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His eyes went wild once more, wide and crazed. He scanned the wall, all that noise… all that music behind it, and the next thing I knew, he was out of bed. He had on nothing but his boxers since that was what he’d come to bed in. He did after he’d driven around for over an hour finding me a bonnet.
I wore that now, thinking it was so sweet he’d done that but I was really freaking confused. I was confused about a lot of things, and the latest was watching Thatcher rip the door open of our motel room in nothing but a pair of boxers and the cross chain he wore. His dark hair was strewn about, something normally really sexy on him, but now, it made him appear wild and untamed.
He disappeared into the night air. I saw nothing but his naked back and broad shoulders when he moved swiftly into the night. He was barefoot, and I was too when I ran after him.
Normally, I’d care about being braless. I literally had on nothing but the T-shirt and shorts we’d bought earlier at the store. Well, that and my bonnet.
My mother would really keel over seeing me out like this in public, but my appearance was the last thought on my fucking mind right now.
Thatcher was slamming his fists into a door.
His mighty knuckles punched, already bandaged from our time in the woods, but now, they were bruising, bleeding. I screamed. “Thatcher!”
He was leaving blood on the door, streaks every time he hit the thing again and again, and that music was so loud. I covered my ears, I think overly stimulated between the music, the ringing in my head, and Thatcher hitting this door. It was old music, a male soloist with a sound that came out of the 1960s or something.
The guy’s voice was drowned out every time Thatcher slammed his meaty fists against the door, and eventually, his punches turned into kicks. Using his bare feet, Thatcher shot his foot into the door, and alarmed, I started to grab for him but thought better. I knuckled my hands. “Thatcher…”
In the end, it only took two kicks. That was how strong this guy was, how big, powerful. The door in front of us fell off its hinges, and Thatcher thought nothing about going inside this person’s room.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, man?” A man ran from the bathroom in nothing but a towel. Steam came from the room he’d been in like he’d been in the shower, and Thatcher ignored him as he headed toward the back of the room and the source of the music. It was a vintage-looking radio. Our room had one of those too, but we hadn’t used it.
This guy would no longer get to use his, because as soon as Thatcher got to it, he ripped it out of the wall. He then threw it at the wall, then charged his bare foot into it for good measure.
I wished it would have stopped there.
Thatcher took his bleeding and bruised fists and punched at the radio, over and over again despite the fact the music stopped long ago. I watched him, horrified, and I must have been screaming, and he must have finally fucking heard me.
Because he faced me.
He’d done so on autopilot, sweat on his brow, his chest. He also had blood going down his fingers. It dripped to the floor by his feet, which were also cut, bleeding.
Awareness blinked into his eyes again. Like it had before when he woke up and realized I was there beside him.
I swallowed. “Thatcher...”
Instinctually, I reached out. He just… I couldn’t help it. He appeared like an animal, confused.
Lost.
He very much looked like a werewolf after it transformed and destroyed everything, and I hesitated my reach when he glanced around. He was able to see now what he’d done. The broken radio at his feet. The man in the towel staring stunned at us both.
Then there was the fact that he was bleeding.
We both had small cuts from the woods, but this was different. The bandages he still had on his hands were gone or bled through. I stepped forward. “Thatch?—”
My voice made him cringe, and he stepped back. He became animal-like again, cowering like he’d hurt me. I didn’t understand and even more so when he rushed past me.
“I’m calling the fucking cops,” the guy in the towel said behind me, and once he said that, I got out of there too. I went after Thatcher, but I wasn’t quick enough.
He was already in his car.
I stood on the sidewalk with bare feet and shaking limbs, nothing more I could do. My ride and the only person I knew backed out of his parking spot with smoke literally on his wheels. Thatcher shifted, then peeled off into the night, leaving me, and my back hit the wall. I could hear inside my head now that the music wasn’t playing. I could hear my own voice.
It was screaming.
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
