Page 4 of Creature's Vengeance
I finished my beer and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, letting my gaze glide over the room and its occupants. We chose this bar because of its proximity to Las Vegas and the open desert surrounding it. No one would catch us by surprise. It wasn’t just our enemies that posed a threat. The Graven Bastards had plenty of their own. Fuck.
That could only mean one thing. Maddog’s delay wasn’t intentional. Someone got to him before he reached the bar.
I stood, closed my tab, and headed outdoors, shoving through the entrance. On the way to my bike, I checked my phone: no calls or messages.
Well, fucking fuck.
Agitated, I threw my leg over the seat and settled into the saddle, lighting a smoke. The music from inside the bar barely penetrated the quiet night. If it had, I probably never would have heard the tiny whimper coming from the dark side of the building, hidden from the moon’s silvery white beams as night descended.
I rose off the seat, flicking my cigarette to the asphalt and stomping out the cinders with my boot. Moving fast and quiet, I approached the shaded area, where someone hid in the shadowsand pressed against the exterior wall. Another pain-filled groan reached my ears before I tapped the flashlight option on my phone. Bright light lit up the wall, exposing a dirty, beaten girl wearing jean shorts and a black tank top. She had dark red hair. Blood spattered her clothes, arms, and face. Several rips in her shirt led me to believe she’d been attacked, but she wasn’t panicking.
Wait.A redhead with long legs and a fine ass.Shit. I saw her leave the bar.
“Fuck.”
She blinked at the light and turned her head. “You trying to blind me?”
“Sorry,” I mumbled, lowering my hand.
She looked up, shading her eyes. “What do you want?”
“Where are you hurt?” I asked, wondering if she’d been stabbed. There was too much fucking blood. A bruise was forming on her jaw, and dried blood crusted her nose.
Jesus.
She snorted and turned her head, spitting blood-tinged saliva from her mouth. Her lip was fucking busted. “What the fuck do you think, Sherlock?”
Sherlock? Oh, Holmes.Nice.I could work with sarcasm. It was my favorite language. Some would say I was fucking fluent in it.
“I’m guessing you didn’t hit your own face.” The hand that wasn’t holding my phone curled into a fist. The motherfucker who used her as a punching bag would beg for mercy before I finished with him.
“You look pissed,” she observed.
“I am,” I confessed.
“Why? You don’t know me. Maybe I deserved this.” She tried to stand and groaned, pressing her hand against her ribs.
I glared at her. “Don’t expect me to believe that bullshit.”
She closed her eyes briefly. “Like I said, you don’t know shit about me.”
“I know you’re not Wonder Woman. No need to hide the pain. You should have your injuries looked at.”
Her pert nose twitched as she snorted. “I could take her.”
If she hadn’t been hurt, I might have laughed. “I’m taking you to a hospital,” I announced, squatting in front of her, “but I need to know that whoever did this to you isn’t around first.”
Her head lolled to the side. She was fading. “No.”
“No to what, huh, Firecracker? The hospital or the asshole who hurt you?”
Christ. I just called her something other than her name. To be fair, I didn’t fucking learn it yet.
“Both,” she managed to spit out, wincing as her left eye began to swell. It ballooned more with every minute we remained here.
“I can’t leave you.”
“I can manage,” she whispered. She rose to her knees, swaying before she toppled over, and I caught her.
