Page 3 of To Hunt A Wolf
Hell, I probably shouldn’t be in this line of work either, but no one told my mom not to bring her kid on the job all these years, so here we are.
Inferno is a biker bar meets dive meets techno club. Except without the techno music. Instead, the owner, some biker chick named Rita, who apparently won the place in a poker game twenty years ago, only plays country music remixed to a dance beat.
The result is a weird mix of “my dog died but I’m going to shake my booty about it.”
The bouncer at the door, a giant, hulking man in overalls—no shirt—
glares at me as I approach. His underarm hair is long enough to peek out from between his folded arms. Classy, dude.
“Got ID?” he says gruffly.
This close, I can already hear a George Strait club remix wafting out from inside. Cringing internally, I paste on a smile and hand over my ID.
He peers down at it.
“Mackenzie Montgomery. Name sounds familiar.”
“I get that a lot.”
He squints at me, and I note the lines at the corners of his eyes. “You related to Vicki Montgomery?”
“Depends. Are you going to let me in if I say yes?”
His gaze hardens. “You hunting tonight?”
I flash him my fiercest, most cunning smile and wink. “Does it matter? Long as it’s not you.”
He grunts then motions to the door. “You break anything, you pay for it. That’s Rita’s rules.”
“Noted.” I push past him and through the scarred door that is stained with things I would rather not identify or think too hard about. Wiping my hands on my pants, I let the door swing shut behind me and plant my feet so the force of the music doesn’t knock me on my ass.
Rita loves her some bass.
The very walls pump and grind along to the beat.
It’s impressive.
If it weren’t paired with a crooning male vocalist desperate to win his lover back by explaining how pitiful he is without her.
I don’t do love.
Or pity.
No one in my pack does.
So I guess that’s irony for you considering there are nothing but Black Moon wolves here tonight.
When I’ve adjusted to the onslaught of sound and the dim lighting, I stalk slowly into the club’s main room. There are two levels—the ground floor and one above it that’s mostly just a balcony wrapped with a metal railing where people can watch the dancers below while getting their own groove on.
I pause along the wall and take it all in, using the moment to pull the ball cap from my back pocket and stuff it onto my head.
No one I recognize, though it wouldn’t matter much if I did spot someone who knows me. Chances are, they wouldn’t want to admit knowing me anyway. I’m not exactly Miss Popular among my pack. If my mother’s reputation weren’t enough, what Levi did to me all those years ago, the way I fell apart over it—it’s something I’ve never recovered from. And it certainly never won me any friends.
“Oh, shit, it’s Big Mac.”
I stand corrected. Apparently, there is someone I know in here. Someone I really, really wish I didn’t.
“Hilarious as always, Guy.” I roll my eyes, but he’s grinning like the stupid nickname is still just as funny as it was back in middle school. Guy is still just as immature, so I can see where he’d think so.
