Page 9 of Spike

Then again, I knew I should've had it checked months ago—I simply kept putting it off. Food and paying the bills always took priority, but now I regretted my decision.

Each cough and sputter of my car sent a jolt of panic through my veins. My eyes quickly checked the fuel gauge, hoping it wasn't on empty and making my situation even worse.

The last thing I needed was to be stranded on a desolate road with an unknown pursuer closing in.

A quick glance at the rearview mirror confirmed that the blue truck was still tailing me, undeterred by my attempt to shake it off.

My mind raced, and I couldn’t help but wonder what might happen if the car gave out completely.

I gripped the steering wheel tighter, my mind racing through possible solutions.

Tall trees bordered either side of the road, offering a potential escape route. In the worst-case scenario, I could abandon the car and shift into my wolf form within the cover of those trees.

It would make it much harder for my pursuers to track me, but the drawback was leaving behind all of my precious belongings.

I might not own much, but certain things meant a lot to me.

Besides, if my stalkers turned out to be Jack and Clive, I wouldn't stand a chance outrunning two alpha shifters on my own. What then?

"Think," I muttered angrily to myself, scanning the surroundings for any signs of safety.

In the distance, a roadhouse with a dilapidated sign caught my eye—the Dirty Stallion.

A flicker of hope ignited within me as I spotted a few vehicles parked in the lot.

It was a gamble, but perhaps seeking refuge in a public space could tilt the odds in my favor.

I veered towards the roadhouse, my trusty sedan somehow holding up despite its earlier protests.

As the gravel crunched beneath the tires, I found a spot in the parking lot and dashed straight inside the roadhouse.

The air was thick with the scent of smoke and stale beer. Surprisingly, there were a few customers scattered around, even though it was still morning.

The low hum of conversation and clinking glasses greeted me as I scanned the dimly lit interior for a place to hide.

My eyes darted toward the grime-coated windows, and my heart skipped a beat when I spotted Jack and Clive emerging from the blue truck. So, they were the ones following me.

The realization sent a shiver down my spine, a chilling awareness that I was caught in a situation I couldn't fully comprehend.

More questions raced through my mind like frantic shadows. Why would they go through so much effort to find me? I was nobody important—just a lone wolf trying to survive.

So, what was really going on? The enigma surrounding their pursuit gnawed at me, creating a knot of anxiety in the pit of my stomach.

For some reason, my mind drifted back to Olaf, the older alpha, and the seemingly polite interaction we'd shared.

The formal greeting, the firm handshake—it had felt significant, and now, there was an unsettling suspicion that there was more to that encounter than met the eye.

But I pushed those thoughts aside. Now wasn't the time to cross-examine past events. My safety came first.

Glancing around the dimly lit bar, I sought out the meanest, toughest guy I could find.

My gaze settled on the big and intimidating figure nursing a drink at the far end. There were two of them, but it was the dark-haired figure on the left who drew my attention.

There was an unmistakable aura of danger around him, and the patrons—both human and supernatural—kept a wide berth from him.

It was clear he was the biggest monster in the room, and he wore it like a badge of honor.

Clad in a leather jacket adorned with some kind of patch, he exuded a frigidly savage aura.

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