Page 8 of Fangs
“Maybe,” the woman replied, frowning.
Wolf grabbed my arm and pulled me to my feet. I hoped he didn’t notice I flinched again. My nerves were shot.
“Go with Scar,” Wolf shoved me in the direction of the woman.
I obeyed, following as Scar led the way to one of the bedrooms, and pretended not to hear the bits of conversation that erupted behind us.
“That tiny little girl is the one?—"
“Kai,shut up.”
“Did you see how?—"
“What the fuck?—"
“Wolf, you gotta?—"
Scar closed the door, muffling the voices. I pressed my back against the wall and took in the small bedroom with its double rows of bunk beds. Scar eyed me momentarily before walking past to a pack sitting on one of the beds. I stayed where I was, rubbing my sore wrists and watching as she pulled out a few clothing items. She looked a little older than Wolf, maybe nearing forty. Her skin was light brown, and her short brown hair was pulled into a tight ponytail, somehow looking both prettyanddangerous. My eyes fell to the holstered pistol on her waist.
“These are gonna be too big, but they’re clean and dry,” she said.
She handed me the clothes, and I stayed against the wall, waiting for her to leave so I could change. When she didn’t move, I didn’t either. Scar studied me, and I hated feeling so exposed and vulnerable.
“Wolf wants eyes on you at all times,” she said. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”
Fucking hell.
I was not going to let this woman see any of my scars. My shirt was covered in blood, but it had dried. Maybe I could get away with just changing my pants. I slid out of my cold, damp, muddy pants and pulled on the new ones. They were too big around the waist and too long, but I just slid my belt off my pants and threaded it through Scar’s, cinching it tight. I rolled the ankles up until I could walk without tripping on the fabric. When I finished, I set her shirt on the small side table near me and met her gaze, hoping I didn’t look as terrified as I felt.
“I don’t need a shirt,” I said.
Scar frowned. “Your shirt is filthy. C’mon, we’ll wash your clothes tonight, and you can wear them again tomorrow.”
Tomorrow? I would still be alive tomorrow? Panic was threatening to choke me, so I seized the anger instead. “No.”
She tilted her head, her gaze narrowing. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing.” I glared at her. “My shirt is fine.”
“You mean the one covered in blood?”
“It’s fine,” I said through my teeth.
She pursed her lips, looking almost amused. “You’re as stubborn as he is. Fine, but I’d bet you a drink Wolf sends you right back in here to change.”
“Wolf can go to hell,” I spit out before I could think better of it.
She raised her eyebrows. “Alright, come on.”
We walked back out, and Wolf began to speak, but Scar interrupted him.
“Before you yell at me, she didn’t want a new shirt.” Scar moved to where Lee was filling up the sink, my jacket on the counter beside him.
“Your shirt’s filthy.” Wolf glared at me.
The rest of the men had spread out through the room, but I could feel everybody’s eyes on us. I didn’t answer, staring at the few haphazard patches of worn yellow linoleum that remained on the kitchen floor.
“Ember, go change so we can wash your shirt.”
