Bad Wolf (Wild Men 4)

“It’s okay.” She cuts into a narrow side street, a different one this time, her own bag with the silver dress dangling from one hand. “We’ll get another bus. If that’s okay with you.”

“Sure, no problem.”

“It didn’t go so bad, did it?”

“It was okay.”

“I thought the prices were fine

for what you got. The fabric is good quality. My mom used to sew, and she taught me quite a bit about textiles. These are clothes that will keep. That’s what you wanted, right?”

“Hm?”

“JJ.” I realize Amber has stopped walking, and I almost plow into her back.

We’re standing on the street, crowded in by buildings, their dirty windows looking in on us. Graffiti sprawls around us. A sun. A skull. A winged demon. A green dumpster looms a few feet away, a crimson stain barely visible in the gathering gloom.

The world narrows, darkening at the edges.

“Hey.” She’s staring at me. “You normally talk a mile a minute, and instead I’m the one chatting away. Is everything okay?”

My skin is crawling as if with a thousand insects. Dizziness hits me, and I stumble back a step. Fuck. Bile rises in my throat.

I know this place, this dumpster, that graffiti. It lives in my nightmares.

I need to get away. Right the fuck now. If only I can move my legs, but my feet weigh a ton each.

“Jesse.” Her hand touches my face and I jerk away, the past and the present mingling, bleeding into each other. “What’s the matter?”

“Can’t,” I hiss, my breathing shallow. Can’t get enough air. Can’t focus. Can’t talk about that night.

Blood. Pain. Yelling. Screaming. My arm burns. My head rings. The world darkens for a moment, and when I blink again, I find myself pressed against the wall with the smell of piss and decomposition, Amber’s face an inch from mine.

“JJ. Can you hear me? Jesse!”

“I prefer JJ,” I say automatically, trying to get my bearings. “What the hell happened?”

“You tell me.” Her slender brows are drawn together. She looks worried. Looks like I scared the crap out of her.

Again.

“What did I do?” My throat hurts when I speak.

“You spaced out, then stumbled and almost fell. You didn’t seem to hear me.”

Fucking hell. “Sorry, Embers.”

“It’s okay. Just tell me what happened?”

Finding my feet is one thing. Finding my mental balance is another. I need to get out of this street, move as far away from the graffiti mocking me, the drawings that are etched in my mind like tattoos.

“It’s just that…” I lick my lips, try again as I push off the wall, forcing her back a step. “I need to get the fuck outta here.”

I stumble away and don’t expect her to stick by my side—why would she?—but a moment later, her arm slips around my hips, holding on.

Not that I can’t walk on my own. My head is clearing and my balance is getting better. I should tell her that. The words are on the tip of my tongue, but I don’t speak them. She feels so incredibly good pressed to my side—and yeah, maybe I’m still a bit unsteady because her scent hits me like a sledgehammer, and there I go, stumbling again.

“Careful,” she whispers, only that, and guides me back to the main street. It’s as if she understands it’s this place that’s bothering me.