Page 9 of Wolf Cursed
It didn’t take long for him to finish stocking the cigarettes and turn around. When he did, he stopped and stared, eyes wide.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Um.” I glanced down and realized I still wore the same clothes—sweatpants and an oversized tee covered in blood. Shit. At least I still had my sunglasses on. “I’m looking for Oscar.”
“Oscar Lawson?”
Weird. My last name was Langford. Shouldn’t they have the same name? I didn’t have the energy to decipher it though.
“Is there another Oscar in this town?” I asked.
“Well, no,” he said after a pause, still staring at my face like he’d never seen a chick with a swollen cheek before.
I rolled my eyes. Or tried to. It hurt. “Okay, so Oscar Lawson…” I prompted when he didn’t say more.
“Right. Yeah, uh, he’s over at the shop.”
“What shop is that?”
“Oh, uh.” He closed his eyes and shook his head as if clearing the image of, well, me. Damn. I must have looked like a hot mess. “Twisted Throttle Repair Shop. Next block up on the left. Can’t miss it. Just look for all the bikes.”
“Thanks.”
I turned to go, and even without looking back, I had zero doubt the kid stared at me all the way out of the parking lot.
Despite the kid’s instructions, I did, in fact, almost miss it thanks to what looked like some kind of tailgate party parked nearby that blocked my view. I ignored the catcalls—from both men and women—and kept my head down and my sunglasses on despite the twilight hour. The smell of cigarettes and marijuana drifted toward me. Music blared from someone’s stereo—and a few girls in short skirts stood on the hood of a Jeep, writhing to the beat. Making a wide arc around the dance party, I strode past a couple making out in the bed of a pickup truck and a pyramid of beer cans poised on the hood of a Camaro.
Damn. For a Monday in a small town, this place was pretty wild.
Maybe it was a town holiday or something?
Just ahead, I finally spotted my destination.
Twisted Throttle had an aging sign hanging above a two-story building on the corner that looked old enough to be historic but was still well kept from the looks of it. And yes, there were bikes.
Except they weren’t bicycles like I’d expected.
Motorcycles were parked along the curb lining the front and side of the corner lot. At least eight that I saw. With more in the back, I noticed, from my quick view of a paved lot enclosed by a chain-link fence.
A set of two large garage doors faced the side street and were currently closed up tight. On my left, the side street dead-ended into thick woods that encroached on the side and back of the building. It made the place feel secluded despite sitting on the very edge of what looked like a quaint little downtown area just past the shop. Even from here, I could smell the pine scent of the forest wafting out to welcome me.
I looked away from the call of the tress to the shop’s front door and approached slowly. My exhaustion and the shock of everything that had happened muted my fear, but I knew enough to be watchful of my surroundings. A threat could be lurking anywhere.
The sign in the office window read Closed, but I grabbed the knob anyway.
Unlocked.
I pushed my way inside and inhaled the smell of oil and engine grease.
Underneath all of that, the pine scent of the woods still lingered, and I appreciated the sense of comfort it brought even if I couldn’t understand it. I’d never felt comforted anywhere in my life.
Maybe it was because I’d finally stopped looking for demons and ghosts. Why should I keep worrying about being hunted down when my dad had turned out to be the beast we’d feared all along?
Absently, I reached down and brushed a hand over my right hip to be sure my shirt and pants covered the skin there. Habit. Then I plucked my sunglasses off and looked around.
“You lost?”
I looked up sharply at the sound of the voice. A guy not much older than me stood behind the counter, glaring at me. If I hadn’t noticed the hostile tone, it was made plain on his face. A very handsome, very dangerous-looking face, I might add.
