Chapter 9: Wolf.e: Chapter 8

“What’s going on, Layla?” I whisper. My voice sounds foreign in my own head, panicked as I ask the question. We’ve been behind one of the big scary members since Wolfe scooped me up and sent my heart into my throat before he dropped me here.

“You can move, Mason. I think we’re safe,” Layla says, not at all fazed and sounding more than a little annoyed that this happened in the middle of her rehearsal dinner.

I look up under hooded eyes at the man she calls Mason. I don’t want to stare but he scares me nearly as much as Wolfe. He’s almost the same height and he’s solid. He wears a black bandana around his head and has a scruffy goatee and mustache, yet he doesn’t appear much older than me. His jaw is wide and permanently set in a straight, grim expression. It isn’t his looks but what’s behind his eyes that scares me, like nothing would phase him because he’s seen and done it all. I’ve only heard him say about five words up until now.

“I’ll move when someone tells me you’re safe,” Mason says in a deep voice, looking down at me and I look away. “Don’t look so scared. They aren’t getting in here, new girl. This place is built like Fort Knox.” He pats the concrete wall behind him.

My eyes flit to his briefly but I’m sure to look away as fast as I can. I’m unable to understand what I see there. I swear I hear gunshots ring outside and I feel like I’m about to pass out. My breathing increases.

“You’re safe,” Layla says. “Sean and Wolfe were Force Exploration, although I never thought we’d need their skills at my rehearsal dinner!” She narrows her eyes at Mason like it’s his fault and as if she isn’t even afraid of him. Desensitized is what she is.

“Just some after dinner entertainment for us,” he says to her with an evil smirk that tells me he’d enjoy toying with whoever is out there.

I shudder.

“Force… exploration?” I ask, partly to distract myself, partly because I’m actually curious. I must look at her with a blank stare of what the hell are you talking about because Mason leans in.

“Marines. Both of them. Three long ass tours,” he says. “A little explosion won’t shake them in the slightest, it’s just enough to get their blood going.”

I gulp and nod, still terrified but somehow, I feel better knowing Wolfe is the one out there.

Twenty minutes later, someone has turned the music back on and people have started to drink again like nothing was even wrong. Mason pulls his phone out and reads a text then stands.

“You’re free to go, there’s no threat. Just one thing. You can’t leave the building tonight. You have to wait till morning.” He looks to Layla. “And you’ll be escorted to your house to get what you need before we leave for Tybee,” he says.

Layla isn’t bothered but I feel like I might throw up.

Not a chance I’m sleeping here.

“No way, that wasn’t part of the deal,” I say to Layla, my voice a full two octaves higher than normal. “I don’t even have anything to sleep in,” I say which gets Mason’s attention.

Getting the hell out of here was my first plan the moment we got the go ahead.

“Shelly will have everything you need. It’s just a precaution, new girl. Don’t need people coming and going while we’re carving someone up out there,” Mason adds with a pat on my shoulder. I can’t tell if he means it.

“He doesn’t mean that,” Layla says. She must notice I’m terrified. The thing is, she says that but doesn’t look convinced herself.

I watch Mason walk away and ask myself how someone becomes that way. Goddamn terrifying is what it is. I follow Layla blindly, still a bit buzzed from my pre-dinner shots and wine. I’m pretty sure that alcohol is the only thing keeping me standing. We meet up with Chantel, Maria, and Amber on the way back to the bar and they also seem unfazed.

I guess gunshots and things blowing up are normal around here?

I mentally scold myself for allowing myself to come.

“Have another drink,” Layla says, handing me something fruity looking.

“Breathe. It’s just a daiquiri. Remi makes the best ones in the entire town.” She sends a friendly wink and smile to the redheaded woman behind the bar as “Seven Nation Army” by The White Stripes begins to play over the speakers.

I look around at the party in full swing, outside dramatics long forgotten. I try my best to force my body to return to its normal pace. My heart has been beating rapidly and I’ve been clammy for the better part of a half hour. Less than a month ago, I was watching The Real Housewives on my sofa in Atlanta eating ice cream. I take a sip of the daiquiri that goes down super easy and actually is really good.

When the lyrics Hounds of Hell play through the speaker, the whole crowd sings along.

I shake my head as I look around, resigning myself to soak up some of the energy of the rowdy, carefree crowd. There’s no question I’m in some sort of alternate universe here.

Screw it. I take another sip. If I have to stay here all night long, I might have another six of these daiquiris. It certainly seems easier than coping with the danger lurking everywhere I turn.