Page 24 of Run Little Killer
LENNON
R hett tucks me closer into his side, music growing louder as we maneuver our way through the main hall of the clubhouse. I slide an arm around him, the leather of his kutte smooth and cool beneath my palm.
The fact that they’re part of a club didn’t come as a surprise. I've seen enough episodes of Sons of Anarchy to notice that they were more than just two guys in matching vests with motorcycles, and I’ve slept in Rhett’s Deviant Devils shirt every night since we met.
Nix walks close behind as we move between couches and pool tables. Guys in leather vests nod as we pass, and women in low cut jeans and skin-tight shirts look at Rhett and Nix a little too eagerly.
Two guys with 'Prospect' scrawled across their backs wheel an eerily familiar oil drum past us and through the high top tables and chairs.
"Is that…?" I ask, glancing up at Rhett as we approach the well-stocked bar.
"Kindling for Blaze Night?" he murmurs, his face impassive as he rests an elbow on the bartop. "Sure is. "
A bleach blonde in a leather skirt and torn fishnets struts up, lifting an overplucked brow at me as she places a hand on each of my guys’ shoulders. "Usual?"
My jaw clenches, a pang of jealousy rolling through me as the urge to twist and bend her fingers back until they snap simmers beneath the surface.
I didn't think twice when they said we had to stay here tonight because of business, but if it means watching a bunch of skanks crawling around on them, I might have a problem.
Rhett dips his chin in the affirmative and Nix murmurs a yeah as he shrugs away from her touch. She smiles, pivoting on the slender heel of her boot as she starts behind the counter. Before she makes it two steps, Nix shoots out a hand, wrapping his fist in her hair and jerking her backwards.
She yelps, mouth hanging open and eyes wide with fear as she stares up at him. "Aren't you gonna ask her what she wants?" Nix asks, tone sharp as he motions towards me.
"Ah, yeah," she winces. "And for you, sweetheart?"
"I'll have a–," I start, glancing over my shoulder at the bar. Apprehension starts to weave its way through me as I realize I can't see the mats or all of the bottles. I swallow thickly, looking back at her. "Actually, I'm okay for now."
Rhett squeezes my bicep. "You sure darlin'?"
"Yeah," I reply, forcing a smile. "Maybe later."
His forehead creases in concern, blue eyes searching mine.
There's something dangerous about how he looks at me.
All-consuming and possessive, his dark aura wrapping around me like smoke.
My heart stutters, breath catching as a sense of stillness washes over me.
It's a foreign feeling as the calm starts to creep back in, the unspoken permission to let my guard down, the relief that comes from being cared for .
"Whatever you want, darlin'," he finally says, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.
"Hurry up with my beer," Nix spits, shoving the blonde forward. Her heels click harshly against the tile as she stumbles behind the bar.
"C'mere," Nix growls, banding an arm across my hips and pulling me against him as he turns and sinks down into a chair.
“Did I say you could manhandle me?” I growl, cutting him a glare over my shoulder.
A low chuckle rumbles in his chest. "Didn’t have to. You're ours, little killer," he murmurs, tongue dragging up the column of my neck. I squirm on his lap, clenching my thighs as his warm breath skates across the shell of my ear. "That means something, in this place especially."
He moves a hand between my legs, roughly cupping my pussy. A needy little mewl slips from my throat. I lean back against his chest as he adds, "And tonight, we're going to show you just what it means to be ours."
Heat prickles beneath my skin, his words laced with temptation and promise as I roll my hips. The hard outline of his dick presses against my ass. Rhett steps closer, tattooed fingers pinching my chin and tilting it up. "You look so fuckin' sexy when you're chasing his touch, darlin’."
My stomach swoops and then suddenly plummets as the blonde bitch steps in front of me, two bottles of beer in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. "Thought you might at least want some water," she says, extending the bottle towards me.
"Thanks," I say, shifting forward on Nix's lap to take it.
The guys grab their beers, and she smiles curtly as she rushes away. Lifting the bottle to his lips, Nix takes a long pull, fingers drumming against my spandex clad pussy. "Now, where were we?"
A sharp whistle cuts through the air, all the chatter dying off and the volume of the music lowering as Mav walks in.
"Just wanted to say a quick thank you to everyone who could make it out tonight for a little impromptu Blaze Night," he says, fists pounding against the tables in the room as he continues.
"You know the rules, night doesn't end til the fire’s out.
So keep your hands clean, wrap your shit, and remember– empty bottles, not clips. "
Whoops and hollers ring out, Nix stomping his boot against the ground, his leg rattling beneath me.
"Ya heard him," a guy with slicked-back black hair shouts. "Let's get this lit!"
The cheers continue as everyone starts to move towards a side door and I slide off of Nix's lap.
"C'mon darlin'," Rhett says, tucking me into his side as we fall into the mix and file out the door.
We step out into the night, gravel crunching underfoot and a chill rolling up my spine as I snuggle closer to Rhett, his spicy scent mixing with that of rich leather.
Busted pallets, crates, and limbs are piled in the middle of the lot as we slow to a halt.
We're standing around it when Mav cuts through, patting a hand on Nix's shoulder as he passes. "Let's go, Hawthorne."
"Let's go little killer," Nix says excitedly, grabbing my hand and tugging me forward. Bodies shift as we edge our way through to the front.
Standing just inches from the pile, I notice an oil drum at the center, Rhett's earlier words slamming into me as my brain finally connects the dots.
I swivel my head towards the crowd, locking eyes with him as he winks.
I turn back to Nix as he slides a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, placing one between his lips and pulling out his Zippo.
It flicks open with a metallic click and he drags his thumb over the wheel, the flint catching and a spark turning to flame as it singes the tip.
The cherry burns brightly in the dusk of the evening as he pinches it between his fingers, exhaling to the side before passing it to me.
My forehead creases as I look at him in question.
He lifts a brow, corners of his mouth twitching up as he encourages me to take it.
I pluck it from his fingertips and raise it to my lips, the nicotine sharp and bitter as it scrapes down my throat on an inhale.
Wisps of smoke curl upward in spirals as he tips his head to the side and says, "Throw it in. "
I flick it towards the pyre, ashes scattering as the cherry glows and bounces before landing on the wads of paper surrounding the drum. Within seconds, fire blazes, flames devouring the kindling as it grows taller.
"Thatta girl," Nix praises, pulling my back flush against his chest. The music kicks up, people moving about and we rock back and forth, the lights glowing and bass thrumming from large speakers placed around the lot.
The fire crackles, heat radiating off it as I watch with twisted fascination at the way the flames stretch higher and higher, flickering against the dark sky.
The oil drum is now fully charred, slowly disintegrating in the center along with its contents.
A body. Another death on my hands. Well, Rhett’s hands, technically, but my palms are equally covered in blood.
Yesterday, when I looked down and saw the crimson covered blade and my stained fingers, I lost it. Static buzzed between my ears, thoughts quick and jumbled as my mind desperately tried to sort the good from the bad. My anxiety flared, threatening to suffocate me as the inevitable spiral descended.
For a moment I saw Chad’s face again, blood spurting from his neck, splashing against the white tile and spraying my clothes and skin.
Then Chad faded into Micheal, his blood oozing out and pooling beneath his corpse seemingly in slow motion.
So different from the way Chad bled, but no less macabre.
I wonder how Shawn will bleed?
I swear the meds they gave me at Briarwood in their valiant efforts to ‘fix’ me rewired my brain somehow. The cortex responsible for remorse has seemingly been disabled, because I know I should feel guilty for my actions. But no matter how hard I search for that emotion, I come up empty.
Guilt? Don’t know the bitch. I’m done apologizing for doing what it takes to keep myself whole.
Staring into the bright and destructive watercolor flames, I continue to zone out until the gritty pulse of Chrome Cowboy by Scrim starts to play.
The beat is dirty and hypnotic, weaving its way under my skin and settling in my chest. It’s raw and relaxing, pulling me back from the cliff’s edge and freeing my mind as I start to sway.
Nix’s hands land on my body, sliding down my waist and settling on my hips.
He tightens his grip, fingers digging in as he pulls me back, grinding the hard outline of his dick against my ass.
I snake a hand up, cupping the back of his neck as our bodies fall in sync.
His other hand teases at my waistband, thumb dipping beneath the fabric when someone suddenly knocks into us and sends us stumbling sideways.
“Hey!” Nix barks.
“Sorry man,” a man with a shaved head says .
“Get lost, Marty,” Nix spits, dark brows slamming down.
Marty lifts his beer and palm in surrender as he backs away, disappearing into the crowd. “Cockblock,” Nix mumbles, banding an arm across my stomach and nipping at my neck. “Now, where were we?”