I lived in a nondescript brick building on the third floor out of six. My apartment looked exactly the same as the others from the outside, and I liked it that way. It made me feel anonymous, as if I faded into the scenery. I didn’t want to stand out. I wanted to fit in.
I didn’t have the key to my place anymore, of course, and I didn’t have my lock-picking tools either, but I was pretty sure that I could get in anyway. I was pretty resourceful that way, and I had picked up a few paper clips and other things during my travels. Anything that looked useful, I’d pocketed.
I climbed the steps to the third floor, and I strode along the walkway to my apartment. It was early morning, and the sun glowed rose. The parking lot of the apartment complex was a brilliant mass of glowing reflection of the morning, each car gleaming like a jewel. I thought it looked especially pretty.
I was glad to be home.
I stopped in front of my door. I dug a paper clip out of my pocket and fit it inside the lock.
But then…
The doorknob turned in my hands.
Shit. Why was my door unlocked? There was no way I’d left it that way. My heartbeat started to pick up speed.
Slowly, carefully, I eased the door open.
The response was immediate. Two strong men grabbed me, tugging me inside. They slammed me face first into the wall and began padding me down.
I should have run when I saw it was unlocked, I thought frantically. The werewolves already found me.
I was going to get dragged back to that stupid cabin, and all of my hard work was going to have been for nothing.
“Where the hell have you been?” said a voice behind me.
“Sal?” I said. “Sal, is that you?” I was almost ecstatic in relief. It was Sal. Just Sal.
“You took our money,” he said, and he didn’t sound pleased. “You took it and ran. Let’s just say that’s no way to do business.”
My heart sank. This was bad, too, wasn’t it? Just as bad. Maybe worse.
Fuck.
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Under a Raging Moon: Part Two Page 13