What You See (Sons of the Survivalist #3) - Cherise Sinclair Page 0,1
feet.
“Go, Gabe!” Bull launched himself into the fight and hit a ginger in the side, knocking him onto his ass.
Next to Bull, Hawk pushed the asshole who’d called him ugly-face. Shoving his head into the kid’s chest, Hawk punched him in the gut, right-left-right-left. Getting hit back didn’t slow the crazy hawk down any. Screaming bloody murder, the teen fell over, got up, and ran like a chickenshit.
Cheering, Bull realized he was bouncing on the ginger’s back and had rammed the kid’s face into the pavement. Oh, crap.
The weenie was crying.
“Yeah, scram.” Bull rolled off, and the ginger ran.
Caz was fighting pimple-face and, shit, using one of his knives!
Coming from behind, Gabe bashed the bike into the teen. Bleeding already—go, Caz!—the teen staggered back and ran after his wannabe gang.
Gabe scowled. “Put those knives away before someone sees them.”
Slicker than snot, Caz made the knives disappear.
Bull snorted. If he’d been littler, he’d want knives, too. And Caz could sure work those blades.
“Fighting, huh?” The deep gravelly voice made Bull jump and spin.
Mako stood right behind him. The big-shouldered man used to be in the military and was hard as steel. His blue eyes saw everything.
Fuck.
He’d promised he would keep them till they were grown up. Maybe they shouldn’t’ve got in a fight the first time he brought them to town.
Tensing, Bull backed up until his shoulder was against Gabe’s. Caz was on Gabe’s other side, and after a second, Hawk wiped the blood from his mouth and stood next to Bull.
They’d done okay, Bull decided, against all those bigger kids. Felt kinda good.
Gabe looked Mako straight in the face. “They were picking on Hawk and Caz. That’s not right.”
“No, it’s not.” Mako eyed the street. The teens had disappeared. “Doubt they’ll try it again.”
Bull folded his arms over his chest. “Cuz we won.”
“You did.” The sarge actually grinned. “You’ll do even better when you learn to work together.”
They all looked at each other. Together?
Maybe.
“You got a fat lip, boy.” Mako slapped Hawk’s shoulder. “An ice pack’d help—but winning a fight deserves ice cream.”
They all grinned—even Hawk, although it made his lip bleed more.
A bit later, with a strawberry ice cream cone, Bull sat with the others at a patio table outside. It was a cool town. The sea gulls strutted around at their feet, begging for food and acting like clowns. Big planters had dark blue and yellow flowers matching the colors of the flag hanging overhead from a light pole.
While Bull slowly licked his ice cream, Mako told them to guess stuff about the people who walked past. What they did for a living. If they were good people. If they could fight.
Bull pointed his chin at a guy in mud-covered clothes who was leaning on a lamppost. “Homeless, no job, asshole, probably he’d fall over if he tried to fight.”
Mako snorted. “You’re seeing the dirt and the clothes. Look past that shit, boy.”
Bull scowled.
“He’s wearing fancy cowboy boots. Good ones.” Gabe tilted his head. “An’ his jeans ’n’ shirt aren’t new, but not cheap, either.”
Mako nodded. “Better. Keep going.”
“Got knife in boot,” Caz said.
Bull blinked, and yeah, there was a hilt at the top. So much for being worthless in a fight.
A big pickup pulled up to the curb. The big shell on the back had ten tiny doors in it, and dogs were whining behind them.
The guy climbed into the passenger side and leaned over to kiss a really hot woman.
Mako said, “He owns the sports store. He and his wife aren’t millionaires, but well enough off. That’s a dog truck, and he’s muddy from training his new sled-dog team, fixin’ to race them. Probably took himself a spill.”
“Crap,” Bull muttered. He couldn’t have been more wrong.
“Exactly. Learn to see past the surface—with men and women. It’ll save you a world of hurt.”
Hurt. Bull turned away, mouth tight. If Dad had really seen the restaurant owner who wanted him, maybe he’d have stayed away from her. Maybe he’d still be alive.
And Bull wouldn’t be in Alaska with a bunch of strangers.
Chapter One
It is not your outward appearance that you should beautify, but your soul, adorning it with good works. ~ Clement of Alexandria
“I’ll speak to the stylist about her schedule and see if she can fit in more time for you,” Frankie Bocelli told the woman in the doorway, who was afraid the newer and younger models were getting more attention from the stylist than she was.
Che cavolo. What the heck? How petty. Typing a reminder to