Wolf's Hunger (Mafia Monsters #5) - Atlas Rose Page 0,71
fool. There was no way she could grow up in that house and not know the fucking deeds her father had done. She had some serious gall to stand there and pretend to care?
Pinpricks of pain stabbed in my head. I winced at the agony and kept on pushing, driving myself harder and faster, through one store and out the back into the crowd again. I hurried, weaving and working my way from one side to the other, and all the while that stabbing throb in my head grew worse.
I was running out of time—I paused and scanned the crowd, spotting an outdoor store— And realized I was running out of escape routes. Desperation made me lunge and scrabble toward the store as a guy stepped up to the window and flipped the sign from open to closed.
“Wait!” I roared, and pressed my hands to the glass. “Please, I’ll just be a second.” I fumbled into my pocket and yanked out my ID. “I just need a knife, that’s all, I promise.”
The guy was tall, he’d even tower above Phantom. He peered over his thick-lensed glasses at my ID, then looked at me. I risked a glance over my shoulder, spotting one of my fucking wardens as he charged out from a store into the crowd of shoppers.
“Please.” I turned back to the geeky dude on the other side of the door. He followed my gaze to the agent who shadowed my every fucking move.
One click and the door swung open. “Inside,” he muttered.
I didn’t need to be told twice, rushing inside, leaving him to close and lock the door behind me. “I just need a knife.” I sucked in a hard breath. “The thinner and sharper the better.”
“You’ll be wanting a skinning knife, then?” The guy rounded the counter and walked toward the end.
I lifted my arm and grasped the flesh underneath. “As long as it’ll cut this thing out, I don’t care.”
He stopped, leaned over the glass cabinet, and raised a brow. “Seen that kind of thing before…in conspiracy magazines.”
“Yeah well, this is no damn conspiracy. I want it out…and I want it out now.”
He peered at the mark on my arm. “Tracking device, right?”
I gave a nod before he glanced at the front of the store, then motioned with his head. “What you need is a scalpel. I think I have one in the first aid kit out back.”
I didn’t hesitate, just followed him as he pointed toward a back room. “This way.”
I needed Walker more than anything right now, and as I hurried behind the counter to the doorway leading to the back of the store, she filled my thoughts. Days. Days without knowing if she’s safe…or even alive.
The thud of a plastic case hitting a counter drew my attention. The guy was already rifling inside, lifting out bandages, plastic vials of clear liquid, and a small foil package. “I don’t want to do it. The sight of blood makes me sick,” he muttered and turned to meet my gaze. “But it’s all there, everything you need. Just don’t…don’t tell anyone I helped you, alright?”
“Scout’s honor.” I licked my lips, grabbed the foil packet, and peeled back the corner, exposing the dangerously sharp blade. “Now, if you don’t like the sight of blood…I suggest you look away.”
One deep breath, and I lifted my arm and pressed the tip of the blade to the mark on my skin. Then I closed my eyes, thought of my Wolves, and pushed.
The sting was instant as blood left a trail under my arm. I lowered the blade, then squeezed my flesh, feeling the hard tracker underneath. The white end slipped out, coated with blood. I yanked the damn thing free, grabbed a large hunting knife from the counter, and smashed the tracker with the steel hilt.
It shattered under the force. The plastic splintered, some shooting off the table to hit somewhere on the floor.
“Jesus,” the guy muttered and blanched. “They stuck that thing inside you?”
“They sure did.” I tried to catch my breath, but it was too fast…this whole thing was too everything. The room seemed to spin, the walls washing white…
“Hey, there,” the guy exclaimed, grabbing my arm.
Something cool pressed to the wound before a bandage was wrapped tight. “You’re alright now. You’re alright.”
I looked down at my arm, and the bandage stretched tight. “I gotta go. I gotta—” I gripped my arm and stumbled, smacking into a shelf before righting myself.