He was about to walk on when he noticed Mason lounging on the steps of his cabin in the dark. The porch cast a shadow for the moon, so Gash had almost missed him where he sat on the bottom step, elbows propped up on the top one, and a bottle of Corona hanging casually from his grip… staring at Bailey’s front door.
Squinting, Gash took in the male’s gaze. It was calculating. Considering. Planning his route of attack. Gash knew that look. Mason was hunting. Tracking his prey, and his prey was…
Aw, hell no.
Stalking across the road, Gash let the animal inside feed his anger. Bailey was his. Tonight proved it. And no male was going to look in her direction the way Mason was right now. Not without getting beat to shit.
Gash was buzzing with energy as his boots ate up the gravel path. His fists clenched, aching to make contact with Mason’s pretty-boy face.
The cougar didn’t move from his relaxed state. In fact, he looked almost amused. Didn’t he know Gash was going to rip him up?
When Gash was halfway there, Mason chirped up. “Before you actually throw that punch I know you’re considering, let me say that I definitely see the attraction.” He whistled low in appreciation, causing Gash’s cat to snarl and claw. “I might have lusted over that female once upon a time, not gonna lie. But I swear, I’m not stepping in on whatever you got happening with her—”
Gash’s phone let off a loud alarm that sounded like a siren. It was his ringtone, but blaring from his back pocket, it sounded more ominous than a simple incoming call.
He was fuming, but he paused his attack. Because no one except Ouachita cats had his cell number. If it was ringing in the middle of the night, it was because there was a problem.
Mason must’ve caught the significance of the late-night call because he tossed his half empty beer aside and stood, staring into the darkness of the forest, his nose in the air to scent for danger.
Gash dug the phone from his pocket and hit the answer button without looking. He’d have to hurt Mason later.
“Yeah,” he barked into the receiver, his voice still rough from his cat’s nearness.
There was silence on the other end, and Gash pressed the phone tighter to his ear. But a long, low whistle came over the speaker and he froze.
He knew that sound. That specific sound. It brought him back to his fucked up childhood, and humid summer nights watching his pops and the shadow cats torment innocent people for monetary gain. Evil for hire. That’s what the Alley Cats were at their core. And it started way before he was ever born.
Born to the wrong clan. Born the wrong species. He was the motherless cub left to the care of a wicked stepmother and an even more wicked father. And a half-brother that gave him chills with the simple sound of a whistle.
“Felix,” he growled.
Pops groomed them young to be Alley Cats. While he’d forced them to watch his dirty deeds, Gash had felt sick. But Felix had smiled, whistling that low, warning tone. Over the years, it had become his calling card. The whistle was the last thing any enemy usually heard.
“How did you get this number?”
“Oh, brother,” Felix drawled deep. “It’s so good to hear your voice. Your living breathing voice. Me and the boys mourned your death. Even got retribution for it. We dumped Scar in the river. Yes, sir. All his pieces are resting in the bottom of the Mighty Mississippi. In the exact place we thought you were resting.”
Gash ground his teeth, turning in a half circle until he could see Bailey’s cabin clearly. Mason was already pulling his shirt over his head and ducking his jeans to shift for a patrol.
“Scar was a sick bastard. He deserved to die.”
“Hmm,” Felix mused. “Maybe. But now we have another problem, brother.”
He hated when Felix called him that. Yes, they shared a father, but there was nothing else to warrant the use of that term. His brothers were Eagan, Magic, Ryan, Renner, Owyn, and yes, Mason, the bastard.
“See, you abandoned your family, your clan,” Felix continued, his false hurt sounding as phony as he’d intended it. “You left us in the middle of a hit and pretended you were dead. That’s treason, brother. And that means we get to take it out of your skin.”
“Never,” Gash hissed. “Never again.”
“Look, this is a courtesy, Gash. Because you’re my blood, I’m giving you a chance to pay the price like a man, willingly.” His voice went from fake pleasant to sneering with hatred. “Instead of the chicken-shit coward half-breed that you are. Listen here, brother. It’s real fucking simple. You’ll pay for this betrayal. Either with your hide or with your heart.”