Caz? Yeah, he was okay, too, even if he didn’t speak English so good. When a bird’s nest fell down off a tree, Caz kept the babies alive, getting up early to feed them and everything.

Hawk? Well, Hawk was weird. If anybody looked at him funny, he’d hit them. Bull had some good bruises since the kid hit hard. But he’d sneak bugs and worms to Caz’s baby birds…and then pretend he hadn’t. Why’d he want them to think he was an asshole?

Wondering what they thought of him, Bull waited to see what’d happen down the street.

Trash-talking, the local kids surrounded Caz and Hawk. “City brats. Go back to the Lower 48 where you belong.” The pimple-faced town boy must’ve been around fifteen, same as the other three circling Hawk and Caz.

Bull growled. Hawk was a jerk sometimes, and Caz just a shrimp, but they were all living together. Kinda makes them, like, mine, right?

“Ugly-face, don’cha got nothing to say?” Another teen poked his finger at the scar on Hawk’s face.

Caz slapped the kid’s arm away. “Chinga su madre, hijo de puta!”

The Alaska dumbasses got even madder. They could probably tell that he’d called them nasty names.

Caz had some guts.

Turning a pissed-off red, Hawk lifted his fists. Uh-oh. When he lost it, no one was safe.

As Bull headed toward the group, the fight busted out.

The pimple-faced kid punched Caz right in the face.

Hawk kicked the jerk’s leg, and then all the town kids jumped in.

Like that was fair?

With a yell, Gabe grabbed a bike from the sidewalk and clobbered one teen right off his 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.