Easton and Jason had a stupid fight about who was better trained on the processor. Seriously? “You’ve been brawling since Willa was declared second, and this shit has to stop. At least at work! Season started six days ago. Six! And we haven’t made it through a single shift without someone bleeding. Now, I’ve looked at the Ashe Crew, the Boarlander Crew… Hell, I’ve talked to Kong! No one is having this kind of problem with their animals.”
“Maybe you should bring Willa up here to kick Easton’s ass,” Clinton said with that obnoxious smile Creed wanted to bear-claw-slap off his face.
“Say another word right now,” Creed growled, jamming his finger at the joker, “and I’ll literally kill you.”
Jason, at least, had the good sense to avoid his eye contact as he buttoned up a blue flannel shirt. Easton was looking around at everyone as if he couldn’t understand what he’d done wrong, and Matt was taking a piss off the side of the landing as if he didn’t give two shits that Creed was on the verge of a Change to kick all their asses.
Most of the time, he liked being alpha, but lately, these problem bears he’d initiated into the Gray Backs were driving him insane.
Another day on the landing preparing timber to transport to the saw mill in Saratoga, another day of missing the already low numbers his boss, Damon Daye, had challenged them with.
“Get in the truck.” His disappointment in his crew was bottomless right now.
Jason, Easton, and Clinton climbed into the back of his gunmetal gray, jacked-up Ford while Matt zipped up his pants and climbed in the passenger’s seat.
The roar of the engine drowned out the snarl in Creed’s throat. They didn’t get it. He owed Damon. Owed him. But all he ever did was let the old dragon down. Damon owned these mountains and had hired the crews to help clear the dead, beetle-infested lumber off his land. But the fighting hurt their target numbers. Demolished them, really, and already the Gray Backs were working with a smaller crew. Ashe Crew had nine on their landing at any given time. The Boarlanders were a tree-cutting crew, but they had seven. And here he was trying to juggle four assholes who didn’t give a shit about lumber numbers.
Creed loved his crew, but right now, he wanted to wring their necks. Easton especially, who apparently couldn’t help but fight with anyone who even looked at him wrong.
When Creed slammed his palm against the wheel, Matt murmured, “Easy, boss bear. You smell like fur.” Matt rolled down the window and leaned as far away as he could, his eyes flashing silver. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t Change in your truck while I’m in here.”
Creed inhaled deeply and gritted his teeth so hard his jaw ached. Matt was right. Changing right now wouldn’t do anyone any good.
When he was calm enough to ease up on the strangle hold he had on the steering wheel, he sighed and asked, “But really, who fights for fourth rank in a crew?”
Matt chuckled and shook his head. “We knew it was going to be this way, Creed. Who else would take them into a crew and not kill them within the first year? Any other alpha would’ve put them down by now. Best you stop comparing us to the other crews. Up on that landing, we’ll always be C team.”
“Bullshit. We don’t have to be. You all work hard when you aren’t challenging each other.”
“Then put Easton up on the processor.”
“So he can use the power of a machine to chuck a log down the hill when he gets pissed off?”
“Mmm,” Matt grunted, looking disturbed. “That’s true. He could find a way to kill us with the skyline, too.”
“I can hear you, assholes,” Easton said from the bed of the truck.
“Do you think he’d feel guilty if he actually did manage to kill any of us?” Matt asked, ignoring Easton.
“Yes,” Easton answered. “I think.”
“Awesome,” Creed muttered, turning down a switchback toward the Grayland Mobile Park. At least he’d feel bad about it. Maybe. “I should’ve let Willa finish you off,” Creed said over his shoulder. “So far I’ve seen zero improvement.”
Easton narrowed his blazing green eyes through the back window, then looked away over the cliff the road was edging.
“He tries more around Willa,” Matt said, resting his elbow on the open window. “Maybe that’s the solution. Bring her up to the landing while we work.”
“Maybe,” Creed muttered, though he couldn’t see it.
Easton was marginally less psychotic around Willa, yes, but he was still a beast to handle and ready to fight. Yesterday, he’d fought Clinton just for popping off about Willa’s small boobs. Clinton had called them “innie belly buttons” or some shit. It had been funny, and Willa cracked up, but Easton lost it.