Unleashed

by Nancy Holder

  “My, my.” A second man appeared behind the first. He was wearing a business suit that was in decent shape, tie loosened, and had leaves in his hair.

  Sweatshirt flashed her a vicious smile. “Hi. You look … cold.”

  “We can warm you up,” the suit guy said, staggering toward her.

  “That’s okay.” She took a few steps backward, trying to understand what was going on. Had they been drinking?

  Sweatshirt grinned at Suit Man. “Hear that? It’s okay!”

  They both threw back their heads and howled.

  “Hey, back off!” she shouted, scared.

  The suit guy staggered toward her. Katelyn tried to remember something, anything, from the one and only self-defense class she had taken in her entire life. But probably the best thing she could do was run. She turned … and came face to face with Cordelia. Her head was held high, and her hands were balled into fists.

  “Hey, losers!” Cordelia bellowed.

  A chill shot down Katelyn’s spine.

  Oh, my God, she’s going to get us both killed!

  Before anyone could move, a third man charged from around the corner, heading for the four of them. He looked familiar—silver hair, trim beard, a polo shirt, and Dockers. His movements were athletic, like those of a personal trainer or a bodyguard, and as he neared, she felt an odd kind of power about him.

  “What’s going on here?” he asked, his voice low but filled with authority.

  Sweatshirt laughed uncertainly. “Jack, we were just …” He laughed again.

  “Yes?” the man—Jack—demanded. “Just what?”

  “Letting out our wolf,” number two murmured, clearly embarrassed. His breath reeked of alcohol. Katelyn had been right: they had been drinking.

  “Is that what this is?” Jack’s eyes flashed as he stared down the two men.

  And then Katelyn realized who he was—Jack Bronson, in the flesh. She watched openmouthed as the scene continued to play out.

  “But we—we—” Sweatshirt stammered. “It’s okay. Everything’s all right.”

  Bronson looked hard at him. At both of them. The air was charged with tension so thick Katelyn could feel it.

  She glanced at Cordelia, who blinked and looked back. Cordelia’s free hand hovered inches above her cell phone, as if trying to decide if she should call someone.

  “Go back to the center. Now,” Bronson said.

  “But, Jack,” Sweatshirt protested, his shoulders rounding. Beside him, the Suit Man backed down, also lowering his head.

  “You too,” Bronson commanded the Suit Man; then he pulled out a cell phone. “The van will take you to the airport when you get back. Both of you.”

  “What?” Sweatshirt cried.

  “My company paid for the training,” Suit Man protested. “I didn’t do anything!”

  Bronson said nothing, only stared them down again. Abashed, the men silently withdrew, turning and shuffling away.

  As soon as they were out of sight, Bronson turned to Katelyn. “I’m sorry. My students are not like that.”

  Katelyn was amazed at the way he’d handled them. All he’d had to do was speak and they backed down. She thought about Mike and wished she could handle him the same way. Still, she didn’t like Jack Bronson. That she was sure of. He was scaring her, and she didn’t understand why. She wanted to get away from him as fast as possible.

  “You should think about keeping your animals in a cage,” Cordelia said angrily. She grabbed Katelyn’s hand. “Let’s go.”

  Cordelia charged down the street, practically dragging Katelyn behind her.

  “They should shut that guy down,” she said.

  “He did come to our rescue,” Katelyn pointed out.

  “Yeah, from his groupies,” Cordelia retorted.

  Katelyn was still trying to process Cordelia’s bold reaction to the two drunk men. She’d been really pissed—and ready to take them on. It reminded Katelyn of the chin-up episode in the gym. Cordelia’s temper had flared then, too. Maybe that was what Paulette had meant—not too deep down, Cordelia had a short fuse that ignited if she felt threatened.

  They reached the coffee house. It was in the bottom floor of an old-fashioned wooden building. Katelyn could smell coffee and cinnamon before she even saw the big goofy cow face hanging over the entrance. It wore a cowbell that read COWFFEINE. Cordelia opened the door, and warm air wafted toward them. Jazz music was playing.

  And there was a display table containing a dozen or so copies of Unleashing Your Inner Wolf.

  “No way,” Katelyn blurted. She walked straight to the display, picked up one of the books, and showed it to Cordelia. “He’s everywhere.”

  “Cordelia,” said a thirty-something man behind the counter. He was wearing a white apron over a plaid shirt. “I was so sorry to hear about Becky.”

  Cordelia grabbed the book out of Katelyn’s hand and shook it at him. “You shouldn’t be selling this,” she said. “This guy is psycho. For all we know, one of his groupies killed her. Or maybe he did!”

  The man blinked. Then he glanced at Katelyn. She didn’t know what to do or say. But after what had just happened outside, she had to admit that Cordelia had a point.

  Friday came, and with it, the party.

  With butterflies in her stomach, Katelyn pulled up around the corner from the house where the party was going to be, grateful that Trick’s directions were easy to follow. Located on a rambling street not far from the high school, the little stone house had a chimney and was pressed on either side by broad trees whose leaves were beginning to erupt in purple, pumpkin, and egg-yolk yellow. It looked kind of like a hobbit dwelling, something from a storybook, and reminded her of one of the old stone houses in Hollywood, very few of which were left.

  Trick had told her that the hostess, Sam, used to coedit a literary e-zine with him in middle school. It was the same girl she’d asked to relay the message to Trick that she was leaving early that Tuesday, and she was happy to meet her formally.

  She’d picked the corner so she could approach without being seen right away. She needed a moment to compose herself and make sure her hair and makeup were still good. After she checked in the rearview mirror, she slid out of the truck and locked it, tossed the keys in her tiny shoulder-strap purse, then walked around the corner.

  Trick was leaning against his Mustang in a tight pair of jeans, a white button-down shirt, and his cowboy boots. She couldn’t help noticing that his eyes lit up when he saw her. He pushed away from the car and stood up straight.

  “Whoa,” he said, giving her a once-over.

  Suddenly a bit shy, she twirled in a circle to show off her new dress. “You like?”

  “I’m going to have to fight ’em off.”

  She beamed at him as he took her hand and they walked toward the house. When they reached it, Trick stopped and turned to her. His sea-green eyes seemed to darken, lending them mysterious depths. Or maybe it was just the angle of the light or the way he was holding her hand that made her stop and really look at him. She was aware that something was shifting between them again.

  “It’s okay,” he said quietly, and she jerked, startled. It was as if he had read her mind. “We’re here, at a party, and we’re young, and it’s all good.” He tilted his head, his gaze never wavering, and then he took a step closer to her. She could feel the heat of his body, smell something good on his skin, like cinnamon. And all the need inside her rushed toward him. Sure and steady, but thrilling and death-defying, too.

  Justin had crashed in on her, but Trick was different.

  Then why am I thinking about that jerk right now?

  Trick took a step back. Gave her a nod.

  Then he opened the door and they walked into a much larger room than she would have expected, lit only by candles, and filled with a dozen people their age. A very tall, thin guy in a black duster and Doc Martens played an electric violin in time to the music.

  Katelyn’s gaze went immediately to a girl in
a shapeless black dress. She had tattoos on her bare legs and was wearing ballerina flats. She also had multiple piercings and her hair was a shade of blue-black that came only out of a bottle. She would have stood out from the others even if her face wasn’t blotched with tears.

  “Trick,” she said in a strangled voice. She pushed past two guys and put her arms around him. She started to cry harder. He held her quietly and Katelyn hung back awkwardly, aware that the party guests were looking from her to Trick.

  “Tina, I’m so sorry,” he said. The girl—Tina—kept crying and holding on to him, letting her head drop back almost as if she were inviting Trick to kiss her.

  Sam walked over to Katelyn. She had short henna-tinted hair and was wearing a black velvet corset and leggings—not at all what anyone wore to school.

  “Hi, Kat. How about something to drink?”

  “Um, sure,” she replied, grateful for the distraction.

  “Okay. Come to the kitchen and we’ll fix you up.”

  Katelyn followed Sam into a cramped kitchen laden with bottles of wine, a scattering of hard liquor, and a cooler of canned sodas. She looked at Katelyn carefully. “We have every kind of liquor known to man. Lots of country kids start young.”

  “Oh,” Katelyn said, feeling uncomfortable. She was an athlete and had never been able to drink.

  “And … I figure you for something diet,” Sam went on tactfully.

  At Katelyn’s nod, she dug around in the cooler and handed her a red can. Katelyn popped it open.

  “Tina is Becky’s cousin,” Sam explained. “Tina’s family moved to Oklahoma during the summer. They came back to town for the service.”

  Katelyn tried not to let the room tilt. Of course there would be a funeral. Ms. Brandao had handled the details of her mother’s funeral. For the “burial,” a small urn had been placed in a wall at the cemetery. After the formal memorial service, held in the Unitarian church on Eighteenth Street, Kimi, Kimi’s mom, and Katelyn had driven to Santa Monica Pier and thrown leis into the water, a custom many Southern Californians had adopted from Hawaii. She hadn’t wanted to throw hers in, hadn’t wanted to let go.

  Sam grabbed a soda, too, opened it, and kept talking. “Are you going to the funeral? I know you just moved here.”

  Katelyn’s arm froze midway to her mouth. “I—I don’t know.”

  “Becky had this total thing for Trick. She used to tell people they were dating. Made up these stories about what he said, what they did. It was all one-sided. Trick had no idea what was going on. She finally came on to him and he tried to let her down easy. But she went ballistic and told all her friends that he’d used her and then dumped her.”

  Katelyn was stunned. Trick hadn’t told her any of that. And he had been so shaken by her death. Cordelia’s dislike of Trick suddenly made sense.

  “Why was she in the forest?” she asked Sam.

  “She wasn’t in the forest,” Sam said. Then she looked hard at Katelyn. “There’s a lot more going on in Wolf Springs than most people want to admit.”

  “What do you mean? Like what?” she asked, practically holding her breath. Katelyn set the can on the counter, eager for Sam to say more.

  “Hey,” said a voice behind her. It was Trick. “Sorry about that.”

  Katelyn swallowed, disappointed. She was positive that Sam wouldn’t finish what she was saying. The moment was gone.

  “I filled her in on Tina,” Sam told him, picking up both their soda cans. “We should introduce her around.”

  With Trick back at her side, she returned to the living room. Trance music was playing and Trick pulled her into the middle of the space where others were dancing. She went with the flow, moving her shoulders and hips, losing herself, until all she focused on was his face. Green eyes, bronze skin, angular features. She was holding her breath but couldn’t let it out. What would it be like to kiss Trick the same way Justin had kissed her?

  I think I’m going to find out, she realized. Every part of her felt tingly with anticipation.

  He was looking at her looking at him. His face became serious, and he knit his brows. She blazed inside, excited and embarrassed at the same time, as if he could read her mind. She wished she could read his.

  Suddenly he stumbled, losing the beat, then caught himself.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  His answer was a weak half smile—not the response she was looking for. He looked as if he was in pain.

  “I’m okay,” he said, but if he meant to reassure her, his strained tone of voice did anything but. After a couple more beats, he abruptly turned away and left her.

  She faltered, watching him head for the kitchen. She danced a few more steps, then stopped, looked around, and scooted to the side of the room. She could almost, but not quite, see into the kitchen.

  She waited a little bit, and when he didn’t come back, she finally went to look for him. No one remembered seeing him in the kitchen. She checked other rooms. No one knew where he was, and she started to get anxious. Had he seriously ditched her in the middle of the party? Uncertainty turned to anger. Finally she found Sam coming out of a room in the hallway.

  “Have you seen Trick?”

  Sam raised her brows. “No, I thought he was with you.”

  Katelyn shrugged but hesitated before moving on. “What was it you were about to tell me in the kitchen? About a lot more going on than people want to admit?”

  A flush of red washed up Sam’s neck. She slid a glance down the hall as though to see if anyone had heard.

  Katelyn persisted. “And if she wasn’t in the forest … when it happened, where—”

  Sam hunched her shoulders. “Not now, okay?”

  “But—”

  “Tina’s freaking out. I have to take care of her,” Sam said.

  Sam moved down the hall. Frustrated, Katelyn watched her go, then resumed her search for Trick. After another ten minutes, she decided to check outside and see if his car was still there. An autumn wind cut through her thin dress, lifting the hem, and she crossed her arms, shivering. The moon poured light down onto the top of his Mustang.

  She blinked in surprise. He was sitting inside it.

  As she walked toward it, she glanced at the passenger side. He was alone.

  Gripping her arms to hold in a little warmth, she marched up to the driver’s side and knocked. He jerked, then peered through the window at her. He looked a little glassy-eyed, and she tensed. Was something wrong with him?

  She could hear Cordelia’s voice: Trick’s kind of unpredictable.

  The lock clicked; he opened the door and climbed out. It was as if he was a different person from the one who had greeted her earlier. He didn’t look glad to see her. If anything, he seemed angry. His eyes were narrowed, and his lips were pressed into a thin line, as if she was the last person he wanted to see. And that just enraged her more.

  “Kat,” he said tersely.

  “What happened? Are you trying to bail on me?” she demanded.

  There was silence. He blinked, long black lashes brushing downward. Then he opened his eyes wide and looked at her square in the eye.

  “You need to go,” he said flatly.

  She felt as if he had slapped her. “Excuse me?”

  “I-I’m sorry.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I’m not feeling well.”

  Humiliation swept through her. Utter mortification. And shock.

  “Look, if this hasn’t worked out for you …”

  “No,” he said, exhaling, then running his hands through his hair. A vein in his neck was pulsing. A muscle jumped in his cheek. “Damn it, Kat, just go, okay?”

  She wanted to die. She couldn’t believe it. It wasn’t his party; he had no say.

  Without another word, she turned. Tears welled as she clenched her jaw and stomped back toward the house.

  To her back, he yelled, “You don’t even know what you’re getting into!”

  “Just shut up,” she muttered, too low for h
im to hear. She heard the car door slam.

  Furious, she realized she had just walked past the front door. Fine. She half ran around the corner to the truck, yanked open the door, and hoisted herself inside. Hands shaking, she finally got it going, shifted into drive, and pulled forward.

  She blasted down the street, still clenching her jaw. Jerk, jerk, jerk, she thought.

  Then she saw headlights approaching the rear of the truck. So he was coming after her. Fine. But no way was she stopping or going back. Because no way did she want him to see that tears were spilling down her cheeks.

  The headlights followed her onto the narrow, steep road leading out of town. Next stop would be the inky tunnel of trees, then deeper into the forest, where the wolf had attacked the Mustang with her in it. She cranked up the music on her iPhone and forced herself to sing along in an effort to calm herself down.

  She drove for quite a while, making the turns she needed. Then the headlights behind her were gone.

  She blinked. Had she taken a wrong turn? Frowning, she stared into the rearview mirror, willing Trick to reappear.

  Or … maybe that wasn’t Trick. It was someone else, going somewhere else.…

  Suddenly the truck lurched. She pulled her foot off the gas and could feel the sickening limping that signaled a flat tire. Heart in her throat, she pulled as far to the side of the road as she could without hitting any trees.

  She glanced around uneasily. The woods were dark and foreboding, as they always were. She might still have cell coverage, but her grandfather couldn’t come get her. She had the only vehicle. She tried Ed’s number, but the call failed. Tried Cordelia. Same thing—maybe because of her low battery.

  As she turned off the engine, she realized she was going to have to get out of the truck to replace the tire. She stared into the darkness, hating the way the headlights seemed to penetrate only a small portion of it. She cursed herself for leaving the party, and for not making sure that Trick had been the driver behind her.

  She checked the glove compartment and was relieved to find a flashlight, which worked, but still didn’t want to get out. The thought of just sitting tight until the sun came up occurred to her, but she knew it was silly. There was no way she could sit there for hours. She needed to be home, safe. She took a deep breath and eased her door open. She sat for a moment, waiting, half sure that something would lunge at her from the shadows.