We were shifters. We ate meat. A lot of it.
“We can take my car,” Shade said. “I got a bigger one when Bob came to live with me.” He sighed heavily. “I had to make room for the cat.”
“You bought a new car because of the cat?”
“He’s too big for a cat kennel.”
I squinted at the man. “Why would that even be a problem? He’s a cat. Why not leave him at home?”
“Oh,” Bob said, “Mustachio likes to go to the park.”
Of course he did.
“Geez,” Shade said, “don’t you know anything, Sinclair?” A smile started to spread across the dangerous assassin’s mouth. “He has a leash and everything.”
“Riigghht.”
I was never getting a cat.
* * * *
Stone
I smiled as I followed Sinclair out of his office. Maybe I should get Sinclair a cat of his own, a little buddy for Mustachio to play with.
He’d probably kill me.
“There’s a great little pizza joint about five miles down the road,” Sinclair said as he wheeled himself down the hallway. “I’ve ordered from them before.”
“Wait,” Samson said. “Let me see if I get this right. We could sit around here in our pajamas and drink beerandhave pizza delivered?”
“We’re not that far out of the city, Samson. They do deliver out here. Of course, you have to pay a delivery fee, but—”
“Done.” Samson handed over a wad of cash. “Order an extra meat pizza for me. I’m hungry.”
That was scary.
“Uh.” Sinclair stared at the money in his hand. “So, we’re staying in then?”
“And ordering pizza delivered,” Samson added quickly. “Lots of pizza.”
“Pajama party!” Bob shouted as he went running down the hallway.
“Oh hell, I better catch him before he strips and starts streaking through the mansion.”
I chuckled as I watched Shade take off after Bob.
“I’ll grab some beer,” Stryker said. “We can meet in the living room in fifteen minutes.”
“How about that rec room thingy with the pool table instead?” Sinclair shivered. “The living room gives me the willies.”
I frowned instantly. “Why?”
“That’s where Councilman James used to hang out. I just don’t like it. It makes my skin crawl like someone is always watching me.”
I knew Stryker and Samson were thinking the very same thing when both men looked at me. “Did you always feel that way, Sinclair?”
“No, just the last couple of months or so, ever since he had the room redone. The colors he chose are ghastly.” Sinclair kept right on wheeling himself down the hallway as if he hadn’t a clue of the can of worms he had just opened up. “I mean, who decorates in pumpkin orange and teal?”
