Page 15 of Run Little Killer

LENNON

H azy pinks and blues paint the sky, the morning sun barely peeking over the horizon as we ride over to Huber Auto.

The cool breeze is earthy and sweet as it brushes past, chestnut waves blowing behind me.

To most, this would be idealistic, a peaceful morning, the perfect ride, but I can’t shake the sense of unease rooted deep in my gut.

Last night should have been day two of my hellish dream trilogy, but the nightmare never came.

Since they started, they've always come in threes.

No matter how I tried to evade them, they came back relentlessly, forcing me to relive the worst moments of my life in a suspended state, mind and body unable to tell that it's a fucked up memory versus my current reality.

After we all finished last night, Rhett gently wiped my face and cleaned between my legs with a warm wash cloth while Nix kicked my underwear towards me and headed into the bathroom.

I remember one moment, I was lying there in a blissed-out haze with the low hum of the AC acting like a discount sound machine, and then the next, it was morning.

And there’s no better way to wake up than to a shirtless Rhett and his low hanging sweats handing me a cup of coffee with his V taper at eye level.

I should be happy that I didn't have the nightmare, but I can't stop dreading the next time I sleep.

The bike jerks in the slightest as Rhett downshifts, guiding it into the parking lot. A sun-bleached red and white sign is mounted on the old brick building, a man in a navy mechanic jumpsuit waiting in front of the garage door as we slow to a stop.

"Kurt," Rhett greets with a hint of question in his tone as he cuts the engine.

The guy nods, wiping grease from his hands on a tattered red rag.

Rhett and Nix dismount their bikes and stride towards him, each shaking his hand and introducing themselves. I climb off the bike, adjusting my leggings and smile politely. He glances in my direction, a skeptical look on his face as he asks, "She part of the crew?"

"Something like that," Nix snickers, adjusting his backwards hat.

"No one mentioned her to me when setting this up," he says, folding his arms across his chest. "I'm not one for surprises."

I roll my eyes, shifting my attention towards Rhett and ask, "Can I grab a coffee?" Tipping my head towards the cafe across the street.

I still don't know exactly what it is that Rhett and Nix do for their motorcycle club, and if this guy’s warm and fuzzy greeting is any indication, it's probably for the best that I don’t. Ignorance is bliss or whatever the fuck they say.

Rhett and Nix share a look, Kurt's beady eyes boring into me as I shift my weight from foot to foot. The seconds seem to stretch by before Nix mumbles, "Yeah," slipping a hand into his back pocket and pulling out his wallet.

"There's a pot inside," Kurt offers. "Brewed it about twenty minutes ago. Go on in and help yourself, little lady."

I bite back a grimace at the nickname, willing my face not to have subtitles this time as Nix subtly dips his chin, giving me the okay. Rhett shoots me a wink, his perfect smile making my stomach swoop and pussy clench as I pivot around.

Thoughts of just how good it feels to have that smile spread between my thighs filter through my mind as I walk across the concrete.

The hinges of the metal door groan as I twist the handle and pull it open.

It smells like grease and motor oil when I step inside, fluorescent lights hanging from exposed metal beams and a poorly tuned radio station playing in the background.

My head swivels in search of the coffee pot, passing a silver Toyota with its hood popped on my left as I wander towards the back.

To my right, the word "Restroom" is written in sharpie on a wooden door– charming– and on a folding table beside a microwave is a coffee pot that has to be older than me.

Grabbing a styrofoam cup off the stack to the side of the machine, I pick up the carafe and fill my cup.

The first sip burns my tongue as I continue to take in my surroundings.

There's a faded Budget rental truck in the bay beside the Toyota, a pudgy redheaded man leaning back against the driver door.

He eyes me cautiously, slowly raking his gaze up my body before settling on my face.

The heat of his stare burns into me and an eerie feeling blooms in my chest, encouraging me to take a step back and glance away.

Faded posters of half naked women draped over shiny sports cars paper the wall as my gaze falls on the parts magazine sprawled open on the table.

Buy one get one free antifreeze, oh boy.

I take another drink of my coffee, the sound of feet shuffling across the cement floor drawing my attention away from a cartoon ad for brake cleaner. Eyes still locked on to me, the creepy redhead comes closer, leaning down over the nearby table, forehead crinkling as he continues to stare.

"What's your name, sweetheart?" he asks.

The pet name sounds vile and condescending as it rolls off his tongue, the baby hairs on the back of my neck raising as I respond. "No thanks, I've gotta pee."

Everything about his vibe gives me the ick as I discard my cup and turn towards the restroom.

I step inside and go right for the sink, twisting the cracked plastic handle.

Cool water runs from the faucet into my palms as my forearms rest against the dingy ceramic sink.

Folding forward, I splash my face, trying to shake this uncomfortable feeling.

I straighten and stand, turning off the water as I rip a paper towel from the roll. Feeling mildly better, I pat my face dry and toss the towel into the trash before moving towards the door. I jump back with a scream as it flies open, reverberating as it bounces off the wall.

"I knew I recognized you!" the redhead shouts as he barrels inside. "You're the psycho bitch from the news!"

My jaw clenches, heart slamming in my chest, panic and anger mingling in my system. I want to punch him in the throat for calling me a psycho, but another part of me just wants to run and avoid touching him in any capacity.

Except he’s blocking my fucking exit.

"I wasn't sure at first, but then I saw that scar and I fucking just knew it!" he chuckles excitedly. "Fuck this job, I'll just cash out on the reward they’re offering for you instead."

My throat tightens, my fight or flight response taking over as I try to figure out how the fuck to get out of here.

He lunges forward, and I duck down to skirt around him, reaching for the door handle.

I start to pull it open, but his large hand smacks down and forces it shut.

I try to dart around him again, jerking back as his fingers skim my arm.

The toe of my shoe catches on the other, and I stumble into the tin trash can, sending it crashing to its side.

As I falter a step, he closes the distance between us, shoving me into the wall.

The air punches from my lungs as my back smacks the concrete and my stomach churns as he uses his body to pin me in place. The smell of cheap weed and axe body spray floods my nostrils as I struggle to suck in a breath.

"Listen here, psycho bitch, we can do this the easy way or the hard way," he spits, pressing his hips into mine, grinding his erection against my thigh.

I struggle, my pulse pounding in my ears as I try to slide out from beneath him. He's too strong, and with a shift of his weight, I'm more trapped than I was before.

He moves a hand between us, bile creeping up the back of my throat as he tugs at the waistband of my leggings.

It's too familiar.

"HELP!" I start to scream as the serrated edge of a blade bites into the soft skin of my neck. A warm trickle of blood runs down my collarbone as I go silent.

"Don't make another fucking sound," he growls in my ear, burying his face into the crook of my neck.

My heart seizes, pulse ratcheting higher as black spots cloud my vision. All the memories of that night come flooding back. His red hair fades to brown, his face morphing into Shawn's as my muscles tense.

I inhale sharply, ready to take my chances with his blade.

What's another scar, anyways? My mouth hinges open to scream again and I pause.

Would it even matter? No one came for me that night, why would someone save me this time?

Maybe this is my penance for Chad. But if that's true, what did I do to deserve that from Shawn?

The room spins, and I suddenly feel like an unwanted guest in my own body.

All the questionable things I've done so far in my life rush through my mind on a loop, relentlessly teasing me like that weird uncle at the fucked up family reunion.

I search for the moment where I did something worthy of what was done to me, but none of it seems like enough.

If my actions didn't justify it, was I just not worth being saved?

A phone pings, abruptly stopping my spiral.

"Shit," he mumbles, his hold loosening.

His eyes drift down, body rocking back in the slightest, the blade no longer flush against my skin as he moves a hand toward his pocket. Adrenaline courses through me, body buzzing and tingling like I just licked a livewire. I'm fucking worth it, dammit, if to no one else than at least to myself.

I dart a hand up to grab the knife, my fingers managing to wedge beneath his and grip the handle. On instinct he closes his fist, palm squeezing around the blade as I yank it backwards. A scream rips from his throat as bright crimson rivulets trail from the fresh gash.

"Fucking psycho ass bitch," he hisses, rearing back his arm. His bloodied palm cracks across my cheek with a squelching sound, whipping my head to the side, teeth rattling in my skull .

"I'm not fucking crazy!" I shout, voice breaking as hot tears prick at the backs of my eyes.

His skin splits, easily parting as I bury the blade into his stomach.

He chokes on a breath, eyes wide as he staggers backward.

My bottom lip trembles, tears starting to blur my vision as I let out a feral scream and drive the knife into his stomach again.

Blood sloshes from each wound I create, his pale blue shirt unrecognizable as it stains red.

I let out a gasp and flinch as the door flies open, wood splintering as it crashes against the wall. In that moment of distraction, the bleeding prick lunges at me, bloody hands clamping onto my shoulders.

"Lennon!" Rhett shouts, a crazed look I've never seen before in his blue eyes as they lock onto mine.

Rhett's thick and corded forearms flex, inked fingers roughly grabbing the man’s face and twisting his head until the bones crack.

His arms go limp in an instant, sliding off my shoulders and hanging limply between us.

Rhett releases his hold, the body crumpling to the floor as his head folds unnaturally to the side.

Holy shit, Rhett just snapped his neck.