Page 13 of Wolf Cursed
Shit.
“Before he died, Dad said to come find you. That you’d protect me.”
Ugh. Even saying the words felt embarrassing. I hated asking for a handout.
Oscar looked skeptical. Or maybe just confused. “From bookies?”
“I don’t know,” I shot back. “Dad was convinced there was someone after us. It’s why we moved so much.”
“Your dad was special,” Oscar said slowly, and something about it made me think of the beast he’d become right before…well, the end.
I didn’t answer.
“How’d you get here?”
I sighed, sick of the inquisition. “My car died a few miles back, so I walked the rest of the way in. Look, if you don’t want me here, fine. Just say the word, and I’ll go. But I’m not going to answer any more questions like I’m some sort of criminal or imposter. I just watched my dad get murdered in front of me, and before that he— Ugh. Never mind. I’m out of here.”
I started for the door, my balance wavering thanks to the exhaustion and pain I’d finally begun to feel. But I refused to stop now. I could do this. I could get a job. Find a hole somewhere to sleep. A trailer or maybe rent a room. I’d worked since I was fourteen, so that wasn’t a deterrent. I didn’t mind the work. It was the being alone part that would suck.
My hand closed over the knob just as I heard the words, “Hold on.”
I stopped but didn’t turn back.
“I have an extra room upstairs. You can have it if you want.”
I turned slowly, half-convinced he was kidding.
“You’re letting me stay?” I asked.
“Did the bookies get their money?”
“No.”
“Do they know your name?”
“Yes.”
“Then you’ll stay.” He pushed off from the counter and headed through a swinging door that led toward the back. “Come on. I’ll show you the way up, and you can shower. I’ll call a tow truck for your car.”
“I – I don’t really have money for—”
“Relax. Crater owes me a favor.” He turned back, eyeing me where I still stood by the exit. “You coming?”
I could have said no. Actually, a big part of me wanted to turn him down and waltz out of there. To prove I didn’t need some grouchy stranger of an uncle whom I didn’t even know existed before now. But the sad fact was that I did need him.
And a shower sounded way too good to pass up.
Not to mention a bed. It might even have a pillow.
“Yeah,” I said finally, “okay.”
Too tired and broken to argue, I followed him upstairs. To an apartment above the Twisted Throttle Motorcycle Repair Shop. My new home.
Chapter Four
I woke to the sound of loud machinery pulsating through the floor and groaned, pulling the pillow over my head. For all the good it did. My head throbbed with a headache worse than any I’d ever had. And my entire body felt like one big bruise.
Whatever rest and escape sleep had provided was over now.
