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Idly snaking his hand up his mate’s back, Luke said, “We could anonymously make these records public, but then it will be obvious that shifters were responsible for Myra and her firm burning down. That wouldn’t be good.”
“No, it wouldn’t,” agreed Deke. “The human authorities won’t take kindly to the idea of our kind seeking justice in such a supreme way, and anti-shifter extremists will pounce on it to make us out to be dangerous vigilantes.”
Isaiah nodded. “We personally wouldn’t suffer blowback, since humans believe us to be human ourselves, but shifters in general would suffer.”
Tate stopped pacing and rolled his shoulders. “Then we need to instead privately and anonymously make a statement to Zayne. We need to do something to alert him to the fact that we know what he’s been up to; something that will make him inclined to pull back. We can then deal with him up close and personal at a later date, when he’s least expecting it.”
“If we alert him that we’re onto him, it’ll put him on guard,” Farrell pointed out. “He’ll be paranoid—and rightly so—that we won’t stop at a simple warning, so he’ll be more careful.”
“It’s that or take the chance that Camden could get shot at again in the meantime,” said Aspen. “And I’m not good with that.”
“Neither am I,” declared Havana, folding her arms. “So, like Tate said, we make a statement.”
Alex licked his front teeth. “Give me a copy of that document stating the history of Zayne’s transactions with Myra. I’ll break into his LA home, pin it to a wall, and claw said wall—it’ll be obvious that shifters have left some form of warning. He’d be a damn fool not to heed it.”
Camden’s brows inched up. “That would work. He might suspect it was me, given I’m the latest transaction and he put Myra onto me in the first place, but I doubt he’d act on it. And if he tries, well, he’ll die for his stupidity.”
Indeed he would. According to Myra, Zayne hadn’t asked that the poachers specifically target Camden, but the singer had put the male’s name forward as a possibility after reading the online article about Camden and another tiger dueling—until then, Zayne hadn’t known there were white tiger shifters.
Blair lifted the list of poachers who Myra kept a file on. “What about these fuckheads?”
“Their lives need ending for sure.” Havana looked at Alex. “Do you think your uncles will be interested in taking care of them?”
“Oh, they’ll be happy to,” replied the wolverine. “They’ll also be happy to take care of Zayne at some point. They’re good at making deaths look accidental.”
“Really? Interesting,” said Havana. “If they offer, we might take them up on that. As for Myra’s clients, they need to be taken care of just the same. But it’s not our justice to mete out. It doesn’t seem right for us to do it ourselves.”
In agreement with that, Blair twisted her mouth as she contemplated how best to handle the situation. An idea came to her. “These records clearly state the identities of each shifter who was killed. It wouldn’t be hard for us to ID and locate their nearest and dearest. We could contact them, pass on the identity of whatever client owns pieces of the deceased, and allow them to mete out their own justice and retrieve the shifters’ remains.”
Tate slowly dipped his chin. “I like that idea. Alex, contact your uncles about the list of poachers. The rest of us will work on locating and unearthing contact details for the families of the deceased shifters. I’ll gather others here to help. We’re going to need as much aid as possible if we’re to get through that list by tonight.”
As it was, even with so many assisting, they only managed to get three quarters of the way through the list. There were just so many victims of poaching. It had been going on for years.
Tate eventually sent everyone home, probably sensing that they needed a break. Blair was glad of it. There had been nothing easy about repeatedly breaking the news of a shifter’s death to their families. Many had sobbed, utterly devastated.
She could relate to their anger and pain and disbelief—she’d felt it all herself when she lost her sister. And by the way Luke pulled inward, she knew he was thinking of his mother. So when they later lay in bed, their minds still a place of unrest, she pressed a kiss to his shoulder and said, “It’s been a messed up day, huh?”
“Yeah,” he replied simply, coasting his fingers up her bare back as she lay flat on her stomach.
Tired of one-word answers, she inwardly sighed. She’d spoken to him several times since they returned home, but he hadn’t done much talking in return. He’d withdrawn too far—not emotionally or physically, but mentally. So even as he kept her close and touched her with utter reverence, he was a million miles away. And she felt so very alone right then.
