Page 11 of Wolf Cursed
His eyes cut the length of me, but he didn’t react at the blood like the others had. I had to wonder how much of this sort of thing he’d seen in his life if it didn’t faze him anymore.
“My name is Ash. My father was Joseph Langford.” I paused, waiting for the recognition to register in his eyes.
But there was nothing.
“I believe he was your brother,” I added pointedly.
Oscar’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t know anyone by that name.”
Uncertainty rippled through me. For the first time since leaving my father’s body behind, I wondered if I’d made the right choice.
What if he’d been mistaken?
What if the pain and whatever monster had infected him had made him crazy? Of course, he didn’t have a brother. He would have told me—
“Did Cohen put you up to this?” the hottie suddenly demanded.
He gripped a shop rag in his clenched fist, and I shrank back at the animosity that rolled off him.
“Who’s Cohen?” I asked, my voice suddenly not nearly so confident as before.
“Don’t play with me,” he growled. “You can tell Cohen sending some doe-eyed little ragdoll in here isn’t going to—”
“I don’t know any Cohen,” I said, shaking my head in frustration. Grief threatened to break me down. But my anger steadied me. I held onto that.
“Right. Just like that isn’t makeup all over your face. Give me a break.”
Fury swelled. He really thought I’d fake bruises like the ones currently making my head throb? I reached for my cell phone—which was basically nothing but photo storage since I didn’t have service—and pulled it out, sliding up and scrolling my photos until I found the one I wanted.
“Look,” I snapped, holding the phone up so Oscar could get a good look.
He blinked, his eyes glancing over the picture of my dad. It was from a couple of months back. He’d been sober, and we’d gone for a drive down to the lake and back. My throat closed up just remembering it—and knowing it was our last good day together. Forever.
In fact, these photos were the only reason I’d bothered bringing the damned phone at all.
Oscar did a double-take, staring at the screen, a frown frozen on his angry expression.
“This is bull shit,” the other guy went on. He was still looking at me like he was about to grab me and toss me out on my ass at any moment. “Tell her, Oscar,” he added.
But Oscar hung his head and shook it slowly before waving him off. “Kai, you can go. I’ll finish up here.”
Kai.
The hot asshole was named Kai.
And Kai did not look happy with that order.
“Oz, you can’t be fucking serious—”
“I mean it,” Oscar snapped, rounding on Kai and pinning him with a glare that would have made me shit a brick. “I got this. Now go.”
Kai cast me a look that made it clear he was only more pissed at being told to leave. Muttering to himself, he tossed the rag onto the counter with more force than necessary and then turned and stomped out through the side door. I could hear him slamming a few tools around in the garage, and then another door slammed, somewhere in the back.
A few seconds later, an engine revved to life.
Even then, Oscar didn’t say a word. Instead, he marched around the counter and opened something down low I couldn’t see. When he pulled his hand up, it held a beer.
“You want one?” he asked gruffly.
