Hunger Moon

by Merryn Dexter

  “Don’t. Don’t you pity me, bitch!” A fleck of spittle gathered at the corner of the girl’s lips. “You don’t belong here. Take that prissy-ass attitude of yours somewhere else.” Nina spun on her heel and stormed from the room, leaving an oppressive cloud of anger in her wake.

  Silver sank into her chair, staring at the crumpled test papers in her hand. Doodles, elaborately decorated curse words, and a few scribbled answers stared back at her. What the hell am I doing here?

  A soft knock disturbed her pity party, and she glanced over at the fierce-looking woman leaning against the doorframe. Marney Williams adjusted the huge, battered purse over her shoulder and tapped her wrist. “Come on, girl. It’s twofers at Joe’s Tavern and you look even more in need of a bellyful of cocktails than I do.”

  Silver studied the pile of tests on her desk, the words of refusal dying on her lips. No one would care whether the tests were marked, apart from her. She didn’t drink on a school night, one of the many rules she’d set herself. She’d didn’t exactly knock the booze back on the weekends either, though. Didn’t do much of anything really since her father passed the previous year, leaving her rattling around the house on her own. Spreading her wings, moving on, and starting a new life had been the plan. Instead, she stayed home in her little apartment, living vicariously through the books she read and the shows on her television. Marney clutched her throat, making exaggerated noises until Silver shook her head and stuffed the folded test papers in the large rucksack she used as her work bag.

  Grabbing her sensible black overcoat from behind the door, she hurried down the corridor in the wake of the other teacher’s clacking high-heeled boots. The oversized cream sweater Marney wore slid down, revealing a shapely mocha-colored shoulder. Her painted-on jeans were tucked into black leather boots. Silver tugged her coat closer over her long tweed skirt and high-necked blouse. The flat heels of the lace-up shoes clumped on the tiled floor. Twenty-five going on fifty-five. Shrugging off the unflattering self-comparison with her colleague, Silver rushed to catch up with her friend. Maybe if she spent a bit more of her free time in the company of the confident woman, instead of holed-up in her little apartment, some of Marney’s style might rub off on her. She tried to picture her plump little body poured into tight denim and winced. Maybe not.

  ***

  The bar was busy, the post-work crowd sucking back beers and cocktails in an attempt to wash away the trials of the day in alcohol’s soothing embrace. Silver sipped the sickly-sweet concoction in front of her and forced a smile at the boorish man crammed too close onto the seat next to her. The high-backed booth hemmed them in, offering little hope of escape from his attentions. Marney cooed and flirted with his much better-looking friend on the opposite side of the table. She’d begun to suspect her colleague had an ulterior motive for inviting her the moment she made a beeline for the two men. Sitting down first had been a big mistake. Her repeated attempts to shuffle away from Pete, her date, were now thwarted by the wall. Fingers brushed her shoulder again, and she sat forward, shrugging off his unwelcome touch. His hand moved from her shoulder to her hair, bound at the base of her neck in a thick bun. He yanked the thick band holding it in place, and she winced in pain when the elastic caught in the thick mass. She slapped him away then gathered the glossy, brown length and knotted it up before it could cascade down her back.

  “Relax, baby. You’ve hardly touched your drink,” Pete slurred, blowing whisky fumes against her cheek. He’d already knocked back several beers, each with a chaser, and a faint sheen of sweat speckled his receding hairline.

  “I’m fine,” she gritted out, crossing her legs to avoid the hand wandering toward her thigh.

  “Jeez, you’re a cold fish,” he muttered, pushing out of the booth to weave unsteadily toward the bar.

  Leaping at the chance to escape, Silver stood up and pulled on her coat. Marney stopped flirting with her date long enough to frown at her. “Where are you going, Silver?”

  “I’ve got some work to do; thanks for a nice evening.” The smile on her face felt forced, as did the cheerful tone she adopted. She shouldered her rucksack, making it clear she intended to leave.

  Marney frowned again, a flash of anger in her eyes. “You can’t go yet. Tim and Pete want to take us to dinner.” She emphasized the us, and Silver ducked her head in apology, avoiding the pressure she could read in her friend’s disappointed gaze.

  “I really need to go, I’m sorry.” Her parents had raised her to always be polite and considerate, which was all well and good if everyone else was equally polite and considerate. When dealing with forceful personalities, it was her natural instinct to give in to their demands. It made her the perfect victim for those of a less altruistic nature. She was tired and bored, and if she didn’t make a stand now, there would no doubt be an awkward, probably unpleasant, end to the evening when Pete made it clear he expected some form of reimbursement for dinner. Shuddering at the thought of wrestling with him in the backseat of a cab, Silver found just enough backbone to smile and scuttle away from the table.

  “Hey! Hey, where you going?”

  She quickened her step at the sound of Pete’s voice behind her. Turning sideways, she wriggled between a large, boisterous group entering the bar and escaped the brush of fingers against her sleeve. Hurrying across the road, she eschewed her usual bus stop. Best to put a bit of distance between herself and the bar, just in case Pete decided to pursue her further.

  She turned the corner, buttoning her coat against a sudden chill wind. The businesses lining the street were all closed. Their thick security shutters covered in graffiti and the piles of garbage clogging up the drainage channels in the road gave the street a seedy, rundown air. Lights shone at a few windows in the apartments above the stores. Muffled music and occasional shouts reached her ears. Arriving at the intersection, Silver paused, recalling the address she’d looked up earlier. Tina lived less than three blocks away. It wouldn’t take more than a few minutes to check in on her. Might as well try and get something positive out of this busted evening.

  A large, black truck swerved through the intersection, running a red light, and Silver stepped back sharply from the edge of the curb. A pounding beat poured from the open windows of the truck, and a crowd of youths jeered from it as it sped past her. Ignoring her building sense of trepidation, she hurried along the sidewalk in the same direction. Vehicles passed in both directions, no taxis though, she noted. Hopefully, there would be a bus stop near Tina’s and she could catch one heading in the right direction.

  Just my luck. The tricked-out black truck sat directly in front of Tina’s building. The front end blocked the sidewalk, the driver having ridden up the curb and abandoned it. Silver skirted around it to mount the shabby, broken steps of the apartment block. Rusted railings covered the lower windows. Tiny balconies holding makeshift washing lines, a couple of sad-looking plant pots, and a motley array of belongings that had spilled out of the upper apartments lined the top two stories. None of the buzzers on the wall were labelled, but the front door to the block had been wedged open with a large brick.

  Hesitating for a moment, Silver studied the hallway. The lighting was spotty, large stretches of darkness between the weak glow of a few overhead lights. Ignoring the queasy twist in her stomach, she checked the apartment numbers on the first couple of doors—103, 105, 104 opposite. Returning to the small entrance lobby, she ignored the elevator and opted for the staircase. The smell of stale garbage and urine increased the farther she climbed, making her glad to escape the confines of the stairwell into the third-floor corridor.

  The lighting in the narrow hallway was even poorer than on the ground floor. Angry male voices spilled out from an open doorway halfway down, and Silver did a quick count of the doors. Her pulse rate increased when she realized the argument was coming from Tina’s apartment. This is a really bad idea. Concern for her student warred with her belated sense of self-preservation. The shouting increased, accompanied by so
unds of a struggle. Fear lent wings to her feet, and she fled for the stairwell, holding her breath against the unpleasant stench.

  She stumbled from the building, one hand pressed to her chest over her racing heart. Looking up and down the street, she searched in vain for a bus stop or passing cab. The slap of running feet and shouts sent her spinning off to the left, and she huddled against the side of the building away from the group of men who poured down the steps in pursuit of a skinny kid, dressed in a thin, gray sweatshirt and jeans that hung low, revealing most of his backside. The low-slung pants impeded the boy’s flight, or so it appeared when he staggered a few steps. The door to the apartment block banged closed. Silver flinched at the noise. Crouching low, she muffled a cry when the boy tripped and fell on his face.

  “Stupid, dumb fuck! No one steals from me,” a voice crowed from the top of the building steps, and a chorus of hoots, insults, and encouragement rose from the group of men arrayed around the steps.

  Silver blinked at the boy on the ground, watching the dark stain spread across the back of his pale sweatshirt. Her brain refused to cooperate, shying away from the truth her eyes were telling her. A high wail escaped her lips, and she slammed a hand over her mouth, turning in horror toward the scarred face of the man at the top of the steps. Click. Click.

  “Motherfuckinpieceofshit,” the man snarled. Like a slow-action replay, his hand swung around to point a large, black gun at her head.

  Run! Sweat pooled at the base of the spine as she stared death in the face, but her feet refused to obey her brain’s frantic screaming instructions. Tires squealing, a battered truck barreled down the street.

  “Shit! It’s the fucking cops,” one of the men shouted, and the rest of the group ran toward their abandoned truck.

  The scarred man sauntered down the steps as though he had all the time in the world, his eyes fixed on Silver. “What the fuck are you looking at, bitch?”

  She shrank farther back at the menace in his tone, unable to tear her gaze away.

  “Come on, Razor, come on man. It’s those fuckers from the task force,” a voice yelled from the open door of the black truck. The battered vehicle bounced up the curb, trying to cut off their escape route.

  “You’re dead, bitch.” The man sneered. A thick gob of spit landed on her cheek, and she choked on the sobs bursting from her throat. Cowering lower, she ignored the cold press of the dirty concrete beneath the thin pantyhose covering her legs. She tucked her head into her lap. Sobbing and shaking, she waited for the inevitable bullet to strike her down. I’m going to die without ever having an orgasm. The ridiculous thought sent a bubble of hysteria up her throat, and she curled her arms around her knees, laughing and crying at the same time.

  A few moments later, a gentle, but insistent hand shook her shoulder until Silver lifted her head. Concerned brown eyes, crinkled at the edges, studied her in concern. “Are you hurt, miss?”

  Another bubble of laughter erupted from her. “So-sorry,” she managed through the inappropriate giggles.

  “It’s all right, darlin’. You’re in shock. Can you stand up and let me check you over?” He urged her to her feet, his voice calm and soothing. She let him twist and turn her, making sure there were no injuries. “She’s fine, Charlie,” he called over his shoulder toward a second man crouched next to the fallen boy.

  “Same can’t be said for this poor kid. Any idea what happened?” His partner scrubbed his face with one hand.

  “Razor,” Silver whispered, and the man holding her spun his head back toward her.

  “What did you say?” His grip on her arm tightened, and she flinched. Easing his hold, he touched her cheek with his other hand, forcing her to look away from the body and up at him.

  “Razor shot him. That’s what one of the other’s called him, I think. He was going to sh-shoot me, but then you arrived.” Her body shook, the realization of how close she’d come to death striking home.

  An engine rumbled in the near distance, and Charlie cursed loudly. “Those fuckers are back. Better get her out of here until we can get some support.”

  The man holding her arm was already in motion, leading Silver to the battered truck. He opened the door, shoved her into the back, and piled in after her. Charlie slid into the driver’s seat, crunching gears.

  “Step on it, Charlie.”

  His partner didn’t need the instruction and was already racing down the street away from the black truck. The man beside her fastened a seat belt around her, patted her knee, and settled his body in the opposite corner of the rear seat. His position enabled him to keep an eye on both her and the road behind them.

  He pulled out his phone and made a succession of rapid calls, the first one to his captain. He rattled off a stream of information that stunned her in the level of detail he’d accumulated in those few minutes on the street. Keeping his attention fixed on the rear window, he finished his conversation and dialed another number.

  “Hey, Derek, it’s Jesse. I have a situation, and I could do with some help.” He paused for a moment then spoke again. “No, no, Alexa’s fine. I need a place to hide someone for a few days, though.”

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Epilogue

  Wolf Moon by Desiree Holt