Jagger was making an inventory of the pantry when Nadetta walked into the kitchen from the serving area. She had a bruise on her cheek and some scratches on her arm.

“He’s here.”

“Who?” Why the hell did they have canned corn? Was there any dish they served with canned corn? They had down-sized the menu considerably, but he couldn’t remember having corn in any of their dishes before either.

Nachos! They’d served nachos. He had four 106-ounce cans. There was a lot of corn, and they weren’t using it. Grabbing his phone, he added it to the list of things they could do without.

“The man from the parking lot.”

Jagger pushed his phone back into his pocket. “What?”

“The one who grabbed me. Only he’s perfectly fine. Not a scratch on him.”

“Are you sure?” It couldn’t be.

She tapped her nose. “I’m a bear.”

Fuck. “What do they want?”

“I don’t know. They walked through the door and sat at a table. I came in here without approaching.”

Jagger didn’t like the frightened look on her face. “How many?”

“Five, but one is ... he smells weird.”

Weird. “As in?”

“As in not human but not shifter.”

“Like Rue?”

She scrunched her nose. “Not exactly. Rue smells of nature, this one ...” She shook her head. “Metal, or not metal, but his scent makes me think of metal. It doesn’t make sense.”

“Call Gertrude.”

Jagger walked toward the swing door leading out of the kitchen. There was one man with a dark blue ball cap sitting in the corner enjoying a burger, a trucker, but the rest of the serving area was empty apart from the five men sitting by the table closest to the door. Good. Should make their walk out of there short.

“I’ll have to ask you to leave, gentlemen.” Jagger stopped by the table and pulled himself up to his full height. If they had any sense, they’d back away, but humans weren’t always equipped with sense.

“I don’t think --” One of the men stood, and Jagger stepped into his space, allowing his eyes to change.

“This is my place, and I don’t care what you think. I asked you to leave.”

“You don’t realize your position.” The man puffed his chest, which was pathetic.

“I fear it’s the other way around.”

Someone else got to his feet. Jagger caught movement at the corner of his eyes. He chanced a glance. A dark-haired man in need of a shower and a haircut. He smelled of sweat, stale air, and something else. Something almost metallic. Not human. He was smaller than Jagger, but size didn’t mean much when it came to the supernatural community.

Jagger hissed, and the man almost fell over his chair in his haste to get away from him.

“Touch him.” The idiot who’d stood first gestured for the magic user to get closer again. Jagger allowed his teeth to lengthen.

“I’d advise against it.”

The cold barrel of a gun pressed into his belly. “You’re in no position to negotiate.”

A hand touched his forearm, instantly followed by sharp blades. Jagger had rolled up his sleeves and was studying his skin to see if he was bleeding.

He wasn’t.

He didn’t make a sound, but he stared into the magic user’s eyes. He’d endured a lot more pain than this and lived to tell the tale.

“Do it!” The man pushed the barrel of the gun against him again.

“I am.” The magic user’s voice shook.

A hand grabbed Jagger’s chin, fingers digging into his cheeks, then searching eyes met his.

Jagger slapped the magic user without looking away from the one holding his face. Since there was a crash, he assumed the magic user had no extra strength and little to no experience when it came to hand-to-hand fighting. Which meant he didn’t stand a chance when it was hand to claw. Too bad these idiots carried weapons.

The man holding him snarled and raised the gun to his temple. “Listen to me. You’re gonna do us a favor.”

Jagger almost laughed. “No, I’m not.”

“I have a delivery man. He’s gonna come here and --”

Jagger buried his claws in the man’s belly. He could’ve ripped his insides out, but he didn’t. A nice little puncture wound or four would have to be enough.

The others around the table scrambled to their feet. Jagger didn’t spare them a look. Instead, he grabbed the man’s chin like he’d done Jagger’s. His bloody claws caressed his cheek. “Listen to me.” He grinned to show his teeth. “If you ever set foot here again, I’ll rip your insides out before I crush your skull. And if I so much as hear you sniffing around the parking lot trying to grab anyone on my staff again, I’m gonna slaughter the entire gang, are we clear?”

The man was pale, sweat beaded on his upper lip, and he was shaking. Jagger pushed him away, and he fell over the table. Turning to the magic user, Jagger met his wide eyes. “You.” He pointed a clawed finger at him. “Should keep better company.”