On the Road: After a breakdown forces a shifter to make a pit stop, he realizes it’s a blessing in disguise when he scents his mate.

  When Deacon Ferdmin learns his brother, Daevon, is transitioning into a new life, he decides it’s time to do the same. Plus, as a badger shifter, he’s tired of living in the city. Buying a motorcycle and heading cross-country to meet up with Daevon, Deacon enjoys the change of pace from his prior high-stakes job as a firefighter... until his motorcycle breaks down. There’s only a couple of mechanic shops in town, and the first one he goes to refuses to service his machine since he’s openly and obviously gay. As angry as it makes Deacon, when he walks into the second shop, he quickly turns grateful. He scents that somewhere within the depths of the dingy space is his mate. However, Deacon also realizes that approaching the man—Axel Spumoni—will take some finesse. Not only has Deacon already experienced discrimination, but he notices Axel is a burn victim. Can Deacon figure out a way to woo his reclusive, wary mate while dealing with the backwater town’s hostility?

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  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Don’t Badger Me

  Copyright © 2020 Charlie Richards

  ISBN: 978-1-4874-2841-9

  Cover art by Angela Waters

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

  Published by eXtasy Books Inc or

  Devine Destinies, an imprint of eXtasy Books Inc

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  www.eXtasybooks.com or www.devinedestinies.com

  Smashwords Edition

  Don’t Badger Me

  Kontra’s Menagerie: Book Twenty-Seven

  By

  Charlie Richards

  Dedication

  ~First they ignore you, then they ridicule you, then they fight you, and then you win.

  ~Mahatma Gandhi

  Chapter One

  “We don’t serve your kind here.”

  Deacon Ferdmin arched his left brow as he stared at the smirking man—James, according to the name written on his coveralls. “Excuse me?” At first, he thought James was referring to the fact that he was a badger shifter. Except, there was no way the human could know... right?

  James curled his lip in a sneer as he swept his gaze over Deacon. “We ain’t helpin’ a faggot.”

  Well, holy shit!

  Deacon couldn’t remember the last time he’d been discriminated against for being gay. The fact that he swung that way was pretty damn blatant, too. Between the streaks of green that he’d dyed into his black hair, the studs and hoops in his ears, eyebrows, and lip, plus the pale-green and yellow plaid shirt he’d chosen to wear under his unzipped black leather jacket, it was an easy assumption.

  Even all the guys at the firehouse he’d left behind when he’d resigned his position hadn’t given his sexuality a second thought in years. At least, they hadn’t acted as if they had anyway. They’d thrown him a going away party and wished him well. A few of them had said to keep in touch, and Deacon probably would for a few years. Then he would need to stop, since he would outlive all of them by centuries.

  “Didn’t you hear me?” James crossed his arms over his chest. “You can leave.”

  “I’d like to speak to the owner,” Deacon countered. As much as it galled him to trust the workmanship of his Triumph to a homophobic bastard, he needed his motorcycle fixed.

  James sneered at him as he pointed at the store logo on the wall. “James’s Garage. I’m James.” He tapped the name on his chest. “I’m the owner, and I ain’t servicin’ the bike of a cocksucker. Get out.”

  Damn. Was afraid of that.

  Turning on his heel, Deacon left. He crossed to his motorcycle and leaned against it. Pulling out his phone, he opened his internet app and searched again.

  When his motorcycle had quit and Deacon had coasted into town, he’d thought he’d been lucky to immediately spot the garage. Too bad he hadn’t known it was owned and operated by a backwoods homophobic hillbilly. He sure hoped there was another garage in this Podunk town.

  Deacon read a second garage listing and hoped it wasn’t run by a homophobe, too. After making a mental note of the directions, he lifted it off the kickstand and began wheeling it down the street. At least with his shifter strength, pushing the motorcycle was easy.

  As soon as Deacon had heard that his brother Daevon had chosen to resign as a college professor and approach a nomadic alpha to join his pack—or gang, as they called it—Deacon had decided he would do the same. He hadn’t had the opportunity to spend much time with his brother in over forty years. As a shifter, a paranormal living in a human world, he had to remake his identity every few decades.

  The last time around, Deacon had headed to Chicago to be a firefighter, while Daevon had found a position in another city. Neither of them had had much free time. For the first time in a long time, Deacon had appreciated the changes in technology, but talking over a computer wasn’t the same as frolicking together in animal form.

  Thinking about his brother, Deacon realized he would need to call the man and let him know he wasn’t going to make the rendezvous.

  “As soon as I have something to tell him,” Deacon muttered as the sign for the second garage came into view. The place appeared old and dingy, but at least, there was a glowing open in the window.

  Deacon left his Triumph in the parking lot and headed into the office. Seeing no one behind the counter of the dirty room, he grimaced. He could hear clanging and talking coming from an open door to the left of the counter, so he knew someone was there.

  “Hurry up with that oil change, Axel,” a man ordered. “You were supposed to have that done this morning.”

  “Yes, sir,” a deep voice responded softly.

  Deacon knew that only his shifter hearing allowed him to make it out. The bass tones caused a warm flutter in his gut, and he almost hummed appreciatively. Having already been singled out for being gay stayed his reaction.

  Instead, Deacon headed for the door and hollered, “Hello, the garage?”

  “Yeah!” responded the first voice from deep in the bay behind an older Dodge pick-up.

  Stopping in the doorway, Deacon swept his gaze over the area. He spotted movement in the back and waited. As he watched an overweight man in filthy coveralls lumbering toward him, he tried to breathe shallowly.

  The scent of grease, oil, and other vehicle fluids hung heavy in the air. To his surprise, however, there was something else, too. He took a slow, deeper inhale, and heat and need began pooling in his gut.

  Oh, damn! Do I seriously smell my mate in here?

  With the way the heavyset man stared at him with narrowed eyes and a curled lip, Deacon prayed to whatever gods cared to listen that it wasn’t him. Great. Another homophobe. Doing his best to ignore it, Deacon dipped his chin in a nod of greeting.

  “Hello, sir,” Deacon greeted. “I think the stator went out on my motorcycle. Can you take a look?”

  The man looked Deacon up and down, his expression easy to read. “Axel, take care of this customer.” Then he turned and walked away.

  Oooookay. At least he’s not my mate. His nasty BO just about knocked me outta my boots!

  Which leaves Axel.

  Deacon shoved his hands into his pockets as he spotted another form separate from the shadows in the back. The guy’s shoulders were wide but a little hunched. He limped on his right leg, his steps uneven. With his face turned a little, his shaggy hair hid most of the features on his right side.

  “This way, please, sir,” the man—Axel, evidently—indicated the front room.

  Taking a step backward, Deacon pivoted and allowed the man to pass him. At the same time, he took a discreet sniff. The human’s odor was mixed with oil and grease, but underneath that, it was all masculine and all delicious.

  Mmmm... oh, that’s so good.

  Deacon followed close behind Axel, enjoying the view of his ass, even in his coveralls. Watching him move, he wondered what caused the limp. Then Axel turned and rounded the counter, and Deacon spotted the scars up the right side of his neck, disappearing beneath his shaggy auburn hair.

  Axel reached under the counter and pulled out a piece of paper, placing it before him. “Please fill out this form, sir,” he murmured, lifting his left hand and pushing his hair behind his ear. Axel glanced up to look at him, revealing wary blue eyes. His focus slipped over Deacon’s shoulder and out the front window. Then he met Deacon’s gaze again. “You think it’s the stator, sir?”

  “Please, call me Deacon,” Deacon offered, sliding the form close and picking up the pen on the counter. “And, yeah. All the signs are there. Dimming headlights, decreased power, and finally, the fuel pump shut off.” As Deacon filled out t
he form, he took advantage of the moment to cast quick glances at the man. “The guy I bought it from said he thought it might be going out. It’s that time.” Shrugging, Deacon cast a wry smile Axel’s way. “I was hoping to make it to where I was going before it happened, but oh well.”

  Deacon realized his mate was bigger and broader than him. His body appeared fit, although the baggy clothing made it tough to tell how muscled he was. While Deacon stood five-foot-eleven, he knew his mate had to be a couple of inches more, since he stood just a smidge taller than him even though he was hunched.

  Axel lowered his focus to the paper. “I’m sorry, sir,” he rumbled, tapping the form with his left hand. “I either need an address, or I’ll need to ask you to pre-pay. Capson’s rules.”

  It didn’t miss Deacon’s attention how Axel hadn’t called him by his name. He also figured Capson was his dick boss.

  Needing to figure out a way to connect with Axel, Deacon stared down at the form. He didn’t have an address, right then. While he could easily pre-pay, an idea formed. Having already experienced prejudice from a couple of people, Deacon didn’t want to make Axel a target while he got to know the man.

  Which means I have to be discreet.

  “I don’t have an address, Axel,” Deacon stated, resting his hand on the counter close to his mate’s. “How about I pay your shop for a stator for my bike? Can we do that?”

  Axel lifted his chin a little and met his gaze. The hair still fell across his face, but it was enough to reveal why the man hid. The scarring extended up his neck and across his cheek.

  Ah, that’s why he hides. Bet scarring is causing his limp, too. Just how bad is it?

  Deacon kept the sadness for Axel’s struggle off his face. Seeing as his mate obviously hid, he didn’t want to draw attention to it. Instead, he arched one brow, silently entreating him to answer the question.

  “I can’t do that, sir,” Axel murmured, shaking his head. “But there’s an auto parts store three miles away, east of town.” Lowering his gaze, he added, “They’ll probably have it in stock, but if not, they can order it.”

  Nodding, Deacon was pleased Axel would at least talk to him and share information. It was more than what the other pair of men had done. He wondered if it was the mate-pull at work.

  “Thank you, Axel,” Deacon replied quietly. “I—”

  “Axel!” Capson called from the other room. “Where you at, boy?”

  When Axel rolled his eyes, Deacon smirked. “See you around,” he rumbled, dipping his head.

  After spotting Axel’s answering nod, Deacon turned and headed out of the office. As the door swung closed behind him, he heard Axel reply, “Sorry, sir. He refused to pre-pay or give an address.”

  Deacon placed his helmet on his head and pulled out his phone. After connecting it to his headgear’s Bluetooth function, he dialed his brother. While waiting for Daevon to answer, he began wheeling his motorcycle down the road. Deacon recalled seeing a sign for a government-run campground ten miles before the town. At least they wouldn’t be able to refuse him.

  Guess I’ll get to use the tent in my saddlebag.

  “Hey, little brother,” Daevon greeted. “You still on track to make it?”

  “Afraid not,” Deacon replied as he walked. He kept an eye on the traffic, since he didn’t want to get run over by a homophobe. “My bike broke down. I’m in a small town called Rusty Cave in Wisconsin.”

  “Broke your bike already?” Daevon sounded surprised. “You bought that older model you were telling me about, didn’t you? The Triumph. Told you not to.”

  “I think it was Fate that caused my infatuation, actually,” Deacon replied. Then he grinned. “I just found my mate.”

  Daevon laughed. “That’s fantastic! Congrats, little bro. Is he gonna come with you? How long until your bike is fixed?”

  “This town is full of homophobes, so I’m going to try to convince him to move on with me. Time will tell, though.” Deacon heard the roar of an engine and glanced over his shoulder. “Jee-zus!”

  Deacon jumped backward, yanking his bike with him. It was a good thing he had paranormal strength, or he wouldn’t have been able to move it enough. The big black pick-up would have sideswiped him.

  “Fucking homophobic bastards in this town,” Deacon snarled. “Some asshat just tried to mow me down with his truck.”

  Growling softly, Daevon ordered, “Be careful until we get there.”

  “We?” Deacon asked as he continued walking.

  Daevon hummed. “Alpha Kontra is near enough to overhear our conversation. He doesn’t like bullies and thinks the good people of the town need a re-education.”

  Deacon couldn’t help but chuckle. “When will I see you?”

  “We should make it there tomorrow afternoon,” his brother told him.

  “Thanks, bro.”

  After chatting a few more minutes, Deacon hung up. He found the campground, reserving half a dozen sites at the very back, since he didn’t know how many would be coming. Then he started walking some more. Deacon had a part to buy and a mate to track.

  Chapter Two

  Axel finished the oil change and slammed the hood on the old Dodge. As he wiped his hands on a clean rag, he tried not to think about the handsome stranger who’d left that afternoon. After all, Axel didn’t want Mister Willie Capson to catch him being anything but focused on his work.

  While Axel thought Capson was an asshole, he was his boss, after all. He needed his job. He’d trained as a mechanic under his father for years. Axel didn’t know anything else.

  Pushing away thoughts of his past, Axel limped toward the workbench. He marked the paperwork that the oil change was complete. Then he peered at the next work order.

  A brake job on a 2008 Pontiac Bonneville.

  Axel grimaced. Squatting and being on his knees so much was going to make him ache that evening. If Capson had finished his own work order—a fuel pump change for an old Mazda—he would have had access to the lift. Unfortunately, Capson hadn’t completed the job, so Axel couldn’t use it.

  He’ll probably have me complete it tomorrow.

  Dismissing the thought, Axel thought about his small cabin’s nice bathroom with the whirlpool tub. He’d used some of the insurance money from the fire to pay for the remodel while he’d been in the hospital. Nothing else in the old two-bedroom, one-bathroom cabin mattered.

  “The Dodge is done, Capson,” Axel called as he limped toward his next project. He figured his boss was sitting around doing nothing. “I’m starting on the Bonneville now.”

  “Get it done before you leave, Axel,” Capson ordered, coming out of the office. He lumbered toward him, his big belly jiggling a little with each step. “Lock up when you leave.”

  Then Capson left him to his job.

  Axel sighed as he gathered what he needed to get the job done. Even knowing the big man took advantage of his skills, he preferred the shop empty than to having Capson in it. With his boss gone, Axel could take his time, go slow, and not put too much stress on his right knee and thigh.

  As Axel lifted the car onto the jacks, his thoughts turned to Deacon. Butterflies immediately began bouncing in his belly as he recalled the handsome man. His fingers twitched with his desire to touch his toned, smooth skin.

  Shaking his head at himself, Axel scoffed. “As if he’d want anything to do with me.” He glanced around as he realized he’d said that out loud. Fortunately, the place was empty save for him. “Damn. Be careful, Axel.”

  In Rusty Cave, the anti-gay attitude was very prevalent. He would have moved years before, but he hadn’t wanted to leave his father alone. Instead, the fire that had destroyed his father’s mechanic shop—and had left him scarred—had taken his dad away from him.

  At least I don’t have to worry about people wondering why I never date. No woman in town would look once at me, let alone twice.

  As far as Axel was concerned, that was a good thing.