Bad Wolf (Wild Men 4)

They have been sort of… nice, in fact. Friendly. Gage even helped me make the muffins, and Travis, well he helped eat them. Idiot. As for Alex… I can’t figure him out, but he’s been hanging around, quietly loading the laundry in the machine and washing dishes.

Can’t remember the last time I did the dishes, not in the funk I spent the last two weeks in.

“Well, I’m leaving, too.” Seth gets up to go. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

He takes a detour to talk to his cousin, Shane, and I hang back, not wanting to talk to the guys. Not in the mood. Depression clings to me like a grimy film, darkening the world.

Seth performs a complicated handshake with Shane, says something to the others, and then we’re on our way out of the bar.

The night air is cool. The streets are quiet, few cars passing by, although groups of people wander from bar to bar, laughing and talking.

I remember watching them when I slept under the stars, wondering how it must be to not have a care in the world, to go out and have fun with your friends and not worry. And not fret. Not ache in your soul.

Well, I was wrong. Looks like money doesn’t change the ways we hurt.

And as we stumble through quiet back streets and stop, about to part and go our separate ways, that past returns with a vengeance to show me just how wrong I was.

The blow catches me in the back of my knees, throwing me to the ground. Pain explodes across my jaw and I roll on my side, groaning.

Right on time to see Simon and his goon beat on Seth with baseball bats, while kicking him in the ribs.

“No!” I scramble to my feet and launch myself at them. “Leave him alone. Fuck off!”

I kick and punch, but there are three of them, and Seth is out for the count, clutching his leg, his face white like paper.

Whatever happens to me, I need to draw them away from him. This is about me, and it’s perfectly clear in my mind that, if one of us has to die tonight, it has to be me.

Another blow catches me in the side, and I hiss at the burning pain. Grabbing my assailant’s bat, I drag him away from Seth. Pulling the bat toward me, I kick him in the shin, and as his grip loosens, I take the bat and swing at the other two.

One of them is Simon—huge, pissed and with a gun sticking out of his belt.

It’s ridiculous. I’m outnumbered, Simon wants my hide, and my only chance is to lead them to the main street where others might see them and help me. My only saving grace is that Simon doesn’t seem intent on putting a bullet through me. He wants to play, wants to see me rolling in pain, crawling and begging.

“Come on, Simon,” I goad him. “Come get me.”

He works his jaw, hefts the bat. “You little shit. You thought you could betray me? Report me? Thought I wouldn’t know?”

Yeah, he’s pissed all right.

“I was never loyal to you in the first place, motherfucker.” I spit at him, saliva and blood. I think one of my teeth is loose. “You think you can beat up whoever stands in your way? Fuck you.”

He says nothing, moving in—for the kill, I think, and I swing the bat as I back away, toward the main street. At least they’ve left Seth alone. Simon’s beef is with me.

Good.

Block, parry—with a fucking bat, dammit, never imagined how heavy the motherfuckers could be—and I’m damn glad for those self-defense lessons Rafe gives us every week at the gym. Only, I have two thugs battering down on me, and the third guy…

Dammit, where is the third guy?

I lift my bat to block more blows, arms rapidly growing heavy, as I try to spot him. I manage to protect my side from yet another incoming, sidestep a kick—

A blow on the head from behind drops me like a stone. I hit the ground hard once again. I think I see people heading toward us and yell for help, but I’m not even sure I make it as darkness swirls in my eyes.

Oh fuck, is the last thing that goes through my mind, and then it’s quiet.

Stench of chemicals and air so cold and dry it strips all moisture from your eyes.

Fucking joy.