Series: Shifter Ops Series by Renee Rose
Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 65371 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 327(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 218(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65371 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 327(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 218(@300wpm)
“You’re nineteen?” I ask. They act younger, but Teddy told me their puberty was rough with their animals taking over and forcing them to shift. Their ma had to homeschool them. They’ve been sheltered from the outside world. No wonder they sound so naive.
“We’re late bloomers,” Hutch says, his voice cracking. “Darius told us he and Teddy were exactly the same. Late puberty.”
The triplets nod in unison.
Caleb watches our interchange closely. “How do they know their brother sent you?”
“Brothers, plural. Check your phones,” I order the triplets.
“I forgot mine.” Canyon crosses his arms across his shirtless chest. He’s going to be a handful.
Bern and Hutch have already fished their phones out of the small pouches they’re wearing at their waist. There are tons of texts from their brothers Matthias, Teddy, and Darius, including a picture of me. “This is Channing. Go with him and do what he says,” I recite one of the texts.
Hutch shows it to Caleb, who nods.
“You heard him, boys.” Caleb says. “You can see me fight when you’re a little older.”
The triplets deflate.
“But you’re retired,” Hutch says mournfully.
“Officially. I’ll talk to Jared and Trey and schedule something for two years from now.”
“You would do that?” Canyon asks. “For us?”
“Yep. You’re my biggest fans.” Caleb jerks his chin in my direction. With one last slap on Canyon’s shoulder, he heads off into the gloom.
In the center of the ring, Jared calls for the first two fighters to take their places. Spectators press close to the ring.
“Come on, we gotta go,” I say.
“Can we just see one fight?” Hutch pleads. “Please?”
I hesitate. What will one little fight hurt? But something tugs in me, so I don’t pause. “Your brothers want you back. They said you’ve been acting suspicious for weeks. Drinking giant protein shakes and streaming Rocky movies nonstop.”
“That’s not suspicious.”
“Yeah, we always do that.”
In the ring, two fighters circle each other. One’s a cheetah shifter, I can tell by the way his pack–or coalition in cheetah-speak--presses close to the ropes and shouts encouragement. Jared and another lanky wolf shifter, a tall guy with a mohawk and big ear gauges, keep telling the cheetahs to move back.
“First fight is Speed Ballz versus Benny the Biter,” Hutch says, pointing to a big chalkboard over by the bookies. Speed Ballz is such a cheetah biker name.
My eye catches on the names scrawled in a fight lower down. “The Kilted Killers?” I read, and the triplets freeze. “Does that mean what I think it does?”
Hutch and Bern hang their heads.
“We wanted to fight,” Canyon says. “Some guy challenged us.”
“He said if we lost, we’d owe him a favor,” Hutch pipes up.
“What the fuck? That’s not how shifter fights work. What guy?”
The triplets shrug in perfect unison. Their movements are so similar, it’s like they choreographed them.
“Enough of this.” I point to the warehouse door. I’ll have to herd them through the crowd. “Start walking.”
Canyon mutters something I don’t catch, but the three obediently turn and tromp towards the door. I direct them along a path on the periphery of the warehouse. The fight is in full force, and the warehouse shakes with shouts. Then Benny the Biter gives into his nickname and tries to eat his opponent and is disqualified. The crowd deflates, except for the cheetahs, who carry their hero on their shoulders out the door.
“Hang on,” I order the triplets. We’re almost to the door, but the cheetahs are swamping it. “Let’s wait a second.”
Got the package, I text Deke. We’ll be out in five.
10-4. He texts back. Any hostiles?
No.
Jared steps into the ring, announcing the next match. The cheetahs are almost all out of the door. The triplets wait beside me, their eyes glued longingly to the chalkboard. Calebs’ fight is last. Too bad. It’s tempting to allow the Terrible Threes to stay and watch him. Jared’s right, teens need role models.
We’re close enough I can read the name on the giant chalkboard opposite the “Kilted Killers.” Some guy named Hannibal. Not a fighter I’ve heard of before.
I signal to the gray-headed bookie and point to the Kilted Killers’ fight. “Can you remove that match? These guys are forfeiting.”
The bookie nods and signals his tall, feathery friend to cross out the fight.
“Next time, guys,” I tell the triplets, who look mournful. “By the way, what's with the kilts?” I ask Hutch.
“Our mother is a MacDonald,” Hutch informs me glumly.
The way to the door is clear, so I signal them to keep moving. We step out into the night air. More cars have filled the parking lot. Beyond them, the cheetahs have built a big bonfire in the center of their assembled bikes.
“Hey,” Canyon asks. “Are you on your bike?”
“Yeah,” I say.
“How are we getting home if you’re on your bike?” Bern asks.
“How did you get here?” I return.
“We hitchhiked,” Hutch pipes up. His two brothers shoot him a dirty look.