Page 18 of Run Little Killer

RHETT

" S orry," Lennon says softly as I drag the red headed guy– Micheal McFarlane from Henderson, West Virginia, according to his drivers license– from the bathroom and across the concrete floor of the garage.

The metal grates of the floor drain clang as I drop his legs, wiping my hands off on my jeans. "Don't you ever apologize for someone else's actions,” I grumble. “Especially some piece of shit that put his hands on you."

Her lips tug up at the corners– the same lips that were just wrapped around my cock, kissing the base as I unloaded down her throat– and a mischievous smirk spreads across her face. "Thanks, but I was talking about your jeans."

I glance down at the slightly darker patch of denim on the inside of my thigh where her sweet cunt came on me repeatedly. “Oh, that,” I chuckle, shaking my head. "Never apologize for coming on me, darlin’."

"Noted," she replies, rolling her bottom lip between her teeth.

She's making light of things, and while I know we were able to diffuse the moment and break her out of her panic attack, it's clear she's still a little shaken.

And she definitely doesn't need to be around for this next part.

I watch as she fills a styrofoam cup with coffee and takes a sip. Just like the night we found her, she's covered in blood. I can't just send her away to the cafe across the street without drawing unnecessary attention.

"Why don't you head into the office," I suggest, tipping my head towards the door on the back wall as I grab an empty oil drum.

"Pass," she says, placing her cup on the workbench.

"This isn't going to be pretty, darlin'," I warn, rolling the drum across the concrete.

Her fingers curl around the metal edge of the workbench as she hoists herself up to sit. "Story of my life," she snorts.

"Lennon–" I start, the sharp clang of the metal drum interrupting me as I drop it near the body.

"I'm not leaving," she snaps. "I need this, Rhett."

Her eyes pin me in place as she brings the cup to her lips and takes another sip. A moment of silence stretches between us, and I fold like I was just dealt the shittiest hand in a round of hold ‘em.

Who am I to tell her how to process her shit?

Carding my fingers through my hair, I flash her a smile. "Suit yourself. Just head into the office if it becomes too much."

"Unlikely," she quips, pulling one leg up and tucking it beneath her.

I raise a brow in her direction and she matches me, lifting her own in challenge.

This girl's something else .

A high-pitched wail cuts through the air before I can respond, Nix stepping out from behind a silver Toyota wearing a mechanic's jumpsuit and holding an angle grinder. He looks towards Lennon, a feral grin spreading across his face.

"If I had it my way, he'd still be breathing while I did this, but the old man beat me to the kill.

" He turns his attention to the corpse on the ground.

"Dr. Hawthorne is ready for surgery," he says, jerking his head so the plastic shield drops down to cover his face.

He revs the trigger of the grinder like the showboating bastard he is as he walks towards the body.

Crouching down, Nix brings the spinning disc to the dead guy’s left hand, wet chewing sounds filling the air as blood and flesh spray out. He then repeats the motion on the other, the motor of the grinder winding down as he sets it on the concrete.

"You know, I don't think I said it yet," he murmurs, plucking up the hands from the floor and looking over at me. "But, you go Glen Coco," he mocks, clapping the severed hands together. Wet, sloppy slaps sound, blood dripping as he shifts his gaze to Lennon and winks.

She pauses, coffee cup just inches from her lips, and laughs. God what a sound. I don't think she's laughed yet– truly laughed. Rather than a cold and forced defense mechanism, this is warm and smooth like a shot of top shelf whiskey.

"Did you just quote Mean Girls ?" she asks, gaping at him in astonishment.

"Sure fucking did. It's hilarious," he deadpans, dropping the severed hands to the floor with a wet splat.

Nix comes off as a miscreant most of the time.

A menace to society– and a pain in my ass more often than not– but I know he is capable of caring.

The night he got patched in, he drank his weight in cheap liquor to celebrate.

After the last club cunt crawled out of our room, I learned that an obliterated Nix was the most open version.

He talked about his mom and his fucked up time in foster care, how joining the Deviant Devils made him feel like he actually belonged somewhere for once.

Kid’s a shithead, but life made him that way– one disappointment after another until his only option was to hide behind a hardened exterior.

Lennon takes a sip of her coffee, lowering the cup back down as she shakes her head.

The angle grinder whirrs back to life as Nix sinks to a knee beside the body.

Pressing the disc into a thigh, it rips through the denim.

Blood spews out and splatters across his face shield, the grinder whining as the disc starts to chew through the bone.

It sounds like a goddamn fork in a garbage disposal before the last bit of bone is cracked.

Sparks fly out as the disc makes contact with the metal grate beneath, Nix letting off the power button as he pulls the grinder back.

Then he moves to the next leg, a smile on his face as chunks of bloody flesh rain around him like fucked up confetti.

The body would have fit fine in the drum if we’d just forced it down.

Not like he'd feel anything break, anyways. But Nix has a thing for torture and dismemberming people, and since I got the immense pleasure of breaking the fucker’s neck and feel the life leave his body, I'll let him have his fun.

I need to text Mav anyways, let him know this job just got more complicated.

I slide my gaze to Lennon as I pull my phone from my pocket.

I expect to see some sign of disgust on her face, but instead she looks oddly fascinated by the show playing out in front of her.

Nix and I have been screwed up from the start, but Lennon's been chaos since we met. Something made her that way, stripped her down to the wire but with us, she’s got this spark.

All together, we’re like some fucked up circuit that actually works.

Unlocking the screen of my phone, I find a message from Mav already waiting for me.

Mav

Haven't heard anything from my contact. Is there a problem?

Fuck.

Me

More like a situation.

Mav

Cut the shit, Lambert.

Me

The driver needed an attitude adjustment and now we don't have a driver.

Mav

Hawthorne lose his temper?

Me

Not this time.

Mav

Damn, musta been a real piece of shit to provoke you.

Sit tight. Let me make some calls.

The whirs of the angle grinder fade, followed by the soft thud of the tool being set aside as I slip my phone back into my pocket.

"Heads up, old man," Nix calls out as Lennon shrieks.

My head whips up, hands instinctively shooting out to grab what's hurtling at my face before I even realize what it is.

Or should I say who?

The eyes are cloudy and fixed, staring straight at me, blood dripping from the torn neck. Spliced tendons dangle like half eaten pull-apart Twizzlers.

I fist the severed head by the hair, holding it up as I stalk towards him. "Real fucking funny, ya little shit."

"She thought it was," he remarks, tipping his head towards Lennon.

Her face is split in a shit eating grin that she's trying and failing to hide behind her coffee cup.

I stalk over to the drum and toss the head in with a thump, trace bits of oil splashing out on the already discoloring flesh.

"Don't encourage his shit behavior," I admonish as I turn and march towards Lennon.

"Or what?" she challenges, placing her empty cup to the side as I step into her space.

My palms splay out on the workbench on either side of her hips, bracketing her thighs as I step between her legs. I drop my head, murmuring, "Then I'll have to punish you, darlin'."

Her breath hitches, plush lips parting in the slightest, and a half-feral craving I haven't felt for years overcomes me. My mouth crashes against hers, hard and fast like a strike to flint, sparks blazing through my body.

I need to be closer, need to feel her in my arms, make sure she won't disappear.

Gripping her ass, I pull her in tight against me and she lets out a breathy sigh, body giving into my touch as I hold her flush against the growing bulge in my jeans and deepen the kiss.

Our teeth and tongues clash, her arms looping around my neck.

Our mouths slide in fevered movements and I devour her like a man starved.

Her legs wrap around my waist, her warm center grinding against my thickening cock.

I buck my hips, her nails digging into my flesh as we dry hump the shit out of each other.

This isn't soft or sweet– it's raw and demanding, chemical even.

Like when that first bump of coke hits your system, it doesn't ask permission to rip through and rewire your brain, it just consumes you.

She needs to feel protected, and I need to be the reason she does.

It's not just want anymore, it's wiring. It's how we fit.

Nix clears his throat to get our attention. "Not that I wouldn't love to rub one out right now, but between build-a-creep and closet Kurt, I feel like we should be focusing on cleaning up one mess before starting another."

Reluctantly, I break the kiss, our ragged breaths mingling between us as I rest my forehead against hers for a split second. With a resigned sigh, I let her go and pivot on a heel, walking back towards what's left of the corpse.

Bloody chunks of fat and muscle splat against the concrete as Nix and I work together to put the torso in the drum, then the arms and legs.

We arrange the pieces, bending and twisting them until they all fit snugly inside.

Then Nix strips out of his sullied navy jumpsuit, shoving it into the drum, too.

"Can I help?" Lennon asks, lips still swollen from our kiss as she hops down from the workbench.

"Sure, now that the hard work is done, you offer," Nix teases.

"You don't have to," I say as my phone vibrates against my thigh .

"It was my fault though," she starts, a solemn tone to her voice. "If I-"

"Fuck that shit," Nix cuts in. "None of this is your fault, little killer."

"Okay," Lennon murmurs softly. Her grey eyes instantly dull. She pins her bottom lip between her teeth, wringing her hands in front of her.

I want to go to her, reassure her that this douche's actions weren’t her fault, and neither was me killing him. But like Nix reminded me, business comes first– and my phone vibrating with another text reinforces that point.

"Go get Kurt from the closet and find some cleaning supplies and shit," I instruct Nix, wiping my hands off on the front of my jeans and pulling out my phone.

"Come on little killer, you can help me with that," he says, striding across the garage and slinging an arm around her shoulders.

After what just transpired between us, I'd expect even the tiniest flare of jealousy to hit me at the way she tucks into his side, but it doesn't. Instead, I feel relieved to see those two not at each other’s throats for once.

Heaving a sigh, I glance down at my phone to see two new messages.

Mav

New driver will be there at 9 tomorrow morning.

Ghost and Harlan and a couple prospects are on their way with a truck.

Me

How'd you know we'd need a truck?

Mav

I've seen Hawthorne's work before.

Me

Fair. We'll be ready for them.

"I swear, I won't tell a soul," Kurt stammers as he steps out of the closet, hesitantly plucking his phone from Nix's fingers

I tuck my own away and advance in their direction, careful to not step in any gore on the way.

Kurt looks petrified– god only knows what Nix said to him. Mav seems fine for now, but whenever Kurty boy here gets to talk to his boss– and no doubt unloads about what played out– Mav will definitely want the long story.

And unfortunately, Lennon’s part of the long story now.

The wheels of a mop bucket scrape and squeak as she pushes it by the handle towards the mess. She lets out a squeal as she rolls over something in her path on her way to the blood puddles, water splashing against the concrete.

Aside from the dried blood staining her clothes, you'd never know she stabbed the fuck out of someone and toed the line of crashing out just an hour ago. Guess that just proves you never know what hellscapes are playing out behind someone’s built up walls– but little by little, they’re already starting to come down.

And the more I see of the real her, the more addicted I’m becoming to her brand of crazy.