Chapter 4

Chapter 4

99 Problems

Nera

The shock on their faces was totally worth it. The minute they walked into that other trash MC's clubhouse, I saw the yellow-colored aura around them all. They thought I was human. They were mistaken. The only reason I hadn't zapped all of them was because I needed money to get the fuck out of here. I'd escaped the kidnapper bastards with nothing but the clothes on my back and the shoes on my feet.

"Well, that's an interesting development," Wizard said, holding up his iPad and shamelessly snapping a photo of me.

"Hey!" I protested. "Delete that!"

"Why? Are you really on the run from someone and were never really kidnapped?" Psycho asked me.

My eyes widened and I saw red. "No! I just don't need the bastards finding me." I looked at Wizard. "Please don't put that on the internet."

He narrowed his eyes at me from behind his glasses. "That was never my intention."

I visibly relaxed and blew out a breath.

"Nera Kennedy, age twenty-nine, blonde hair, blue eyes, five-five, one-hundred and twenty pounds. Missing from Tampa, Florida about two months ago." Wizard turned the tablet around to show us a missing person's flier.

I looked at Psycho. "Believe me now?"

His chocolate brown eyes softened and he ran his fingers down his beard, pursing his lips before he said, "I never doubted you. I simply asked a question… Nera."

"It's Neer-uh. Not Ner-uh."

"Fine, Nera. Tell us what happened. Then I'll get you that bus ticket. Or if I have to, I'll drive you to Tampa myself."

I started at him in horror. "I'm not driving ten hours on the back of a motorcycle. You've lost your mind." I shook my head.

Wizard snorted. "We have cars. We're not savages."

Now that he said that, I did remember seeing vehicles parked outside. "The bus will do."

"Would you like me to contact Tampa PD and let them know you've been found?" Wizard asked.

I shook my head. "No. I'd rather just get home and explain everything there." To my witch mother and warlock brother—not that I was going to let these guys know I was a witch. Wolves hated witches.

If the bastards who'd nabbed me from that nightclub hadn't immediately jammed a needle in my neck and kept me drugged the whole time, I would have been able to use some sort of spell to defend myself to get away. Instead, I'd had to use my actual brains to get away from the pieces of shit.

Psycho looked at Wizard but gave him a strange look before he said, "You can go."

Wizard nodded and walked off, typing on his tablet.

Psycho returned his attention to me, leaning forward on the chair and resting his forearms on his knees. He looked too casual to be the head of a werewolf biker gang. "Do you feel comfortable telling me about what happened?" he asked.

I shook my head and pulled my knees up again, then wrapped my arms around them. "No, I don't. I just want to go home." I cringed at how childlike I sounded, but it was the truth. I hoped this big, bad man had a soft side so he would take pity on me and just drop me off at a bus station or an airport. I glanced around the space to see various men and some women looking at me. They looked away when I glared back.

Just then, Cutter came over and dropped off two plates of food. My stomach rumbled at the sight of grilled cheese and tomato soup. The Reaper whatever gang had fed me cold pizza after they let me use their shower. I'd eaten a few bites. The bastards who'd taken me only fed us once a day—if they felt like it.

"Do you want something to drink?" Cutter asked.

"Just water," I replied, though a drink did sound good right about now, but I needed to keep my wits about me.

"A beer," Psycho replied, and Cutter walked off.

"Your guys always wait on you hand and foot?" I asked, narrowing my eyes.

His sandwich paused at his mouth, he said, "No. But we don't get visitors very often, so we're all trying to be cordial and shit."

I glanced at the food but didn't pick it up. Cutter came back with a bottle of water and I cracked it open, guzzling down half in one sip.

"Whoa, you might wanna slow down there, larkspur," Psycho said, wiping his mouth and beard with a napkin. I made a face. I wonder how much food gets lost in that thing?

He was right. I felt like I was going to puke. I took deep breaths and nodded. "I'm just so thirsty."

"Please eat something, just a few bites. You have to be starved." Psycho gestured at the food and ran his gaze over my physique.

Reluctantly, I picked up half of the sandwich and took a bite. They weren't kidding. That Cutter guy could cook. Different cheeses along with butter and sourdough exploded on my tongue and I bit back a groan. I looked up when I heard chuckling.

"Good?" Psycho asked with a smirk.

"Yes," I admitted. "Thanks."

He was quiet as he watched me eat. It didn't really make me uncomfortable, because despite him being a werewolf, that was the only thing about him that unnerved me.

Finally, he spoke. "Nera."

I narrowed my eyes at him and swallowed a bite. "What?"

"I need you to tell me everything, start to finish," he replied.

I chewed the corner of my lip, debating. Why wouldn't they just buy me a plane or bus ticket to Tampa?

"Listen, if you just let me use your phone or a computer, I can try to access my bank account and buy my own ticket. Or Venmo you or whatever if you buy me one. Really. Then I'll be out of your hair." I looked up through the large skylights in the ceiling, a full, fat moon staring down at me. "It seems you guys will be preoccupied tonight anyway."

"What makes you think we're werewolves?" he asked with a smirk.

Shit. No way was I revealing what I was. "I mean, your patch says Bayou Wolves. Kind of obvious, isn't it?"

"No other human has asked if we were werewolves based off our club name. Plenty of sports teams use the animal as their mascot as well. So… try again."

I shrugged one shoulder. "I'm psychic. Your aura is yellow. I have a sixth sense about the supernatural."

Psycho cocked his head to the side. "So… you're a witch."

"Well, that was rude," I said, picking up my water bottle and watching him over the rim as I took a swig.

At that, he grinned, his full lips lifting on one side and his eyes sparkling with amusement. "If you're a witch, why didn't you just, uh"—he lifted a hand and wiggled his fingers—"to get away?"

I guessed I had to come clean. I shouldn't have said anything about them being wolves. I lifted a shoulder in a casual shrug and looked away. "They had me drugged."

"Oof. Makes sense."

I sighed and set the sandwich down. "Look, I'm tired. Do you have someplace I can crash for a while?"

He nodded and stood when I did. "Sure. We have guestrooms."

"This place is more like a hotel than a clubhouse," I commented, looking around.

"Follow me," he replied, ignoring my comment.

As we passed the bar, I snatched a small bottle of tequila. The guy behind the bar, whose cut read Strife, chuckled and gave me a wink, not caring at all. I opened the lid and took a swig as we walked.

He led me down a hallway that reminded me of college dorms and showed me into a room with a bed, a dresser, and a mirror. "Bathrooms are down the hall. I'll get you a change of clothes. What size do you wear?"

Pleasantly surprised, as I'd been wearing these for literally weeks, I said, "Small or medium will work."

He nodded. "I'll be back."

I watched his big body lumber down the hall, admiring the way his fully tattooed arm and shoulder muscles flexed. His thighs were huge under his blue jeans, and very powerful-looking, and his ass was something I could bounce a quarter off of.

I closed the door, set the tequila bottle on the dresser, and opened the drawers. They were all empty. I avoided the mirror, knowing I wouldn't like what I saw. It was bad enough I caught a glimpse when the other MC let me shower yesterday. If there had been more than one blanket on the bed, I would have used one to throw it over the mirror.

I grabbed the tequila and sat on the bed. I took a swig and shuddered as it went down. But it was already relaxing me. I had been nothing but a ball of stress for the past seven weeks. I was glad Amanda had told me about her cousin in that Reapers gang and made me memorize his number, because he was the first person I called when I blessedly found a payphone at the New Orleans Greyhound station—the first bus I was able to sneak on from where they'd held me in Mississippi somewhere. I thought about waiting around the station to see if a bus to Tampa would be along soon, but I'd been too shaken up and afraid that they'd come after me. I had to get as far away from them as possible. I figured Amanda's cousin would loan me a couple hundred for another ticket, but it hadn't worked out that way.

I had to wonder why Psycho and his comrades cared. Why not get me a ticket and get me out of their hair?

"Knock, knock," I heard from the doorway.

Psycho stood there with a duffel bag and set it on the bed. "Hopefully something in there fits you. There are toiletries and a couple pairs of shoes. I forgot to ask your size."

"Seven or even an eight will work," I replied, capping the tequila and tossing it onto the bed. I unzipped the duffel and started to pull clothes out. "Y'all just have spare clothes lying around, huh?"

Psycho chuckled. "You'd be surprised how many clothes we ruin. How many new pups show up at our door needing help."

I bit back a grin at his use of the word pups. I set the pink hoodie down I'd been inspecting and looked at him. "Fair enough. Which brings me to my next question: Where you guys, uh, turn? I'm safe here while you… go… do that?"

"Yeah, just stay in the clubhouse. Live wolves aren't allowed inside, and if they somehow get in, they get caged. And to answer your question, we have a dedicated turning area in a bayou away from here."

I cocked an eyebrow. "So who enforces that if y'all are all wolfed out?"

He ran his fingertips down his beard and looked at me with amusement. "We have human prospects. It's their job. Besides, it's not like we have opposable thumbs and can just open a doorknob. The doors are reinforced steel. Nothing gets through them—not even bullets."

A picture of a bunch of cops or gangsters shooting automatic weapons at the clubhouse filled my mind and I had to even out my breathing. That scene was too vivid for just my overactive imagination putting pictures to his words. That was one of my premonitions—premos. They were rare, but a blessing and curse.

"Hey, you all right?" Psycho grunted.

I nodded and gave him a casual wave. "Yeah, yeah. It's nothing. I just, ah, get headaches sometimes."

"Don't have a potion for that?" He smirked.

I bit back a grin. "We do, but I need my stuff."

"So you are a witch." He said it, rather than asked it.

I nodded. "You don't need to worry about me. I won't hurt your guys unless they try to hurt me first."

"Nobody will harm you. I've given the word around the clubhouse you're not to be disturbed or even spoken to unless you want to. If that's the case, you can hang out in the main lounge."

"Lounge." I laughed. "Bougie motorcycle club."

"It was never supposed to be. I spoil these fuckers too much."

I resumed rifling through the duffel. "Nah, a good leader takes care of his guys."