaze lands on the police van, and maybe if Benny hadn’t been calling and messaging today I’d take a deep breath and think at least a little calmly about this.
But Benny can suck a dead dingo’s donga for all I care.
I don’t need him.
I don’t need my father and his money and his plans.
What I need is a mate and an escape.
And with that on my mind, I shout out, “Just borrowing the van to get the detectives back to the station,” to the nearest officer, then climb into the van and leave without waiting for his response.
Chapter Five
Tas
Flynn snatches the back of Lochy’s shirt and drags him out of the pub. Through the kitchen, down the service alley, and into the side street. The shark shifter is still pulling lemon faces and glowering at me.
Admittedly, I can’t wipe the smile off my face.
We step out of the narrow alley and back onto the footpath. Puss is the first to stop, followed by Flynn. Lochy manages to pull himself free as we all gather beside a gold Commodore with a W1 badge on the side. A HSV GTSR complete with nice rims and a polished paint job. The type of car that looks, sounds and even smells like it goes fast.
I don’t think Flynn’s impressed with the actual car though, there’s something more about it that’s caught his attention.
The world tilts and I grab Puss’ shoulder for support.
We’re both swaying when I ask, “What’s special about the car?”
Flynn grabs the handle, but it's locked. He pulls his jacket off, holds it against the glass, then before any of us can stop him he smashes the passenger window. The jacket muffles the sound, then he shakes it off, and puts the thing back on. He doesn’t want the car – I mean, I want the car – but he’s searching for something, someone.
“Okay, storytelling time is over, boys,” I mutter.
A little on the drunk side or not, we’re hunters first. Hunters always hunt. He pops the lock and yanks the door open, but it’s pretty clear the thing’s been kept immaculate and there’s nothing in it to find. Just the faint scent of bird shifter.
Plus, Flynn’s a cranky cunt, always looking for something to get pissed off about.
The bird shifter scent is fresh. We usually can’t discern a specific person's scent unless we really know them, but wombats smell like wombats from miles away. Apparently, birds do too.
I glance up and down the street as Flynn climbs out of the car and turns in a sharp circle, both of us searching for something. Me – I’m looking to see if the police around the corner are going to come running. Though I’m pretty sure Flynn’s silencing technique did the job. Flynn though, I’m pretty sure he’s looking for the bird.
“This is the car the naked chick stole,” Puss says.
“Yesterday? So you guys were following a lead, chased someone out of a motel window, but didn’t get a single look at her. She ran down the road, stole a car while butt naked, and now somehow the car has ended up near our crime scene?” Lochy tries to summarize, and mostly succeeds.
“What’s the chances she’s involved with our wolves?” Puss asks, it’s rhetorical, no one answers.
“So now we’re hunting birds too?” Lochy presses.
“Nah, Flynn just has a new obsession,” I tease, turning to the left and almost dragging Puss down the street.
“Car’s the other way, dipshit,” Lochy shouts.
I look around, which isn’t really going to help my sense of direction, then reel a full one-eighty and start off back the way we came.
“We’re going to the station – Officer Sharon has reports to go through. Someone might have seen something, and she just wasn’t smart enough to realize it,” Steve suggests.
“Nope – first we need candy. It’s Halloween,” I say.
Puss makes a little amused noise. “Candy? Are you American? Lollies. We need lollies.”
“And I need to put some coke in my stomach – to mix with all the spirits,” Lochy says.
“Candy and coke!” I announce.
“And weed,” Lochy adds, shouts actually.
I stop dead and stare at him. “What the fuck?” None of us are smokers.
Not now, it’s a fine line we don’t cross.
He shrugs. “I thought we were just listing shit people can get addicted to?”
“Answers,” Flynn rumbles.
Lochy makes a ‘wrong’ buzzer sound. “No one is addicted to answers.”
“I am,” Steve says softly.
Then his phone rings. He pulls it out and answers immediately – which probably means it’s Sharon.
“Around the corner,” he says. “I can drive, I didn’t drink.”
He nods, like Sharon can see him, then hangs up without saying goodbye.
“What?” we all say, not the least bit in unison.
“She’s picking us up,” is all Steve gets in before Sharon pulls up in a police van.
“Come on, get in,” she says, not bothering to park. “I’ll get you to your car.”
We could walk away, but that would make a scene because I’m pretty sure she’d follow us, reversing down the street or some crazy shit. So we load up. Steves takes the front seat and starts explaining where we parked. The car’s a whole three blocks away, so I don’t know why she’s bothering.
“How drunk are you all?” she asks.
“Not drunk enough,” I declare.
“Drunk enough to get into trouble by the sound of you,” she counters, and before our belts are even on she puts her foot on the accelerator.
“Damn, woman,” Lochy grumbles, almost falling out of his seat.
“Sorry,” she says, easing off. “Just want to get you boys out of here safely.”
For some reason her words, or her tone, grind at me.
“You’re tense,” Puss says, his tone low. Too low for anyone else to hear.
“We have to make a choice – her or the damn wolves,” I say, and I’m pretty sure I mean it.
“She’s just one rabbit. She can get in our space all she wants, none of us are interested,” he says.
“You don’t know that. Steve’s the center of her attention.”
“Steve doesn’t want her.”
“She wants him. She freaking wants both of you.”
“We’re shifters, the whole reason the concept of a harem even exists, but she’s a rabbit. They’re more sneaky than the damn foxes – only other rabbits want to deal with that.”
I turn my glare on him. “Why are you fighting me on this?”
He shrugs and looks away. “I’m not. Flynn, Lochy, and Steve don’t seem as worried as you are, though.”
“I told you. Wolves or Sharon. Which is our biggest problem?” I ask.
“So we’re going to keep playing this game until Sharon is the bigger problem – and what? Let the wolves go?”
It’s my turn to sound disinterested now, as I say, “We’re not any closer. Maybe they need to think we’re off their asses, so they slip up.”
He doesn’t say anything, and I go back to glaring at the back of Sharon’s head.
I’m still glaring at her and the way she’s looking at Stev
e when we pull sharply into the parking complex.
It’s dark, multi-leveled, made of concert and echoes.
“Right there,” Steve says, pointing out our stupidly-small-for-five-guys car. It’s economical, low key, and being white and a sedan means we blend into the traffic easily.
She doesn’t bother to park, again, stopping behind our car and making the other traffic wait. Flynn yanks open the back sliding door and almost launches himself out of the van. Lochy’s next – making a beeline for the back seat of our car. I’m quickly behind him when out of the corner of my eye I see Sharon latch on to Steve’s arm.
“Do you mind keeping me company? I could do with an extra set of eyes on these reports? I had a call that the DNA test results were faxed, which is stupid. The independent ones we sent for, not the police forensics, they’ll still be days away.”
“Scan them to his email,” I growl.
I can’t believe this woman's new level of insanity. Though maybe that’s the alcohol talking because the two of them spent the morning going over reports and they were at the crime scene well before the rest of us.
But dammit, no! This needs to end.
“I’ll go with you, Steve has to drive,” Puss says, the guy hasn’t even climbed out of his seat yet.
Pretty much in that same heartbeat, Sharon lets go of Steve, and the guy climbs out looking like he’s about to object, but she drives off before he can. She taps the brakes to make the van door slide closed, then keeps driving.
“Fuck,” I growl, pulling at my wild hair.
“Puss isn’t going to do anything with her,” Steve says. “Just go over reports.”
“Puss can’t read,” Lochy points out. “And she might do something with Puss.”
I turn to glare at him.
“The guy is drunk, really drunk,” Lochy adds.
“Not helping, Lochy,” Steve says, climbing into the driver’s seat and starting the engine.
I rush to join them, though Steve is far too calm as we merge with the traffic on the street.
We get all the way to the next intersection, with the option to turn left or right, before Flynn announces, “Follow them.”
A Twisted Rejection Page 10