Page 31 of With Spite

But seeing Lanny, Patrick, and Kurt Huber in town when they didn’t have the invisible barrier that my brother and Hux had laid down meant they tried things they wouldn’t normally try.

I was scared that one day they might say Creed and Hux weren’t that scary and try to touch me.

It wasn’t like I could fight them off, either.

I was too damn weak.

Creed:

Is it a bull or a cow?

I took another video and sent it to him, this one a much closer view than the original one I’d sent minutes earlier.

Creed:

Holy fucking shit. That’s the biggest one I’ve seen.

He went into detail about the spread, asked about specifics that I couldn’t give, then said, “Go tell Hux.”

I was actually kind of excited about walking into his domain and actually trying to convince him to leave early, so I did just that. And this would be just the excuse that I needed.

I made sure the door was locked, then went through the back to the warehouse, then to the door that went into Hux’s butcher shop.

I knocked softly, hesitant as always to interrupt him.

He opened it almost before I could finish knocking.

He didn’t say hi, just stood there and waited for me to tell him why I was there.

“I was showing my brother a moose,” I said softly. “In the middle of the road. And he said to tell you about it. He said something about it being ‘679.’”

Hux’s brows rose, and he turned around, dropped his knife, his gloves, and his apron on the counter behind him before jerking his head for me to step aside.

I did, then followed him back through the warehouse, into The Mercantile, and to the front door.

Hux stood at the front door and stared out the windows for long moments.

“What’s the significance of 679?”

He was silent for so long that I thought he wasn’t going to answer.

But then he turned around, leaving the bull standing there, and started talking.

Seeing as he was speaking to me, I had no other option but to follow him.

“The bull out there, 679, is tagged,” he said quietly.

“I saw it was tagged, but I have no clue how you’d know it was 679.”

“Coloring, spread, and the tag on the ear,” he answered. “That is the moose that killed Birdee’s sister.”

I gasped as he came to a stop next to his sink, washed his hands, then got his apron on again.

“Holy shit.”

“Most wanted bull in the county,” he drawled.

“Infamous,” I supplied.