Page 26 of Three

“Sorry, Grizzly, we have company.” I wink at him.

“How do you…? Watch o—!” His words are covered by a strong cracking sound. And when I look down, a piece of a broken board lies near my shoe and a faint ache is spreading through my left shoulder.

I spin to look at the lanky guy holding the broken piece of wood. He looks young, in his twenties, wearing a long hoodie and loose pants.

Shaggy black hair.

Black eyes.

Pretty average.

It’s Malcom Bindy.

“Did you just hit me with a rotten piece of board?” I hiss at him.

“What we-were you do-ing to him?” he slurs at me. Is he drunk? And did he really imply I was hurting the taller and bigger man?

“Do I need to carve an erotic sketch on your forehead with my knife to make you understand?” I take a step his way. His eyes dart from me to Hunter, and he suddenly backs away, stumbling and falling, hitting his head hard on the doorframe.

His unconscious body lying on the dirty floor makes me blow out a long, exasperated breath.

“You scared him,” I scold Grizzly.

“I did?” He raises a dubious black eyebrow.

I check Malcom’s pulse. “He’s breathing and high as a kite.” His blown pupils confirm my theory. “Let’s put him in that armchair.” I point at the green one in the room on the right.

“What do you want from him?”

Hunter hauls him up on his shoulder and drops him on the armchair without my help. He’s built, but I’d bet that mostly hard work created all that power. His biceps and shoulders bulge out of the tight black jacket as his thick thighs seem to want to tear through the worn-out jeans. He looks like one of those ancient bronze statues, but on steroids.

“Just to ask a few questions.” Hoping Malcom will be able to answer them. My eyes fall on several beer and liquor bottles and the bags of what look like cocaine and pills piled up on the long table near the flat screen TV—he must have tried the merchandise.

There are crates along the walls. Three guns and a couple of rifles are lying on an open one. After a quick inspection, I notice that the serial numbers have been removed. “Are you sure you want to stick around, Hunter Bear?” I point at the illegal stuff.

“How the fuck do you know my name?” he growls, supporting my grizzly nickname.

“You know mine, and I know yours. It’s only fair.” His unimpressed stare lets me know he doesn’t like my reply. “Did you know that polar bears are actually black? They have dark skin under all that white fur.”

His lips twitch. Is he trying to stifle a smile? Malcom chooses that moment to moan. His eyes are glassy, and he has a half smile on his face.

I grab my phone and start taking a video. “Oh, look what we have here, illegal guns, drugs, more drugs, and a tripping idiot. You’ve been a very bad boy, Malcom.”

He swings up from the armchair in a pathetic attempt to grab my phone, but because of his inebriated state, he starts to sway one way and then the other. I shove the idiot, and he falls back like a sack of potatoes.

“I bet the police would love to see this.” I stop the video and pocket my phone.

He snorts. Damn. How many drugs did he sample? Did he drink those empty bottles of alcohol by himself?

“Who is he?” Hunter asks, looking at the guy.

“Malcom Bindy, twenty-five years old. Went missing when he was sixteen. He’s a small dealer with an addiction to cocaine.”

“Is there a reason why you want to question him?” Hunter’s gaze is on me, searching for answers. But this is not the right time.

“Yes,” I reply simply.

Malcom is looking at Hunter with confused eyes. “What-what are you doing here?” His expression has turned frightened now.