Page 68 of Bayou Blues (Genie McQueen 1)

“Cash is still with Hank. He and his lawyer buddy have been there all day. His phone is off, and I haven’t had a chance to tell them what happened yet. Which is good because he’s not going to be all that happy when he sees what I did to his car. Or what happened to you.”

He nudged me, and this time I yielded, putting my head on the pillow. My whole body felt like it weighed a hundred thousand pounds. Now that the pain in my feet was bearable, the splitting headache I’d been ignoring came roaring back.

“Can you turn off the lights?” I asked, burying my face into the dark comfort of the musty hotel pillowcase.

His weight shifted off the bed, and soon the room was flooded with perfect, beautiful darkness. He walked past the bed, and a moment later, his comforter was draped over me. A notification light blinked on the phone in his hand.

“Wilder?”

“Mmm?”

“Can you stay with me until I fall asleep?” I wanted to say more. I wanted to tell him I was sorry for getting us into this mess. I wanted to explain that it would be my fault if the Church went after Hank as a sacrifice because they’d lost me, but none of those words came out. I found it impossible to be sorry for saving my own life. I’d survived, and I was damned proud of myself for it.

“Yeah. I can stay with you, Princess.” His weight settled on the other side of the bed, and as if it were habit, I rolled over, nestling myself against his side. I needed his warmth, the smell of forest and home. He froze briefly before he let himself yield to it and wrapped his arm around my shoulder.

“What happened to you?” I asked. Now that I felt safe, I wondered how he’d gotten away and why he hadn’t come back for me.

He sighed, and I knew he didn’t want to talk about this, but instead of resisting he said, “They were really focused on you. They hauled us back to this cabin area and split us up. I didn’t know where they took you, and with all the smells there, I couldn’t find you again. I managed to get away from the guys who were holding me, but… I couldn’t find you.”

I was quiet, hanging in the precipice between alertness and exhaustion. The worry in his voice was real and I felt grateful he hadn’t tried.

“I’m so sorry,” he added. “I got the hell out of there and went to find a cop. Spotted the sheriff at the diner and tried to tell him what happened. That was about as helpful as you might imagine.”

I mumbled my agreement, too tired to remind him I never trusted Sheriff McGraw in the first place.

“He dicked me around for over an hour, took me to the station to file a report and wouldn’t let me leave until it was finished. I thought I might see Cash, but he must have been with Hank. I’d just gotten back and was on the phone with Amelia when you showed up.”

“You were calling for help?”

He whispered something to me, but I was already gone, sleep stealing over me so quickly it felt like I hadn’t rested in a year.

It might be a long, long time before I’d get to sleep soundly again.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Wilder was gone when I woke up. The side of the bed he’d been occupying still held his form, but the comforter was cold. He’d been up awhile.

The lamp over the small table was on, and the fan was humming in the bathroom. I rubbed sleep from my eyes and gave myself a quick once-over. My feet had healed, and my migraine had downgraded to a nuisance headache. Nothing I couldn’t ignore.

My jeans were folded on one of the chairs next to the table, and the knife I’d stolen from Anderson was on the nightstand beside me. How thoughtful, Wilder had left me a weapon within arm’s reach.

That was the sort of thing a man used to living in fear would do.

It made me wonder what kind of life Wilder’d had with his other pack, and if maybe there were multiple reasons he’d returned to St. Francisville. It didn’t matter. If we got out of this place alive, I’d make sure he always had a home with our pack. I’d put him under my own damned protection if I needed to.

I slipped my jeans on, ignoring the stiff crust of blood around the hem. I’d need to find something to use for shoes before we ventured too far. The clock over the TV said it was three a.m. The motel office would be closed. No chance of getting plastic flip-flops at this hour.

Three a.m.

Where was Wilder?

As if on cue, I got my answer. Voices came from mine and Cash’s room next door. They weren’t hushed, but they also weren’t raised in anger, which was a relief. I considered the knife on the nightstand but decided to leave it for now.

It wasn’t Cash or Wilder who answered the door, but rather Cash’s lawyer friend, Matthew Chen. “Oh. Genie. Hey.” Each word was its own little sentence. His inky-black hair was a mess, and the bags under his eyes suggested it had been a long day for everyone.

“Hey, Matt. Can I come in?” It was my room after all.

He seemed to realize he was blocking my way and nodded vigorously as he stepped aside to allow me entrance. “Sorry.”

---