Page 18 of My Girlfriend is a Werewolf

She giggled. “Jinx. Let’s get them inside before your neighbors wake up and wonder what the hell.”

He didn’t ask why bring them in instead of tossing them out or calling the cops. She grabbed hold of the little guy and dragged him into the apartment while Derek handled the other.

Once in the apartment, she pursed her lips. “How long do you think they’ll stay knocked out?”

“Might not be long so let’s get them secured.” Derek pulled some duct tape from a kitchen drawer. They each heaved their respective thug into a kitchen chair and wound the thick sticky fiber around them. Once done, they stood back and eyed them.

“So that’s kind of fucked they came looking for you,” Derek murmured.

“Apparently.”

“Any idea why?”

“I can take a few guesses.”

“Think they’ll tell us who sent them?”

“With the right incentive they might.”

“I ain’t bribing them,” he warned.

She snickered. “As if I’d want to reward them for being thugs.”

“Nice jab by the way. Pretty sure I heard his nose crunch.”

“My dad wanted us to know how to defend ourselves.” Her dad would have liked Derek. They both believed in being prepared for the future.

“Remind me not to piss you off.” He cupped his balls.

“Don’t eat off my plate, always give me the bigger steak, and keep using that tongue like you just did and we’ll get along fine, honey.”

He laughed. “Deal, sugarplum.”

In the midst of a messed-up situation, here they were, both smiling like loons.

“I’m going to wake up the big one,” Derek stated.

“How?” she asked. “Don’t tell me you have smelling salts.”

“As if I’d waste any. Salt will be valuable if the world ends.”

She didn’t correct him on the difference in those salts. His apocalypse reply was cute.

He headed for the kitchen and ran the water before coming back with a bowl that he dumped on the head of the thick thug. The mask soaked up much of it, making the fabric hardto breathe through. The thug woke, choking and gasping. Only then did Derek pull off the mask.

The guy was young, maybe early twenties, with pockmarked skin, a tattoo of a cross over his left eye, and a bad attitude.

“Fucker,” sputtered Tattoo.

“Says the guy who threatened me and my girl.” Derek crouched and said softly, “I warned you to choose another path.”

“We weren’t coming after you. Just the woman.”

“Why?”

“None of your fuck?—”

Smack.

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