Silver-Tipped Justice(10)

“Whoa, boss. I’m just saying that there are other options. That’s all.”

The man’s placating tone eased Kontra’s bear, and he eased back on the bed. “Right,” he muttered. “Sorry I snapped.”

“No worries. Go to sleep, boss. You could use the rest.”

Sighing deeply, Kontra let his eyelids slide shut. “Hey, Payson,” he muttered as sleep tugged at his psyche. “Thanks for calling the guys.”

“Sure thing, boss.”

Kontra could hear the grin in Payson’s tone, but didn’t bother to comment as blessed sleep finally took him away from his troubles for a time.





Chapter Four


When he opened his eyes, Tim fought back a wave of panic. He didn’t recognize where he was. The room wasn’t a large space, maybe ten by twelve feet. Tim slowly sat up, noticing he was lying on a twin bed and swept his gaze around the room. There wasn’t much to see. Other than the mattress, which rested on a metal frame, there was a nightstand. That was it.

Tim forced his breathing to remain even as he struggled to navigate the fog of memories from last night. Then he spotted his red coat tossed over the foot of the bed and it all came rushing back.

After Kontra had left, and Tim had gotten over his out of character actions, he’d headed for the shower. While in there, the image of Kontra’s strong, tattooed arms sliding around him from behind had his cock returning to full arousal in seconds.

He’d ignored his cock and tried to banish the idea of being held by a wet, naked—and huge— sexy shifter. It didn’t work. Tim imagined the tattoos he’d seen, which appeared to be tribal, peeking above the neck opening of Kontra’s coat extended all the way down his arms, sweeping along his massive muscles accentuating the path his tongue wanted to take.

Groaning in frustration, Tim had taken his dick in hand and stroked. He’d imagined it was Kontra’s large rough hand, holding him tightly, jacking him from root to tip over and over. In under a minute, Tim had come harder than he had in years, and that was from just his own imaginings.

He’d waited for the guilt, the self-degradation, and the shame. Instead, all he’d heard was Gil’s voice in his head reminding him of a conversation they’d had over a decade ago. Tim had broken his arm, and when it had only taken three weeks to heal instead of eight—making it necessary for Gil to remove the cast and find a new doctor for the human’s future needs to avoid questions—Tim had had to explain that he wasn’t completely human.

When Gil had learned that Tim would outlive him, maybe by centuries, he’d pulled Tim into a tight embrace and whispered, “Promise me you won’t mourn me forever, Tim.” He’d lifted his head and pressed a soft kiss to Tim’s lips. Looking down at him with his big blue eyes, Gil had murmured, “I want you to be happy, have love, you’re an amazing man and deserve it. Once I’m gone, promise me you’ll find someone else.”

It hadn’t been a request. The words had stuck in Tim’s throat, but he’d done what he knew would make Gil happy. He’d agreed. Tim would have done anything to make Gil happy.

Resting his head against the cold tile, Tim reached over and turned off the water. He’d decided to follow through with his promise. He’d see if Kontra could actually care for him, even though he wasn’t really a shifter. Gods above, the biker was sexy-as-sin.

Tim had felt so much better after remembering that, and acting on his decision, he’d gotten dressed and made his way back to the bar, thinking maybe Shep would know where the strangers were staying. His buddy always heard all the gossip.

He hadn’t made it to the bar.

Tim had thought he smelled a familiar scent, which had made him pause and inhale deeply. His nose wasn’t nearly as sharp as the average shifter, but it was still better than a full human’s. Then a sharp pain had exploded through his head. He remembered letting out a squeak of surprise as he’d crumpled to the ground.

Rubbing his hands over his face, Tim tried to make sense of things. Whose house was he in and why the hell was he there? He reached for his coat at the foot of the bed and checked his pockets. Okay, keys and wallet—check. Cell phone— missing.

“Shit,” he hissed softly. That couldn’t be a good sign.

Tim rose, ignoring the dull ache in his head. It would fade soon enough. That’s when he noticed the cold seeping from the hardwood floor through his sock-clad feet. His boots were gone. Looking around the room, Tim couldn’t find them. Resolving to get some answers, he reached out, gripped the doorknob, and slowly turned it. Tim had to admit, he was really quite shocked it actually rotated. With everything else, he’d felt certain it would be locked.