Page 22 of Brandon’s Mate

He opened the package. There was a bunch of junk mail, and a fucking catalogue from some high-end leather company wanting to sell him overpriced briefcases and day planners. And there was a small padded envelope.

He cut the envelope open and a locker key fell out, from the BuffBody gym chain. With it was a note in Nick’s handwriting that read, Insurance Policy.

Brandon went totally still. He and Nick had used BuffBody gym lockers as drop points for years. It was a national chain, with locations in hundreds of cities and towns, so it was usually easy to get to one. Members could get permanent lockers, so it was secure for months. And no one would notice a stranger coming and going.

For a moment he thought of Nick, waiting for Brandon to come, hoping he’d show. Mailing this, but hoping whatever “insurance” he had in this locker wouldn’t be necessary.

He looked up, expecting to see the ghost of Nick’s panther staring at him accusingly, but there was nothing there.

He was about to go online and look for the closest BuffBody when he heard a truck pull up outside. Glancing out the window, he saw a shiny black pickup decorated with lame-ass flaming wings. Black Talons.

The Talons were a local shifter gang—not so different from the one he’d run with back in the day. They were crows instead of wolves, but other than that it was the same shit—small-time theft and smuggling, drugs and weapons.

Once Brandon had put the word out that “Ray” was taking over the shop, they’d been trying to push him out of their territory. Just threats at first, then a couple fights.

Last time they’d sent two of their tough guys, and he’d sent them back with just enough unbroken bones to drive back home.

This time they’d sent three. Two in the cab, one in the bed, all packing heat.

Some people never learned.

They pulled up and got out of the truck, the one in the back vaulting over the side. They put on their most menacing postures, hands near their weapons, clearly feeling badass as hell.

Brandon sighed. He was so not in the mood for this.

Not because his panther wasn’t spoiling for a fight. Aside from getting laid, number one at the top of his cat’s wish list right now was clawing somebody to bleeding shreds.

But sooner or later this was going to get deadly, and he couldn’t afford to kill every wannabe bad guy in Farville. If he did that, he’d never find out who had killed Nick. From what he’d learned from the last set of tough guys, it wasn’t the Talons.

Added to that, he was in no mood to spend his afternoon getting rid of bodies, dead or otherwise. He had shit to do.

He shoved the locker key in the desk drawer, stuck his piece in the back of his jeans, and rolled his shoulders to loosen them. Then he walked outside.

“Hey, bros,” he said. “What’s shakin’? Looking for a new ride? You pick that one up cheap when some wannabe metal-head outgrew it? I can paint over the adolescent bullshit so you don’t get made fun of anymore.”

They all bristled—he could almost see their feathers ruffling.

Leader Guy said, “You better shut your smart-ass mouth, Danvers. We’re here with a message from Caleb.”

“Don’t tell me, let me guess,” Brandon deepened his tone and put on a John Wayne accent. “This town ain’t big enough for the both of us.”

More feather-ruffling.

“Caleb’s been taking it easy on you,” said Minion One. “But now you need to listen up. Close up shop and be out by the end of the week.”

Brandon looked at Minion Two. “Go ahead, say it,” he encouraged. He went John Wayne again. “Or else.”

Minion Two scowled. Guess he didn’t like people stealing his lines.

Brandon said, “You know what? I’m thinking I should just go ahead and kill you three, and then go back to Caleb and take your jobs. What do you say?”

“You ain’t a crow,” Minion One said. “You’re just a pussy. And if you ain’t got wings, you ain’t never going to be a Talon.”

Brandon just smiled. The ghosts were gathering behind him, and his cat was beginning to snarl. “Then I guess we’ll just have to live together in peace and harmony. How about a rousing chorus of ‘Kumbaya’?”

Leader Guy was starting to get pissed off. “You know,” he said, “our orders were just to deliver the message.” Total lie—he was sure they had orders to beat the crap out of him. If they could. “But I’m thinking you need to be taught a lesson, boy.”

Brandon cocked his head. “The last person that said that to me was wearing thigh-high boots and a push-up leather bra, and she had those sexy fur handcuffs. I have a feeling that ‘lesson’ was a lot more fun than this is gonna be. For any of us.”