Werewolf Sings the Blues Read Online Free PDF Page B

on me. “Don’t you—”
    In the stairwell, something behind gets Cooper’s attention because, gun first, he spins around. The man doesn’t even make it all the way around before the back of his head explodes as a single shot booms around me. Cooper’s head jerks back as bits of skull and brain splash out. Motherfu … I’m too shocked and horrified to scream. I can’t even move as I hear pounding footsteps up the stairwell. A second later the blonde steps out, gun trained on Cooper’s lifeless body. The man bends down, checking Cooper’s pulse with his paw. Paw. It’s really a paw. Cooper must still be alive because the blonde puts two into his head and two more into his heart. I feel nothing, not even revulsion.
    The blonde’s eyes cock up and look into mine. “He’s dead.”
    â€œOh.”
    Blondie shoves the empty gun into his pants and flops the corpse over to retrieve Cooper’s wallet. Just as the blonde finishes desecrating the corpse, my stalker tilts his head to the left like a dog and springs into the standing position. “The police are coming. We have to go.” He bridges the thirty-foot gap between us with a few strides, but I can’t move. I can’t take my eyes off that body. “Vivian?”
    That paw touches my arm. I’m snapped back to reality, or this new version of it. Gasping, I jerk my head up to see his face. It’s expressionless except for the eyes. A tinge of concern attempts to break through the ice. “Vivian Frances Dahl, daughter to Frank and Michelle, I am here to protect you and deliver you to safety. No harm will come to you, I swear on my life, but we must leave now. Please get in the car. Now.”
    Okay, not a fucking clue why, but I believe him. No other option really. I nod, and he nods back. My fate’s sealed one way or another. Blondie takes the keys and cell from my hand, which practically has to be pried open I’ve been holding them so tight. He unlocks the Mustang, and I follow him in. “Get the gun under the seat,” he says cranking the ignition. As I do, he maneuvers out of the parking spot. Glock 9mm. “If I ask, hand it to me right away and get down. Open your window.” My hand trembles so bad I can barely press the button to lower it. He drives normally, using the paw to turn the wheel. With the other, he hands me the first gun. “There’s a spare clip in the glove box. Reload this. Do you know how to shoot?”
    â€œUm, yes. Kind of.”
    Down the ramp there’s a small group of people, including a security guard, standing around the demolished car and Donovan. Bleeding, but not dead. Shit. He glances from the woman fussing over him to our car. Donovan says something and points at us. The guard’s mouth flops open, and he fumbles for his walkie talkie. Double shit. Blondie guns the engine, and I’m thrown back into my seat like we’re reentering gravity. We zoom past the bystanders and around the corner. Driving like a maniac he maneuvers us down to the gate. The attendant steps out of her booth, waving for us to stop. Yeah, right. I spot flashing lights and hear sirens to our left as the police approach. Without hesitation, Blondie smashes through the wooden gate. Tires squeal and the back of the car fishtails as he cuts a sharp right turn. Blondie gains control with a few quick wheel jerks, but I grip the door and dash for dear life.
    â€œPut on your seat belt,” Blondie orders, still calm.
    Oh. Right.
    Though my arms tremble as if I have advanced Parkinson’s, I manage to buckle the belt, though it takes three attempts. “W-What the fuck is going on? Who the hell are you? Who the hell were they?”
    â€œShit,” Blondie says as he glances in the rearview mirror.
    I snap my head around and count three sets of flashing police lights dangerously weaving between the four lanes gaining on us. Holy fuck I’m