Greykin Mountain

| 46 | An Offer of Assistance

⥐ ⋞ ☽ ⋟ ⥐

Jackson checked out before dawn.

          He yawned and dragged his hand over his face, hurrying down the murky street. It took him longer than he'd hoped to find a hotel that didn't look like a drug den or like it had a bedbug infestation. But the fact he'd had to pick one that was considerably more expensive might not matter once Damon came to him today with stuff to sell from the ruin.

          The slightest sound or movement made him look over his shoulder. There was no sign of his stalker, though. Just the occasional jogger or dog walker. That didn't mean he was going to let his guard down. Liam could be out there, so he'd take a long walk and try to lose him just in case.

          What did Liam have planned for him if he caught him? Would he slaughter him in an alley? Take him to where all those missing people were? Or would he interrogate him and find out what he knew?

          A cold shiver ran down his spine.

          He looked over his shoulder as he crossed the road; he saw someone standing by a parking meter, but when his heart started racing, the man threw his cigarette and went back into the house across from the meter.

          Jackson sighed, waiting for a car to pass before he crossed another road. What if he set a trap and caught Liam? Maybe he could find out what that guy wanted. But he was a demon; Jackson had no idea how much stronger than him Liam was, and it probably wasn't wise to take a risk.

          What was he supposed to do? Keep watching his back, let this guy follow him, and hope he didn't catch him?

          He hoped he wouldn't have to stay here much longer. Damon said a week or two; he could avoid Liam for that long...right?

          Jackson reached the other side of town; he navigated each street, slinked down every alley, and doubled back on himself a few times, turning what could have been a fifteen-minute walk into an hour. It was better to be safe than sorry, though. And when he reached Cliffton Street, he approached Cliffton Hotel.

          The building was ivory white with black paned windows. The snow had been shovelled off the stairs, and the smell of cooking breakfast came from within.

          Before he stepped inside, he looked around to make sure he was alone. Once he was sure, he headed inside and exhaled deeply. There was an old man sitting in the reception area reading a newspaper, and the receptionist was typing on his laptop.

          Jackson headed to the desk, checked in, and made his way up to his room via the elevator.

          The moment he got into his room, he didn't bother unpacking. He fell into his bed, lazily pulled the covers over himself, and closed his eyes with a deep, relieved sigh. Just a few more hours of sleep, and he'd be ready to face the day.

⥗ ❅ ⥖

          A blurting choir of car and truck horns woke Jackson hours later. He groaned as he rolled over onto his back, but the noise grew louder and was soon joined by yelling voices.

          Jackson scowled and looked at the window. What the hell was going on out there?

          He got up, pulled the curtain open, and stared at the street below. A logging truck was blocking the road—it looked like it skidded on the ice, leaving just inches of space between both its front and back, and the buildings on either side of the road. An angry mob of cars and people were yelling at the helpless driver, who couldn't even get out of the truck because the side of it had collided with a tree, preventing him from opening the door.