Page 62 of Bad Blood Panther

Chapter 23

It took almost two weeks to set everything up. They ordered the tests and put together paperwork, and Flynn set up a meeting with the Broken Hill Clan.

Alton refused to attend, despite his threats. He was sending two lieutenants. Jenny figured that he didn’t want to be forced to confront the results of the DNA test in front of his top advisors—or at all. Losing was not something Alton did gracefully.

Neither was admitting that he was wrong.

The meeting had been set for a neutral location in Nashville—a rented conference room in a downtown hotel. Flynn had tried to get it to take place on Bad Blood territory, within the protection of his magical boundaries, but the Broken Hill representatives refused.

Each side could only have two representatives—that was also a Broken Hill stipulation. Flynn figured going to war so often had made them paranoid about ambushes. Or maybe they just didn’t have many men to spare.

“I’m going,” Xander said immediately. “This is my family we’re talking about.”

Flynn nodded. “The rest of the crew can stay here with Jenny and Brandon,” he said. “Just in case that fucker tries anything.”

Xander didn’t know either of the Broken Hill panthers that came for the meeting. Bledsoe and Carruthers. They made him uneasy; they talked like corporate types, but they looked like brawlers.

They launched into a bunch of long-winded shit about all the reasons why Broken Hill couldn’t let go of Jenny and Brandon.

Jenny was supposedly so valuable as a breeder. (Like they’d ever treated her as valuable. And…breeder. Fuck.)

She was a treasured consort of the alpha. (Who kept her in rags, and locked her in closets when she didn’t agree with him, for fuck’s sake.)

And Brandon was the alpha’s son (fucking bullshit), marked by prophecy as the one to lead the clan into the future (more fucking bullshit).

They could maybe see their way clear to releasing Jenny to the Bad Bloods—for a price—but certainly not Brandon (non-fucking-negotiable).

The argument raged on until one of the Broken Hill reps got a text message. He glanced at his phone, gave a nod to his partner, and sat back in his chair, rolling his shoulders like he was getting ready for a fight.

He shut his file and tore it in half. “At least we can forget about this bullshit now.”

Fear stabbed through Xander. “What the hell are you talking about?”

At that moment, Flynn’s phone rang. Sloan.

He snatched it up. “What the fuck?” he barked.

Xander could hear Sloan, faintly, but he was breaking up. “…under attack… fifteen minutes ago… Jenny…” The call went dead.

Xander was across the table in a second, papers scattering everywhere. He grabbed Corporate Douche Bledsoe around his neck and put his favorite knife to the fucker’s throat. “Whatever you’re doing to my family and my crew, stop it. Now,” he said to Carruthers. “Or I’ll cut his throat right here, and worry about hotel security later.”

Flynn had his gun out, pointed at Carruthers. “Explain,” he said in a deadly voice.

Corporate Douche Carruthers leaned back in his chair, looking calm and relaxed. “We’ve sent in an assault team to recover the alpha’s heir and his consort,” he said.

“They won’t get her.” That was Flynn’s deep growl.

“Because of your territory magic?” Carruthers shook his head, making “tsking” noises. “You think you’re the only person in the world that has magic?”

Fuck. They were coming after the crew with magic.

“If you hurt any of my crew, I will rain down hell on your clan like you’ve never imagined,” Flynn said. “I will end every last one of you.”

That did shake the fucker’s confidence a little. But not enough.

“We’re not interested in your crew,” he said. “All we want is what’s ours.”

“They’re not yours,” Xander growled.