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I guessed I had to come clean. I shouldn’t have said anything about them being wolves. I lifted a shoulder in a casual shrug and looked away. “They had me drugged.”
“Oof. Makes sense.”
I sighed and set the sandwich down. “Look, I’m tired. Do you have someplace I can crash for a while?”
He nodded and stood when I did. “Sure. We have guestrooms.”
“This place is more like a hotel than a clubhouse,” I commented, looking around.
“Follow me,” he replied, ignoring my comment.
As we passed the bar, I snatched a small bottle of tequila. The guy behind the bar, whose cut read Strife, chuckled and gave me a wink, not caring at all. I opened the lid and took a swig as we walked.
He led me down a hallway that reminded me of college dorms and showed me into a room with a bed, a dresser, and a mirror. “Bathrooms are down the hall. I’ll get you a change of clothes. What size do you wear?”
Pleasantly surprised, as I’d been wearing these for literally weeks, I said, “Small or medium will work.”
He nodded. “I’ll be back.”
I watched his big body lumber down the hall, admiring the way his fully tattooed arm and shoulder muscles flexed. His thighs were huge under his blue jeans, and very powerful-looking, and his ass was something I could bounce a quarter off of.
I closed the door, set the tequila bottle on the dresser, and opened the drawers. They were all empty. I avoided the mirror, knowing I wouldn’t like what I saw. It was bad enough I caught a glimpse when the other MC let me shower yesterday. If there had been more than one blanket on the bed, I would have used one to throw it over the mirror.
I grabbed the tequila and sat on the bed. I took a swig and shuddered as it went down. But it was already relaxing me. I had been nothing but a ball of stress for the past seven weeks. I was glad Amanda had told me about her cousin in that Reapers gang and made me memorize his number, because he was the first person I called when I blessedly found a payphone at the New Orleans Greyhound station—the first bus I was able to sneak on from where they’d held me in Mississippi somewhere. I thought about waiting around the station to see if a bus to Tampa would be along soon, but I’d been too shaken up and afraid that they’d come after me. I had to get as far away from them as possible. I figured Amanda’s cousin would loan me a couple hundred for another ticket, but it hadn’t worked out that way.
I had to wonder why Psycho and his comrades cared. Why not get me a ticket and get me out of their hair?
“Knock, knock,” I heard from the doorway.
Psycho stood there with a duffel bag and set it on the bed. “Hopefully something in there fits you. There are toiletries and a couple pairs of shoes. I forgot to ask your size.”
“Seven or even an eight will work,” I replied, capping the tequila and tossing it onto the bed. I unzipped the duffel and started to pull clothes out. “Y’all just have spare clothes lying around, huh?”
Psycho chuckled. “You’d be surprised how many clothes we ruin. How many new pups show up at our door needing help.”
I bit back a grin at his use of the word pups. I set the pink hoodie down I’d been inspecting and looked at him. “Fair enough. Which brings me to my next question: Where you guys, uh, turn? I’m safe here while you… go… do that?”
“Yeah, just stay in the clubhouse. Live wolves aren’t allowed inside, and if they somehow get in, they get caged. And to answer your question, we have a dedicated turning area in a bayou away from here.”
I cocked an eyebrow. “So who enforces that if y’all are all wolfed out?”
He ran his fingertips down his beard and looked at me with amusement. “We have human prospects. It’s their job. Besides, it’s not like we have opposable thumbs and can just open a doorknob. The doors are reinforced steel. Nothing gets through them—not even bullets.”
A picture of a bunch of cops or gangsters shooting automatic weapons at the clubhouse filled my mind and I had to even out my breathing. That scene was too vivid for just my overactive imagination putting pictures to his words. That was one of my premonitions—premos. They were rare, but a blessing and curse.
“Hey, you all right?” Psycho grunted.
I nodded and gave him a casual wave. “Yeah, yeah. It’s nothing. I just, ah, get headaches sometimes.”
“Don’t have a potion for that?” He smirked.
I bit back a grin. “We do, but I need my stuff.”
“So you are a witch.” He said it, rather than asked it.
I nodded. “You don’t need to worry about me. I won’t hurt your guys unless they try to hurt me first.”
“Nobody will harm you. I’ve given the word around the clubhouse you’re not to be disturbed or even spoken to unless you want to. If that’s the case, you can hang out in the main lounge.”
