Pack or Prey (Wolfblooded book 1)

Chapter 4, part 1

August 19th 2010 9:15 p.m.

The weeks following Chuck's death had been a hell of a roller coaster ride. We blew through Texarkana, made our way west on Interstate-30 until we hit Dallas. We spent the night there while the men planned our new route and the rest of us tried to get a grip on ourselves. It was easier for some than others. While I managed to put my head into a nice, blank state and Suze continued to be the rock she was, some of the other girls were still scared and confused.

Out of all of them, I thought Joy Anne would have been the least to give a shit about what was going on, but surprisingly, she was completely beside herself. The tears had stopped by the time we reached the next motel but no one was home upstairs. She just stared ahead with a lifeless gaze and let Suzanne lead her around. Maybe she really had cared for Chuck. That made it really difficult to not feel sorry for her. Me, pity Joy Anne? I sure hadn't seen that coming.

Sleep eluded me. All I saw when I closed my eyes were shreds of flesh dripping thick red blood, bed spreads soaked in it, and Chuck's cold dead eyes staring through me as he lay there.

Sleep was not an option.

Each day was like that. Ride, park, plan, maybe choke down some food, get a few hours of sleep if my brain allowed, get on the bike, and do it all over again. We must have ridden through two dozen cities in less than three weeks and none of it changed. And Frank still hadn't given me any answers.

I was lying on the bed in the newest dank hotel room when Frank came in. I didn't look up from the TV. Hell, I didn't have to to know it was him. He had this air about him when he walked in the room that let me know he was there. I couldn't puzzle out what had changed in him, but he was different. He'd always been a force of nature, but now he felt more dangerous; as though he were a tsunami pushing forward to wipe away everything that crossed him. It made it hard to be around him, which only sent me into a deeper spiral of indecision and apprehension. For now, I just made a point to distance myself from the storm as much as possible.

I raised my hand in a half-hearted wave only to feel something soft and cool fall onto it. I lifted my head and looked at what had landed on me.

"What's this?" I asked, pushing myself up and looking at the red fabric.

"Get cleaned up, get dressed, do whatever you gotta do to look hot. We're goin' out."

I looked up at him then. Going out? All we'd done for the last three weeks was ride and sleep, put as much road between us and Chuck's corpse as possible, and now he wanted to go have a good time? Sometimes I wondered if Frank needed medication.

"I take it I don't have a say in it?"

"Not tonight you don't," he said as he snatched the remote from me and hopped onto the bed.

"Get to it. I'm done with the funeral procession already."

I rolled my eyes at him and slid off the bed, heading to the bathroom. I had no energy to fight right now. Besides, I could do with a night away from hotels and reruns.

The shower was to be expected. Lukewarm, generic-smelling soap and shampoo, over-washed towels. I was clean, though, so little else mattered. Just as His Highness commanded. I dried off and slipped on my black thong and bra that I'd washed the night before and hung to dry on the towel rack, then grabbed my hair dryer and brush.

The warm air soothed a bit of my irritation. Each sweep of the hair dryer across my scalp melted away whatever tension I was holding onto. I didn't know why I was acting this way. Why

I was taking Chuck's death so hard? Like Frank had told me, I didn't know the guy. Not really.

With each careful sweep of my hair, each twirl of my brush under the rushing hot air, I came to terms with the fact that I was mourning an idea, not a person. The father I did have kept me at arm's length while showering my sister with more love and attention than I could ever hope for.