Pack or Prey (Wolfblooded book 1)

Chapter 2, Part 4

            
                              *****

Suze and I pretty much kept to ourselves for the next two hours. She commandeered a couple bottles of Jack and a two-liter of cola, and we stayed in our cozy little corner. It wasn't an ideal way to spend an evening, but it beat waiting alone for Frank.

Her quarter flipped into my cup while the one I threw missed the table entirely and ricocheted off the wall behind her. I was way too drunk for this game.

"Drink up, baby girl. You'll have an iron constitution by the time I'm through with ya," she said, with a giggle.

"I've mentioned how gross whiskey smells, right?" I asked as I pinched my nose and threw back the double shot of Jack. I wasn't a big drinker, in all honesty, though it seemed like Suze was working on changing that.

A sudden crash across the room sent the entirety of the room into panicked shrieks. Most of us launched ourselves out of our chairs, knocking over glasses, bottles, and in some cases, each other. Only Suze seemed to not be scared shitless.

She shot to her feet, all laughter drained from her face, and cut through the rest of the girls. I managed to catch a glance of bandanas and leather spilling into the small, packed room.

"Get the fuck out the way!" Paulie's voice roared through the rise of female voices.

The small crowd parted, and I blinked fuzzy eyes at the men as they scrambled inside.

Paulie and Niko, another man that rode with us, were both staggering in, spatters of red all over them. They were carrying something between them, and it took a considerable amount of concentration on my part to realize it was a body.

"Shut the door," Frank's voice called out.

Suzanne hurried to the door and shut it, locking the dead bolt with a sharp click. The boys, who were carrying the body by the feet and shoulders, moved towards me and the bed. Paulie crawled up backwards on the mattress, hoisting the bigger man onto it placing him into full and perfect view. It was Chuck.

Or what used to be Chuck. His face was so swollen and busted up I could only recognize for the black Durangos on his feet.

"Oh my God," I said, feeling my stomach start to churn.

"What happened?" Suzanne asked, her eyes wide.

Joy Anne was close behind, her makeup running down her cheeks. "Oh my God. Oh my God, Chuck. Please don't die! Don’t die, baby!" Her voice grew shriller and more painful to hear with each syllable.

Chuck's shirt was shredded. There was so much blood I couldn't help but stare at it in numb fascination. The more I stared, the more I started to make sense out of what I was looking at.

There was a gaping hole in his chest, the edges of his flesh shredded around it, blood drying darkly inside it. It looked like the exit wound of a close-range shotgun blast.

"What... happened to him?" My voice was barely audible over Joy Anne’s sobs.

Frank looked at me, then, and I tore my eyes from the corpse to meet his. His face was hard, unreadable. If there was any grief there, I couldn’t see it. Drops of red spotted his chin and drew my eyes further down. He was covered in blood. His arms were coated in it, stomach painted in it. We locked eyes for a minute, and only Joy Anne's shrieking made him look away from me.

"He's gone, Joy Anne." His voice was eerily calm.

I forced myself to move towards Frank. I couldn't tell if the blood on him was his own or Chuck's. I needed to see if he was okay. It was too much blood. Far too much.