Chapter 7
Lissa woke lying on a hard mattress in a jail cell.
She rolled over, groaning. Her whole body hurt, like someone had set her on fire and then pounded her with a mallet.
She pushed herself up to a sitting position.
She didn’t remember getting here. Why didn’t she remember? It was all disjointed and crazy, like a fever dream. Hunting rabbits in the woods in the dark with her bare hands, then some kind of party, and hot meat in her hands, and blood—blood in her mouth, blood on her hands.
She turned her hands over. The nails were crusted with blood, and the valleys between her fingers were sticky.
Her heart leaped into her throat. What had she done?
She closed her eyes, trying to think. She had bits and pieces of memories—riding in a car; being examined by an EMT; sitting in a brightly lit room while people pounded her with questions. What had she told them? What name had she used? How much had she given away?
How long before her demon would go crazy again, and they put her in a psych ward? Or the Arkansas police tracked her down and dragged her back to face what she’d done there?
She shivered at the thought of locked doors closing behind her for good. This might be the worst trouble she’d ever been in, except for that time just before she left Arkansas. After Brother Damien took a liking to her.
And she couldn’t remember much of that, either.
Just running through the woods at night, with blood under her fingernails. The rest of it was a jumbled dream, like last night.
Except she’d had a demon in her ever since.
What had Brother Damien done to her? How could she fix it?
Maybe it couldn’t be fixed. Maybe she belonged in jail, or in a rubber room, tied down and sedated so she couldn’t hurt anyone else.
Lissa hugged her knees to her body and rested her forehead on them, and tried to keep the hot tears from running down her face.
There was a clang and a rattle of metal, and Lissa looked up. A female sheriff’s deputy was standing in front of her cell.
“I see you’re awake, finally,” she said. “You gonna stay calm now?”
Lissa nodded. She sure as hell hoped so. But you had to tell them what they wanted to hear, even if you didn’t know if it was true.
The woman shook her head. “That was some bad shit you took last night, whatever it was,” she said. “Made you real crazy. Don’t suppose it’ll do any good to tell you to stay off it.”
“I’ll try,” Lissa said. She couldn’t say it wasn’t drugs, because that would mean a psych eval and a 72-hour hold, and despite her fears of what she might do if she got out, she knew that would break her. Jail at least meant she could get a PD, get out and try to figure out how to fix this.
The woman gazed at her for a minute, then nodded. “Okay. I guess you’re free to go.” She started to unlock the door of the holding cell.
Lissa was stunned. “I am? Are they—are the charges being dropped?” She didn’t even know what the charges were, but she’d been afraid… She balled her hands into fists so the dried blood wouldn’t show.
The woman shook her head. “Somebody bailed you out.”
Lissa stared at her, mind racing. Who would have paid money to bail her out of jail? Who even would have known she was in jail?
She followed the woman out of the cell and down the hall, feeling numb. Had Brother Damien tracked her down? Had he been watching for police reports, hoping she’d give herself away? Or had her attack made the news?
She didn’t know which would be worse. A cell followed by a rubber room and restraints, or Brother Damien. But that was impossible. Brother Damien was nothing but a nightmare now.
The deputy took her to a desk and talked about bond and court appearances, and Lissa signed some papers. The woman put them in a manila envelope with the few possessions Lissa had had in her pockets. As she was about to hand the envelope to Lissa, the deputy hesitated.
“Don’t know if you want advice,” she said, “but I put in a card for a drug rehab program attached to one of the free clinics in Nashville. Most of the judges are more likely to be lenient if they can see you’re voluntarily getting help. Your lawyer might even be able to get the charges dropped, if you explain to the victims you’re in rehab.”
Victims. The smell of blood was suddenly filling her nostrils, making her want to gag. She couldn’t have hurt anyone very badly, though, could she? Not if they were letting her go.
Lissa nodded. “Thank you,” she said. She knew the woman meant well, but drug rehab wasn’t going to fix what was wrong with her. Maybe the clinic could, though.
She walked out of the office toward the waiting area, hoping no one was there waiting for her. Hoping she could just walk out to the nearest road, stick out her thumb, and get the hell away from this town before her past caught up with her.
But there was someone waiting for her. A huge hulk of a man with messy blond hair and scruff on his face, looking like he’d rather be anywhere but here.
Tank rose from his chair in the waiting area as Lissa came out the door. She stopped dead when she saw him, looking shocked. She was carrying a battered manila envelope with her things in it, and she looked even more hollow-eyed and exhausted than before. He could smell the blood on her.
He felt a sudden urge to just sweep her up in his arms and carry her off. His bear wanted to feed her and tuck her up and curl up around her, holding her so she wouldn’t be scared and nothing could hurt her.
But he had to be careful. He was painfully aware of the security camera in the corner of the room. If he set her off again, they might not let her leave, and if what he suspected was right, they couldn’t risk having that on video.
“Come on,” he said quietly. “Let’s get out of here.”
He saw her eyes flicker briefly towards the camera. Of course—she was a thief. She would always know where the cameras were.
She walked with Tank toward the door, her holey old sneakers slapping on the linoleum where one of the soles was coming loose.
Note to self: get her some new shoes. And warm boots for winter. And some of those sexy high heels that looked good with dresses. No—no sexy heels. Or dresses. He was just helping her out, not becoming her sugar daddy, for fuck’s sake.
He ushered her out the front door, reaching over her head to hold it open as she walked outside. The temperature had dropped from the day before, and it was chilly out. The cold didn’t bother Tank, but he saw Lissa shiver in her thin t-shirt, and he had to resist the urge to put his arm around her shoulders and pull her close.
Don’t get emotionally involved, he reminded himself. You promised Flynn you wouldn’t. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t.
She didn’t say anything while they walked to his truck, just kept giving him sidelong glances. He went around to the passenger side and opened the door for her, but she pushed it shut and faced him.
“Why did you bail me out?” she asked him bluntly. Those huge blue eyes looked up at him, staring into his as if she could see right through him. “How did you even know I was in jail? Was it on the news or something?”
He shook his head, running his fingers through his hair. This next part was delicate, and he was going to suck at it.
“No. I saw you run out there, in the middle of all those people at that party, and I couldn’t get there in time. I couldn’t stop it, and I felt like shit about that. So I tried to do the next best thing.”
She frowned at him, confused. “You were there? At the party?”
He shook his head again.
Her eyes narrowed, and she took a step back. “Were you following me?”
There was no sense in trying to deny it. He nodded. “Yeah.”
She put her hands on her hips. “Have you been stalking me?” she demanded. She sounded pissed, but underneath he could smell a tiny bit of fear, well-concealed.
He ran his hands through his hair again, frustrated. He’d never been good at explaining things, and he didn’t want her to be scared of him. Even if she should be.
“It’s not like that,” he said.
She raised her eyebrows, still inching away from him. “Steaks? Fancy shampoo? Lurking by my squat to follow me at night? What would you call it?”
“Okay, it’s kind of like that,” he admitted. “But it’s not creepy, or anything,” he assured her.
“I’m pretty sure you’re not the one who gets to decide that,” she snapped. Her confidence seemed to be coming back.
“Fine,” he said. “Fuck. I suck at this. I kept trying to forget you, okay? But my b—my conscience wouldn’t let me. It kept telling me to check up on you and try to help you. I didn’t even want to,” he added. That wasn’t true. Part of him wanted to, and part of him didn’t want to feel anything.
She tilted her head, studying him. “Why am I picturing you wandering around like cartoon Pinocchio, with an annoying cricket on your shoulder telling you that stalking is in some way a good thing?”
Tank snorted at the thought of his bear as a singing, dancing Jiminy Cricket. “No idea,” he said. “Because you have a bizarre imagination?”
She just kept backing up.
“And anyway,” he added, “it was a good thing. Otherwise you’d still be in jail.”
“All right, well, thank Jiminy for me,” she said. “But I’m okay now.”
She was about to bolt—he could tell. He recognized the look on her face. Hell, every other shifter in his crew had it.
The one that said she was all alone, and she couldn’t afford to be dependent on people. She had to rely on herself to survive.
Only this time, if she didn’t let someone help her, she wouldn’t survive.
“Dammit!” he snapped. “You’re not okay. Why the fuck won’t you just let me help you? You sure as shit need it—more than you probably even realize.”
Lissa’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t need anybody’s help,” she said. “And I don’t need some great big Incredible Hulk deciding I can’t survive on my own. I’ve handled that since I was sixteen, thank you very much. So you,” she pointed her finger at him, “don’t get to decide what I need. Even if you did bail me out of jail. Which I didn’t ask for, so I don’t owe you shit, Mr. I-helped-you-and-now-I-own-you. You don’t.”
Tank stepped in and took her by the upper arms. “You have no choice,” he said. “You can’t be on your own—”
“Hey!” she said, trying to pull away. Her eyes flashed red-gold, and then returned to their normal blue, but they were glazed over, as if she didn’t know where she was anymore. She swayed on her feet, and Tank caught her just before she fell.
Shit, this was all about to go sideways.
He opened the truck door and bundled her inside, buckling her into the passenger seat. She was emanating little growls, which would have been cute as hell if it didn’t mean there was an animal trapped inside her, trying to fight its way out.
Tank ran around and jumped in the driver’s seat, and roared out of the parking lot as fast as he dared.