Page 17

Samantha

We move on from that drab, depressing motel soon after the sun rises. It’s enough time for the three of us to caffeinate, shower, eat some more dumplings, and feel partly human after a couple days of existing as nothing more than a pressing, adrenaline-pumped primal instinct for survival — along with the other, just as primal, urges that seem to come up whenever Diesel smiles in my direction and drops the mask of being a colossal asshole.

“You’re driving,” he says as he slips into the front passenger seat of my car. Hunter gets into the back, grunting something that might be agreement.

“Why me?” I say.

“Keeps your hands busy,” Hunter says. “Not that we suspect you’ll try anything, but if you do, that little bit of delay will be all the time one of us needs to teach you a hard lesson.”

“We know you won’t. You’re not dumb. You’ll drive where we tell you to, and when we get to where we need to be, you’ll be free to go. Or whatever,” Diesel says with a cavalier sigh as he stretches out in his seat and lets out a deep yawn. “Now, let’s go.”

I decide not to argue. What the hell — even if I have a gun pointed at me and someone else giving me directions, having my hands on the steering wheel and my foot on the gas is still the most control I’ve had over my life in days. Almost the moment we leave the parking lot, Diesel lets out another yawn, stretches out and makes himself comfortable, and then falls asleep. He snores. Deeply. Instantly.

“Let him rest,” Hunter says.

“I like it better when he’s sleeping,” I say, though I’m not sure I mean it.

“Sometimes I do, too. But this time, that bastard needs to rest. I know he intentionally didn’t wake me in time for my guard shift."

“Does he do things like that often?” My eyes drift off the road for a moment to look over at Diesel, and something in my voice must betray me, because Hunter chuckles.

“Sometimes. But keep your eyes on the road instead of the diversions. It’s safer in more ways than you think.”

“What do you mean?”

“Aside from the obvious benefit of not crashing?” Hunter pauses. “It’s the main reason I’m not going to sleep, and I don’t mean distrust for you, Samantha. After what we pulled and who we pissed off, we have to keep our eyes on our six.”

I look at my car’s dashboard clock. “It’s a little after seven.”

“No, I mean behind us.”

“Oh.”

“Exactly. You focus on driving, follow my directions, and I’ll focus on keeping an eye out for the people who want to kill us. We’re a long way from being out of the woods. Hell, that forest probably runs to the ocean and a good few states north and south. Drive careful, stick to the speed limit, and be ready for some boredom, because we’re taking the long way.”

Hunter’s idea of taking the long way means taking back roads, side roads, dirt roads, and everything but wagon-track remnants of the Oregon Trail as we head west. At one point on our ambling, meandering, practically-freaking-lost trek westward, we pass a clearing where I swear I see a woman who looks like Pocahontas, but then I blink, and she’s gone.

After a couple of hours of driving, Hunter taps my shoulder.

“Take the next turn. We need to stop and refuel.”

The turn off the road leads to a gas station and bar combination that looks like a relic from an earlier age, when drinking and driving wasn’t so much a concern as it was a fact of life. The bar’s name is unreadable — there’s a sign that’s so rusted that the only thing I can make out on it are the last three letters: “un’s.” We park alongside a handful of cars and trucks so beaten up that they make me wonder if “un’s” isn’t also a scrapyard.

“Wake up,” Hunter says as he slaps Diesel on the back of the head. “It’s time to eat.”

Diesel sits up and holds his hand to the side of his head. “You could’ve just shaken my shoulder, asshole.”

“Not as fun. Come on, let’s go inside. We’ve earned a break.”

“Where are we?” Diesel says as he gets out of the car.

“Can’t you see the sign?” I say, pointing. “We’re at ‘un’s.’”

Diesel squints at the rusted sign, then turns to me with a frown. "Smartass. Let's hope the food is better than the decor."

“It’d have to be, right?” I say.

“Speaking from experience, the food can always be worse,” Hunter says.

The inside of "un's" is just as worn down as the exterior. A few haggard patrons sit scattered around the dingy bar, nursing beers and shots of whiskey. The bartender, a grizzled man with a salt-and-pepper beard, eyes us suspiciously as we enter. The air smells like burned meat, spilled beer, and dead dreams. Hunter leads the way to a booth in the back corner, the cracked vinyl seats letting out a tired sigh as we slide in.

A server, her hair piled high in a messy bun, saunters over and drops three greasy menus on the table. “What do you want?”

“Hi,” I start, but that’s as far as I get before the server clears her throat.

“We don’t have conversation on the menu, honey. Just food.”

I scan the offerings, my stomach growling despite the questionable cleanliness of the establishment. Diesel seems to have no such qualms, immediately flipping to the burger section.

"I'll have the double bacon cheeseburger and extra fries," he tells the server when she returns. "And a beer."

Hunter orders the same, while I opt for a slightly safer choice of a grilled chicken sandwich. As we wait for our food, an uncomfortable silence settles over the table. I fidget with the paper napkin, tearing it into tiny pieces. Hunter keeps his eyes trained on the door, his body tense. Diesel seems completely at ease, leaning back in the booth with his arms stretched out along the top.

"So, what's the plan now?" I finally ask, unable to take the quiet any longer. “How much longer?”

Hunter and Diesel exchange a loaded glance.

"We've still got a ways to travel," Hunter says carefully. "But we're making good progress."

"And then what? You'll just let me go?"

Diesel leans forward, his elbows on the table. "Like I said, once we get where we're going, you'll be free to do whatever you want. But that’s still going to be a while.”

“Can I call Jake?” I say. “I could use the bar’s phone, or borrow one from one of those guys.” I gesture toward a pool table in the bar’s corner near the hallway marked “troom” which I think leads to the bathroom and just reflects the owner of “un’s” having a love of incomplete words and broken signs.

Both Hunter and Diesel open their mouths to protest, but Diesel speaks first.

“Fuck no.”

“He’s in danger. I need to warn him.”

“He’s the one who put you in danger, so the fuckhead can deal with some consequences a little longer until we get you to safety. Maybe that’ll teach him to stop leaning on good people as a crutch to support his fucking bullshit,” Diesel snaps. “You deserve better than that scum-sucking shitstain.”

My sight goes red and I stand up. “That’s my brother, you jerk. He makes mistakes, sure, but I still love him. I’m going to go use the ‘troom.’”

“The what?” Diesel says.

I point at the sign. “Can’t you read? It says ‘troom.’”

“Troom?” Diesel looks at it, squints, frowns. “What the fuck is with this place? Why is everything half missing?”

“I’ve been wondering the same thing about your brain,” I say, then I turn and storm toward the troom.

When I enter the troom, I feel like I’ve stepped into the bathroom at a five-star hotel; it features a lemon verbena-scented soap that smells so good it instantly makes my mood feel twenty-five percent better, the hand towels are made of plush cotton, and there’s even a dispenser of lavender hand moisturizer I make liberal use of. After the mystifying troom, I head straight for the group of men gathered around the pool table. They look a little rough, but that doesn’t put me off; I’ve worked advocating for people who’ve looked even rougher, but still had good hearts and good intentions. Appearances can be deceiving.

“Hey, do you guys have a phone that I could borrow for a minute? Mine’s having some problems and I just need to make a call.”

One man in a torn flannel shirt, torn jeans, and with a long beard that makes him look like either he’s up with the latest fashion trends or at the frayed end of his rope, turns away from the table and gives me a gap-toothed smile. As he smiles and looks at me, the collar of his shirt shifts and reveals a strange-looking tattoo just below his neckline.

“You need to make a call, lady? You want that I should lend you my phone?”

“I would like to borrow it for a second, yes.”

His eyes drift up and down my form. “That so?” He steps closer, and his lack of dental hygiene hits me in the nose. “Are you with those guys over there in the corner?”

“I am. Look, I just want to use your phone. May I?”

Another man turns away from the table and takes up a position blocking the line of sight between me and where Hunter and Diesel are sitting, watching this situation unfold with wary scowls on their faces.

The gap-toothed man leans in. I see more of his tattoo on his neck, but I can’t make out what it says or what it is.

“Is one of those men over there your boyfriend?”

“No, they’re just friends.”

“Are they really? So you don’t have a man in your life?”

“What do you mean? Why are you asking me?”

He steps so close that my entire world because his sun-aged, rugged, gap-toothed face. He smiles at me, and I see he had bacon with his breakfast.

“A woman like you, looking like you do, traveling with two men like that, it causes some questions. Questions that could have some very interesting answers. Maybe I want to pry. Maybe I want to pry real hard.”

“Leave her alone if you know what’s good for you. We don’t want any trouble, but don’t think you won’t catch hell if you try.” It’s Diesel. He’s on his feet, eyes wide, scowl now something closer to a snarl.

The man with the gap-teeth ignores Diesel. His eyes consume me with their rheumy hunger. “We’ve had trouble with people like him before. Violent thugs who think they can do whatever the fuck they want. Scum that don’t respect anyone or anything if it stands between them and what they want. I can see that you’re a smart, caring woman. You should know that the boys and I, we’ve worked really hard to make this town into a safe space. So, if they are harassing you, if you are in danger, if they’ve taken you or threatened you, you can tell us. We can take care of them, and we can take care of you, too.”

I take a step back, not out of fear, but confusion. Confusion, and the fact that the man’s breath is so fetid my eyes are watering and I don’t want to insult his kindness by throwing up on him.

“I really don’t know what to say. I just…”

“I told you to leave her alone,” Diesel yells. His eyes are on fire, and he storms toward us.

The man with the gaps in his teeth turns to face Diesel.

“Just sit down and let me talk to the lady. This is none of your business, just a conversation between two adults.”

Two other men leave their spots at the pool table and interpose themselves, blocking Diesel. I see the same tattoo as on the gap-toothed man’s neck on these other two men, too. One has it on his upper forearm, and I get a glimpse as he rolls his sleeves up; the other has it on the back of his neck, just barely concealed by his long, scraggly hair.

I take a step away from them, my nerves tingling.

“You know what? I don’t need to make that phone call after all.”

“Nonsense. What kind of hosts would we be if we didn’t help you out? And once we’ve taken care of these two assholes, we’ll be happy to host you here as long as you like, sweetheart.”

There might be more the gap-toothed man wants to say, but he doesn’t get the chance, as Diesel leaps towards him and all hell breaks loose; Hunter comes running from his place at the booth. Fists and feet fly, and I can only stand, open-mouthed, heart in my throat as a vicious brawl erupts.

The server screams like a woman possessed and runs to take cover behind the bar.

Diesel lands a solid punch on the gap-toothed man's jaw, sending him stumbling backwards. Hunter grapples with two others, his movements swift and precise. Despite being outnumbered, they seem to be holding their own.

I back away, pressing myself against the wall, my eyes wide with fear and disbelief.

The server continues to scream, her shrill voice rising above the din of the fight. "Stop it! Stop it right now!"

But her pleas go unheeded; the men are locked in a brutal dance, their faces contorted with rage and determination. I glimpse the strange tattoo again on the arm of one man as he swings at Hunter; the ink rippling across his skin like a menacing flag. Hunter ducks and counters with a series of punches that staggers the man back onto the pool table. Pool balls go flying and the pool table groans at the extra weight.

“Don’t forget about our order,” Hunter calls out to the server, who ignores him and just continues crying.

At that moment, the cook comes charging out of the kitchen with a cleaver in his hand. His sleeves are rolled up and I see the same tattoo winding around his forearm like a venomous snake. He runs toward Diesel, knife raised, and my heart freezes — Diesel is still trading blows with the gap-toothed man and one of his friends and has no idea the danger he’s in.

“Look out,” I scream and then I grab one of the pool cues off the table. Gripping it tight with both hands like a baseball bat, I run toward the cook and swing the cue, smacking him on the side of his head and sending him sprawling. I hit him once more, then stop when his body goes limp.

“Samantha, toss it here,” Diesel calls, and I throw him the cue stick. He catches it with one hand, turns, and swings it with a vicious vengeance. The pool cue splinters with a loud crack as it connects with the man's skull. He crumples to the ground, blood trickling from his temple. Diesel tosses aside the broken cue and ducks just in time to avoid a wild punch from another attacker.

Hunter has subdued one of his opponents, pinning him to the floor with a knee pressed to his back. But another one of the men grabs a chair and swings it towards Hunter's head; I cry out a warning and Hunter rolls to the side, the chair narrowly missing him and shattering against the floor.

Diesel tackles the man with the chair. They grapple on the ground, trading brutal blows. I look around frantically for another weapon, my eyes landing on a heavy glass ashtray. I grab it and rush over to where Diesel is locked in a struggle with one of the men, his face bloody, the other man’s hands wrapped around his throat.

"Get off him!" I yell and bring the ashtray down hard on the back of the man's head.

He slumps forward, knocked out cold.

Diesel shoves him aside and staggers to his feet, blood dripping from a cut above his eye.

"Thanks," he grunts, and wipes his face with the back of his hand. “Don’t these fucking assholes know I’ve already had my fill of this bullshit?”

“Seriously. I’m going to give this place such a fucking bad review online,” Hunter says. He stands over one of the prone men, his foot on the back of the man’s head.

“Two stars. Max,” Diesel says.

All I can do is stand and stare, my heart running like crazy inside my chest. The server huddles behind the bar, sobbing hysterically. The few other patrons have long since fled. I can't believe what just happened. I was in a bar fight. Me. It doesn’t feel real, but it doesn’t feel wrong, either. Because, when I saw that man coming at Diesel with a knife, something inside me snapped — I didn't even think, I just acted on pure instinct to protect what was important to me.

Diesel turns to me, his chest heaving, a wild look in his eyes. "Samantha, that was..."

But before he can finish, I whirl around to face the men who harassed me earlier. They're struggling to get up, moaning in pain. I feel a surge of anger and righteous indignation; they weren’t Good Samaritans trying to save me; the tattoos and all the other signs click together in my head and I know exactly what they wanted to do to me.

"You think you ever had a chance with me?" I yell at them. "Heck no. Get a load of this, because you're never going to get it."

And then, without hesitation, I grab Diesel by the front of his shirt and pull him towards me. Our lips crash together, and a jolt of electricity surges through me from head to toe. His kiss is rough and hungry, his stubble scrapes against my skin; I melt into him. All the adrenaline and fear and pent-up desire pour out of me in this one searing, mind-blowing kiss.

I sigh, I moan, I kiss him deeper and feel his hands slide down my back to grip my ass. I lose myself, and I love it.

Then it hits me what I’m doing.

And who I’m doing it with.

This is wrong.

For a moment, I pull back, my eyes wide, my hands shaking.

But then I see the look in Diesel’s eyes — the intense, burning desire and the determined possessiveness of a man who put his life on the line to protect me; he wants more.

Just like me.

And, when Diesel reaches out and places his hand gently on the back of my head to pull my lips back to his, I don’t fight it…

I meet him halfway.