“We’re fine,” Crush replied.

“You two are a ‘we’ now?”

“She was only talking to you,” Cella explained.

“Okay.” He studied Cella. “What?”

She motioned behind him and Cella watched Crush look over his shoulder and jump. Not that she blamed him; Novikov stood right behind him—breathing.

“Oh ... hi.”

“Hi.”

Crush glanced at Cella and Smith, then back at Novikov. “Do you want something?”

“You ever play football?”

“American or Australian rules?”

“For this discussion, American.”

“Yeah. I have.”

Novikov thought a moment. “Have you played Australian rules football?”

“No.”

“Fair enough.”

At that point, Cella and Smith locked gazes, watching each other to see who would start laughing first.

“So you wanna play football now? American football?”

“Okay. But I thought you’d be playing hockey with the guys outside.”

“That was my plan, but apparently my hockey skills are too frightening for some loser lion.”

The lion male sauntered up to Novikov and Smith’s eyes crossed, Cella covering her mouth to stop from laughing out loud.

“Why don’t,” Mitch O’Neill Shaw sneered, “you just admit that you fear my football skills? Just say it, Bro!”

“If you call me ‘bro’ again, I’m biting off your face.”

Crushek stared at Mitch for several seconds until he finally pointed his finger at him and said way louder than seemed necessary, “I sold you crack cocaine once.”

And everyone in that tent froze, slowly turning to look at the two males talking to each other.

Mitch, mate to Smith’s wolf cousin, Sissy Mae, scowled at Cella’s bear, making her wish she’d kept her gun on her. Then he snapped his fingers, scowl disappearing, and crowed, “And I sold you meth!”

“Hey,” both idiots, er, males said, laughing.

“I thought you were dead,” Crushek volunteered.

“They tried. Put a bounty on my head, shot me, forced me to recover in motherfuckin’ Tennessee.” Mitch glanced at Smith, his laughter dying off. “No offense, Dee-Ann.”

“Whatever,” the She-wolf grumbled.

“Anyway, eventually my mother got involved and ... well, you can imagine how it went from there. How about you?”

“Moved to the Brooklyn division.”

“Hey. That’s a nice deal.”

“Yeah. I guess. Had to cut my hair, though.”

“Are you two girls done?” Novikov snapped.

“Wait a minute,” Mitch complained. “You’re notplaying for Novikov, are you?”

“He asked me first.”

“Bro, come on! Cops working together.”

“Can’t. It’s a moral thing.”

“Are you still going on about being moral?”

“It’s a lifestyle choice.”

“Are we doing this or what?” Novikov growled.

Crush faced her. “Are you cool with that?”

Startled, Cella looked around for who he could be talking to. When she didn’t find anyone, she replied, “Huh?”

“You invited me and I don’t want to desert you.”

“Awwwwwwwww,” Cella heard from behind her.

She looked over her shoulder to find a small pack of She-dogs standing there, watching. One of them, the black one married to Smith’s cousin Smitty, gestured at Crush and mouthed, He is soooo sweet. Then she added, Marry him.

While Cella debated if she could snap the little dog’s neck before Smith got in the way, another voice yelled for her from outside the tent.

Deciding the She-dog wouldn’t be much of a challenge for her, Cella walked across the tent and looked outside.

“Marly Callahan,” she called back. “What can I do ya for, lass?”

“A friendly challenge,” Marly offered. “You and me ... in the ring.”

Malones and Callahans cheered and bets were yelled to family bookies.

“Wait a minute,” Smith quietly cut in. “Callahan? Didn’t we just save her brother?”

“Exactly. Now she’s honoring me with a proper fight.”

“All right.”

Crush tapped her shoulder. “Should I assume I’m not deserting you?”

“Yeah, yeah. Go on.” She waved him away. “I’ll see you after your game.”

“Yeah, well... good luck.”

“You, too.”

Once he was gone, Smith asked, “So which one of you is falling faster?”

“Shut the fuck up. And you’re my cutman.”

Smith shrugged, reaching for the bowie knife she had holstered to her jeans. Cella caught her hand, growling as she scowled at her. “I mean, if I need you to do that, you idiot.”

“Malone, look at you sweet-talkin’ me.”

“All right,” Novikov finally admitted. “Maybe I underestimated him.”

“I’d heard he was good enough to play pro.”

“How does that help me?”

“It actually doesn’t.” Crush looked over at the other team. “It also doesn’t help that your teammates hate you so much, they’re playing for the Shaw brothers. Even MacRyrie ... he’s going after you like you’re covered in honey.”