2
CLINT
Four months later
I sat on the edge of the motel bed to clean my gun and place the silver bullets in the chamber. There weren’t many Shifter Council enforcers, and we varied as much as the geography of the packs we were from. There were some enforcers who killed in shifter form. I preferred remaining in human form, the silver bullet from a gun my method of pack justice. I had no idea why—it just felt more civilized.
That didn’t mean I hadn’t killed with my bare hands. Or teeth.
I had.
But I hoped today I’d be able to use the bullet and keep justice as swift and painless as possible.
I holstered the gun under my arm and pulled a down jacket over my t-shirt to cover it. The moment I stepped outside the wind howled in my ears. Wyoming was f*****g windy in November. Hell, Wyomin
