Pack or Prey (Wolfblooded book 1)

Chapter 11, Part 3

July 5th 2011 1:01 a.m.

I stared down at my dangling feet, zoning out to a place far away from Frank and blood and promised threats. Liz was curled up in the small metal chair beside the gurney, her suede jacket laid over her like a blanket. She’d drifted off long ago. I told her to go home and get some sleep, but God love her, she was too stubborn to leave.

The emergency room was cold, bright, and way too clean to even pretend to be comfortable.

I would have been discharged long ago, my wound already cleaned and bandaged, but I had to make a statement to the police, and they were taking their sweet fucking time to get there. The idea of being in a building filled with death and sickness wasn't the only reason I felt uneasy.

I did my best these days to steer clear of law enforcement. While I wasn't exactly a big name criminal, like Mr. Essex, I had been involved in some things that might lead me back to a very bad place. That paired with the lies Frank had threatened to give the police had my nerves shot.

"Ms. Rayne?" A gentle, strangely familiar, voice inquired before the sound of the door closing brought my eyes up from my feet.

"Yes?"

"Sorry to keep you waiting. I'm here to take your statement about what happened tonight."

He was cautious as he spoke to me. Not wanting to spook me, maybe? Too late. I was pretty spooked before he even got here.

"I just want to go home," I said, the exhaustion dragging at my body and echoing in my voice.

"I can understand that. Unfortunately, this is the second time a violent attack like this has occurred at your club in a very short time frame. We're still investigating the assault on Mr. Tate, and anything you might be able to tell us about your own incident might shed some light on our search."

Finally looking at him, I considered him a moment before recognition dawned on me. Shit.

It was the detective from Jackson's house. Still investigating the assault, he’d said. I guess that meant they still hadn't found that bastard. I would bet my ass he probably thought Frank was his guy for that one, too.

"Did you know the assailant, Ms. Rayne?" His voice ripped me from my thoughts.

"Huh?" Shit. If I said yes, that might open a door I couldn't close again. "No," I finally answered, perhaps a little too quickly. "I mean I've seen him around before but I don't, like, know him."

"Has he been to the club before? A customer, maybe?"

"No, I've never seen him in the club until tonight," I answered easily. There. Some truth amidst the deceit.

"Right. So he wasn't the same man from before. The one Mr. Tate bounced from the club because of you?"

"Whoa! Hold up. Because of me?"

Like I could have known the guy couldn’t take rejection to the point where he’d shoot someone. The blatant victim-blaming completely floored me, yet I should have known better.

Whether this guy’s misogyny stemmed from my being a woman or my being a stripper, I couldn’t say. Truth was, it didn’t fucking matter.

"Are you seriously implying because I didn't let some drunken asshole play grab-ass with me that I should take responsibility for his actions? That it's my fault my friend was shot by some coward who can't handle rejection? I bet I was really just asking for it, right?"

"My apologies, I didn't mean to offend you," he said, though the tone of his voice told me it was his professionalism apologizing rather than any form of chivalry. "But isn't playing grab-ass sort of your job out there?"