Free Monsters in the Midwest (Book 2): Northwoods Wolfman by Scott Burtness

a few quick body shots into Randall’s torso and
followed with a sharp jab right between his eyes. The blow stunned Randall long
enough for Dallas to slide his pocket knife free and wrap Randall up from
behind, blade pressed firmly against his jugular.
    “Whoa!
Don’t! Don’t kill me! It’s a test! It’s just a test!” Randall screamed. His
words devolved into gasping gibberish as Dallas torqued his shoulder and
pressed the knife’s tip until it broke skin, releasing a trickle of very bright
blood down Randall’s neck.
    “Well,
looky here!” he said in a clear, calm voice. Despite all the excitement,
Dallas’s heart rate was steady, and his breath came slow and easy. He felt
completely relaxed, which he realized in a detached way might be considered odd
given the circumstances.
    With
a shrug for life’s perplexities, he continued. “When I got up today, I thought
maybe I’d get some pussy. This wasn’t quite what I had in mind though.”
    Randall
hissed through clenched teeth and momentarily tensed but relaxed when he felt
Dallas’s iron grip on his wrist tighten.
    “Easy
boy. I think it’s high time you introduced your friends and started to explain
things.” Dallas coaxed Randall into a sideways shuffle. When they reached the
open side of the enclosure, he shoved Randall’s head out.
    After
taking a deep breath through his nose, Dallas hollered out. “I know there’s a
punk with a bean bag gun and a lady who I really hope looks as good as she
smells. C’mon out so we can get acquainted proper-like.”
      Silence hung for a few moments. Birds
eventually resumed their incessant chattering, and a light breeze ruffled the
leaves of trees circling the clearing. Otherwise, the only sounds were Dallas’s
calm and Randall’s not-so-calm breathing until he heard a slow clapping.
    “Well
done! Excellent! Glad to see I was right,” the voice said. “This vamp killer is
every bit as tough as I’d hoped. Glad this little town has something to offer.
Aletia, let’s put down our toys and meet our new recruit.”
    “Qué
demonios, Colton! I didn’t get to use mine,” a sultry and softly accented voice
complained, words clearly coming from a pouting mouth.
    “Tia,
darling. Not on our company.”
    “You
got to use your toy on our mala compañía.”
    “Manners,
Aletia! Manners,” the man named Colton chastised. “And I would’ve gotten my ass
kicked six ways to Sunday right after our new friend finished up with Randall,
isn’t that right, Dallas? Now come out of there and say hello. No more arrows
or bean bags, I promise.”
    Dallas
gave Randall a shove and walked him out into the open. With a magnanimous
smile, he removed the knife from Randall’s neck and released the wrist he’d
been holding behind the man’s back. The knife’s handle was making his palm
itch, so he quickly folded it back up and returned it to his pocket.
    “That
sounds mighty fine,” he agreed graciously. “I’m Dallas Emory Vinter, owner and
proprietor of That Blows HVAC and Goddamn Hero of Trappersville, but you knew
all that, I suppose.” Placing a boot firmly on Randall’s backside, he kicked
and sent his former captive face first into the grass.
    Turning
his attention to the man that had greeted him with a beanbag to the kidney,
Dallas continued.
    “I
imagine you’re some type of commanding officer or whatnot, and you probably
think I should be saluting. Well, I got news for you, buddy. One, I ain’t
enlisted in your little F.B.I, C.I.A., N.S.A.B.C.-whatever club you got goin’
on here, and two, I don’t salute little punks that ambush me, unless you call
what happened to Randall’s face a salute. So I guess you’d better get a beer to
wash down your disappointment but do it later. Right now, I expect you to start
talking. You recruited me, right? Damn right, you did! So.”
    Dallas
cracked the knuckles on first one meaty fist and then the other before crossing
his arms across his chest. Staring straight at