I decided I must have finally gotten my point across to Kross and his goons when they were all MIA for the rest of the week.

Say what I will about Kettle's Bell (It's still a stupid name) about how small and shitty it is, but it has a pretty popping night life. Probably because all the people in this town are psychotic and this is the only place that serves alcohol, but still. The bar is always full, even on weeknights.

The girls seem a bit bummed out by the lack of big tipping bikers, but I like it. Things are easier. The girls don't feel the need to talk to me and the men are only here to get hammered, try out pickup lines, and watch girls dance. I easily blend right into the background without an egomaniac breathing down my neck and drawing unwanted attention to me.

Things are going great until my ninth straight night working when Jeb stops me at the door with both good and bad news.

"You're a hit. Knew you would be." I wait to see if he's actually going to pat himself on the back, sadly he doesn't, but I picture it in my mind nonetheless. "You're the most requested girl, even doing those little PG dances you do." I nod, thinking my dances are anything but PG, they aren't R-rated like Candy Crush and BiBi, but they aren't much further behind Becca and Ren either. "Because of that, I want to keep you fresh for our busiest nights, so I'm gonna need you to take off Mondays and Thursdays."

The last words I wanted to hear out of Jeb's pinched little mouth.

"But I-."

He shakes his head. "No, I know you want to work-."

"Come on, Jeb, please?" I pout my lips and flutter my eyelashes, reaching out to squeeze his forearm. He giggles, like a girl, but then steps back, trying to keep his composure.

"Look, darlin', I'd keep you on every night, like I told you, you're good for business, but I got people to answer to too. You working every night makes it look like I'm overworking you. But I can make you a deal."

"I'm listening." No longer pretending to flirt with him, all business now. Just to be mean, I pull together the two sides of my tied up flannel shirt, blocking his uninterrupted view of my bra and cleavage.

"I want you to do music 'round here." He says, his eyes forced to my face with no goodies to ogle. "I'll even pay you an extra buck an hour for you to revamp us."

I hadn't seen that coming at all, and I'm genuinely happy about it. "Really?" For once my smile isn't fake.

"Yea, all the customers and the girls too have been telling me how much they like it when you get ahold of the music box. I'm man enough to admit our playlists are dated."

"And sleazy." I add.

"This is a titty bar." He points to the stages and I laugh.

"I know, but that doesn't mean you have to play nothing but porn music, Jeb. Other stuff can be just as sexy."

Jeb blushes at my attention and grins at the floor. "Yea, alright, you're the expert on sexy, so I'll let you roll with it."

"Thank you." I almost hug him, but that's too friendly. I don't go for friendly these days. I'm more like a porcupine than a kitten.

"See you tomorrow night then, honey."

He turns to leave me at the door, but I call after him. "Wait, I can't work tonight? I'm already here."

"Sorry, got bosses to keep happy."

"And who exactly is your boss, Jeb?" I ask, glaring at him.

He shivers a little, backing away. "See you tomorrow." He says again before hightailing it across the room.

"Well, shit." I kick the floor with the toe of my boot and then turn to walk back to my apartment.

Pushing into the cramped space, I drop my bag on the table, then walk the whole two feet over to my bed, which is just a mattress on the floor with my covers and pillow, then lay back, looking up at the water damaged ceiling.

I hate having nothing to do. It leaves too much time to think, and I don't like to spend too much time doing that, so I grab my I-pod from under my pillow and slide my laptop over onto my lap and get started on a playlist for the club. The stage side is easy, mostly smooth songs to play in-between dances because each girl has her own music to dance to, and then the bar side and lounge areas get all new music. No more slimy sex songs, as if hearing the word pussy fifteen times in one song is going to cause anyone to spend more money.

You need songs that make you want to dance. Songs your body can't help but twist and roll with. You want people to spend more money on drinks? Get them dancing, they'll get thirsty. And songs that makes the girls like me dance, it's just good for business as Jeb would say. 

Three hours and two perfectly tuned playlists later, it's just getting dark out and I'm bored out of my mind. I scramble to the tiny fridge, nothing but bottles of water and some ham and cheese. I'm out of bread so I just snack on the cold stuff while watching YouTube videos of hair and make-up tutorials and then shut my laptop.

7:50.

I don't own a phone. I'm not on social media. I don't have cable, or a TV for that matter.

With nothing better to do, I open the closet, pulling out the giant duffle stuffed with clothes and search out some running gear. Dressed in nice black Nike running pants, hot pink tanktop, and my black and white lucky sneakers, I head out the door.

I plug in my headphones, listening to the smooth rasp of Thief by Ansel Elgort slide into my ears as I wave at the drug dealer next door and start my jog down the stairs. The air outside is smooth, the smell of something burning in the distance reminding me of the time I spent living with the Topher twins behind I-10 where we'd set fires to the grass and run towards it like we were going to jump into the flames. We'd always stop just before we were burned...but I always got the closest.

Pushing the past from my mind I up my pace, breaking into a full sprint up the street. At first there are crumbling buildings and storefronts with 'out of business' signs, but before long it's broken and cracked sidewalks and burned out houses with over grown yards and vines twisting up to the broken windows.

I've been running at full speed for fifteen minutes when I finally have to stop to catch my breath. The burn of my breath in my lungs making me smile. I'm a good runner. From life, and in general. I double over under the street light, the orange glow making me feel safe, right until it goes out.

I sit up, staring up at the darkness.

I look around, not really recognizing most of my surroundings. I've run in a straight line though, so all I have to do is turn back and I'll end up back at home with the dope dealer and the woman with eight kids that screams "Marco!" all night and day while I lay in bed and whisper back "Polo" every time.

I give my eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness, then turn.

I gasp. Something definitely moved in the backyard of that house.

My body freezes and my heart skips. The little one story shotgun house isn't lived in, not with the giant tree laying across its roof and grass up to my knees. The front door is wide open though, and I feel like I'm being watched out of all of those black windows.

A twig breaks and I jump.

My hand slips up to my hip, sliding under the hem of my shirt, but then I see its eyes. The grass parts as its huge body pads around the house, those eyes watching me. "W-w-wolf." I whisper to myself, scanning my brain for any knowledge I have of them or what you're supposed to do if you meet one on a deserted road at night. Of course I've got nothing.

Damn you biology for teaching me nothing!

Its dark hair down its back stands up as it lowers into a crouch, lips pulling back over those sharp dagger teeth. It snarls, and I run.

Running is probably somewhere on the do not do list, but I can't just stand there and ask it nicely not to attack me either. I move my feet below me faster than I ever have, taking a left and then a right at the end of the next road, as if I could throw it off if it's following me.

Oh my god, what if it's following me?!

Running as fast as I can, and mentally congratulating myself on not being one of those dumb people in horror movies that run from danger only to fall on their faces and get murdered anyway, I focus on remaining calm. Curiosity gets me and, throat closing in on itself, I peek back over my shoulder but my toe wedges into a crack in the sidewalk and my body is propelled into the air, sending me flailing into the shrubs. Ok, so apparently that shit does really happen. Sorry, Hollywood. I end up on my back and look up the road just in time to see the huge wolf, shiny grey fur and hungry beady black eyes round the corner.

It isn't running though.

The insane thought that it feels like it's just leisurely following me pops into my mind, but I don't have time to think it over. I scrape back up and run further, turning left again and up the highway. The fear that after all I've been through that I'm about to die by being eaten by a fucking wolf is enough to make me laugh. I fucking laugh while I'm running for my life. Everyone was right, it seems, I am crazy.

I look behind me again, but then I slam into a brick wall.

I nearly fall back again when the wall grabs me and pulls me back.

Wait, not a wall.

A very sweaty, shirtless, Daimon Kross.

I shove against him, trying to pull him with me. "Run, there's a-."

"What the fuck are you doing here?" He snaps angrily, pulling me away from his body and planting me on the sidewalk a foot away from him. "Have you forgotten how to speak?"

I look behind me, but no stalker wolf is hanging back there. Only an asshole in front of me. "Are you following me?" I ask, my breathing so erratic, I'm not sure he'll understand what I asked.

He did. "Following you?" He yells. "This is my fucking place, what the hell are you doing here?"

I look to my left and sure enough, there in all of its not beautiful in the slightest beauty is the Krossway. "I-I was..." I stammer.

"Spit it out." Daimon growls, his wide chest rising and falling as fast as mine and his abs...

"I was running...from-no, I was out for a run-."

"-At night?"

"-and it was fine until there was a freaking wolf, or maybe a coyote, but I think it was a wolf-."

"-You saw what?"

"-And it was following me, but not like...no, never mind." I drop it before I state my insanity out loud. "Anyway, excuse the hell out of me if I got a little off course. I didn't mean to step on your turf. Didn't realize you own the whole town."

"I do." He says, crossing his arms, the long tattoos running up in uneven lines to snake up his neck and down to his back where I can't see the rest of them, not that the front of his body itself isn't impressive enough on its own.

"Whatever." I shake my head, then shoo him toward the Krossway. "Run home and play now, I'm leaving."

I turn to go but he grabs my arm, jerking me back. "No you aren't." He whispers near my ear and I hit and elbow at him.

"Fuck off!" I yell, but he just leans in closer, pulling me against him.

His mouth is literally at my fucking ear now. His breath sending electric shivers down my spine. "Where's your bat now, darlin'?"

My rage and fear merge together as I swipe a hand under my shirt to the hip of my pants and I jerk the can away. "I don't need it!" I snap, spraying the bottle of pepper spray directly into his face.

He jumps back, folding in on himself as he cusses and shouts, his whole body shaking angrily on vibrate like Toby had done when I'd hit him. I might not be the brightest, but I'm smart enough to know I should be running again, but with his back turned I can see his tattoo now. All of those lines from his neck and arms converge just above his cut shoulder blades and then swirl out to form a beautiful Aztec wolf with its head back howling.

The irony of the fact that I ran from one real wolf only to slam into this wolf wasn't lost on me. I might have even waved my crazy flag again and laughed if it weren't for the others.

The movement in the corner of my eyes makes me tense and I turn my head to see at least a dozen other men walking out into the parking lot, all looking ready to murder something.

Something being me.

They form a line of ridiculous muscular scariness and stare down at Daimon and I where we are on the sidewalk. "There a problem?" Toby steps out from the middle of them.

Daimon straightens his back, glaring at me with rage before looking at the others. "Go. Inside." He snarls at them and they instantly all turn.

"Yeah boys, listen to Daddy and run along." I shoo them, not sure why I can't keep my mouth shut.

They disappear and I'm stuck alone with a very angry Daimon. "You did not just-." He starts but I've got my hands raised as I back away.

"But I did, and now I'm leaving."

Daimon surprises me by mirroring my action of raising his hands. "I'm going to try something different here," He says, his tone clipped and controlled. "I will give you a ride home, just let me go get my bike."

"Won't be necessary." I shake my head. Me on the back of his bike is a bad idea.

His nostrils flare as he takes a deep breath. "It isn't safe."

"I'll survive."

"You might not." He says evenly. "This isn't a place for strangers."

"I've heard, good thing I'm not strange. I'm awesome."

He opens his mouth to yell at me again, but his eyes shift from my face down my body, which wouldn't be that strange if it weren't for the flare of his nostrils again and his eyes widening. "You're bleeding."

"Huh?"

He lunges forward, grabbing me by the shoulders. "I can smell the blood. Where are you hurt?" I nearly leave my body there when he drops to his knees in front of me, his face is like inches away from my body. I'm used to some guys being a little too forward, but this was new. I think he's sniffing me. "Were you scratched? Bitten?" His voice is urgent.

"What? I'm not-."

His strong hands grip my hips and I can feel the heat of them through the thin fabric of my pants. He spins me around with a strength that's unreal. He turns me to where I know his face is right at my ass and his hands slide down my sides, gripping my upper thighs. My heart is pounding and my veins are filled with nothing but his touch, so demanding. Slowly I feel one thumb brush the underside of my ass and I hear the low noise he makes in the back of his throat. I should move. I know it. Or kick him, but everything in me shouts to be still. I swallow hard, waiting to see what he'll do next.

"Here." He says and I look down over my shoulder to where he's looking. Sure enough on the back of my right thigh the fabric of my pants is ripped and I can see the slow ooze of blood.

"Oh," I say dumbly, shoving the old Alyssa back where she belongs. "I guess when I fell I cut it?" I think back to falling into the shrub. "Wait, how the hell did you?" He said he smelt it when he was standing over there.

He stands up so fast my eyes almost don't register it. "Get out of here!" He booms. "Get that cleaned up and never come back here again!"

You don't always have to tell me twice.

The crazed look in those amber eyes tells me I should do as I'm told this time. I turn on my heel and take off back towards where I came from.

After my first turn the worry of running back into the other wolf pops into my head, but then I notice the dull hum of a motorcycle following back in the distance far enough behind that I can't tell who the driver is, but my gut already knows.

He follows me all the way back to my apartment before speeding away again.

I don't even close my door behind me as I rush to my laptop, flinging it open.

I type in 'Daimon Kross' and get nothing back from Google. Then I try 'Daimon Kross Kansas', again to no avail. A search on the Krossway returns the same blank results. Finally I type in Kettle's Bell.

Not a thing come up at first. No mentions of the town, no maps, nothing.

One Facebook user pops up though and I follow it to a weird as hell Facebook page called Justice for Kettle's Bell victims.

"Well, shit."