Page 35 of Run Little Killer
NIX
“ C an’t we just go back to the motel from last night?
” Lennon asks, her voice reverberating off the concrete beneath the underpass where we’ve been idling while trying to figure out our next move.
I twist around to look at her perched on the back of my bike, picking dried blood out from underneath her fingernails like it’s just another Tuesday.
Rhett scoffs a laugh, leaning forward on his gas tank beside us and giving her a slow once-over. "Pretty sure any motel we showed up at looking like this would just call the cops."
She blinks, dark lashes fanning her cheeks as she looks down at herself as if she's just noticed that she's covered in blood– again – before meeting my gaze. "What about back to the clubhouse? How far is that?"
"About five hours, darlin'," he sighs. "It'll be too light out by then. Don't want anyone to see us like this."
"Oh," she mumbles.
"I know a place," I say, knuckles whitening as my grip tightens around my handlebars. "It’s just a couple hours, we can clean up and crash out.”
Rhett cocks a brow at me and I shrug my shoulders. Not even he knows about this place, and I haven’t been back there in years.
"Then lead the way," he says, rocking his bike upright and knocking up the kickstand.
I jerk a nod, twisting the key and waiting for Lennon’s hands to rest on my sides, letting me know she's ready before pulling out.
The headlights from a rogue car occasionally wash over us as we roll down the vacant highway.
Rides like this usually calm the chaotic energy swarming in my brain, giving me the ability to zone out and let my mind go blank.
But knowing where we’re headed, there's a niggling in the back of my head like the wires got crossed– the silence isn't comforting, it's smothering.
I feel everything all at once; the wind rushing over me, the thrum of the engine between my thighs, the heat from Lennon's palms bleeding through my shirt. But at the same time, I feel nothing, like I’ve been carved out and left hollow.
A weight settles as the road starts to curve, Lennon flexing her fingers against me as I lean to the side and guide the bike around the bend.
Her touch usually brings me a sense of comfort, easing the apprehension that makes my spine rigid.
But as we straighten and the city limits sign comes into view, a steady hum of unease moves like static beneath my skin, pulsing in a way that not even her lithe fingers wrapped around my cock could stop.
I downshift, my bike starting to slow as I swing into the half-lit parking lot.
The building looks just as decrepit as it did ten years ago.
Faded brick and chipped white paint shroud the facade, the loud buzz of the yellow bulb in a crooked lamp post rivalling the sound of my Harley as I kill the engine.
Rhett swings through the parking spot, walking his bike back beside mine and yanking the bandana down his face. "This the place?"
"Yup," I say, dismounting my bike.
"Whose place is this?" Lennon asks as Rhett hands over her duffle.
"My moms," I say, swinging the strap of my backpack over my shoulder, boots scraping against the pavement as I step up the curb. "Apartment 3," I add, not bothering to look back as I fish the keyring from the pocket of my jeans and head toward the only door without a porch light on.
I push the door open after unlocking it, the air inside thick and stale as I flip the light switch.
The bulbs flick on, ceiling fan starting to circulate as I step across the threshold.
Everything in the little studio apartment is exactly how I left it, when I checked in on the place six months back, down to the empty bottle of Jack and shot glass sitting on the coffee table.
Holding the door open wide, I gesture for Lennon and Rhett to move inside.
"Where's your mom?" Lennon asks, head swiveling around as I push the door shut behind her and flip the deadbolt.
The weight in my chest turns to stone, sinking into the pit of my stomach as I toss the keys down onto the coffee table. "Dead," I mutter, toeing my boots off and walking towards the couch.
That one caustic word has evidently managed to freeze time. Neither Rhett or Lennon say a word or move a muscle as I lower down onto the soft leather couch.
Rhett's face is impassive but supportive, letting me take the lead in how and what I say.
Sparing a few graphic and long drawn details, he knows the overview of my past. After being restricted from it as a prospect, I spent my first week as a full patch with my face either buried in a bottle or club pussy every night.
And even though most of the details from then are a little hazy, I know for a fact that my obliterated ass overshared with Rhett.
Lennon's face, however, is slack. A little crease forms between her dark brows, lips slightly parted as she looks at me with the one thing I hate most– pity .
"I smell like the accelerant,” Rhett says after the awkward silence lingers a beat too long. “I'm gonna shower," he adds, pointing at the little hallway in question.
I nod, and he kicks off his boots before crossing the room. "There's towels in the hall closet," I call out after him.
Rhett disappears into the bathroom and I swivel my gaze back to Lennon, who’s still staring at me wide-eyed. "Stop looking at me like that, little killer," I say with a smirk.
She fidgets from one foot to the other, her dark hair matted with blood and tied up in a messy bun. "It's just, uh– I'm sorry... about your mom and all," she stammers, toying with the bloodied cuff of her grey sweatshirt.
"Don't be," I say, lifting my arm in invitation. "Just c'mere."
Her sock-clad feet pad softly across the beige carpet and she slides down beside me on the couch, pulling a leg up under her. Even though her leggings are black, you can still make out the rusty splotches of dried blood as it flakes against the smooth fabric.
I’ve never really cared for the way motel soap smells. There’s something generic and impersonal about how that scent, always the same. But as Lennon leans her head onto my chest and the sweet citrus fills my nose, it just smells like mine.
"My mom's dead too," she says, her voice barely above a whisper.
"I'm sorry, Lennon," I reply.
"The worst part– after she died and all– wasn't even the fact that she was dead, it was that I had to go live with my dad."
My hand freezes, voice razor sharp when I ask, "Did he hurt you little killer?"
"Just emotionally," she scoffs, my tension dissolving with a sigh.
"My parents were kinda like hippies when they had me," she continues, shifting to face me.
"But they were in a really bad car wreck when my mom was like eight months pregnant, and obviously, I'm fine, and so was my mom for the most part.
But my dad had this major brain bleed and it was touch and go.
When he woke up a couple weeks later in the hospital, he was different.
Fell headfirst into religion and made it his whole personality. They split a year later."
“Aside from his yearly visit,” She laughs a little, shaking her head.
"I hardly even knew him, but when I was sixteen, some asshole ran a red-light and t-boned my mom’s car.
" Pausing, she pushes up and pulls her other leg beneath her.
"I know it wasn't her fault, but I was so angry at her for dying and leaving me like that, ya know?
She was my best friend and she just up and ghosted me– literally. "
"Christ, little killer,” I snort. “And I thought my humor was dark."
Her shoulders inch up in a shrug, "Coping is coping."
"Yes it is," I agree, my lips spreading in an easy smile for the first time in hours and the weight in my stomach disintegrating as I pull her back against my chest. The comforting feeling I get with her pressed up against me eradicates every bit of unease I felt earlier.
Lennon doesn't try to add light to my darkness, she just sits in it with me.
We relax back in a comfortable silence, her breathing evening out as she drifts to sleep curled into my side. I zone out, staring at the green numbers on the stove ticking toward 5 a.m.
"She asleep?" Rhett asks quietly, breaking me out of my trance.
"Think so," I murmur, shifting my weight.
"She's awake," Lennon yawns, pushing up to sit and stretching her arms above her head as she glances towards Rhett. "Leave any hot water?"
"Of course, I did," he chuckles, closing the distance between them. Pinching her chin between his thumb and forefinger, he leans down and gives her a kiss. "I took a bubble bath."
Her face screws up, brow furrowing, lips pursing. "Bubble bath?"
"Yup, gettin' old is a bitch, darlin'," he says with a wink. "And snapping necks and disposing of evidence is rough on the joints."
She returns his smile, something warm and fierce passing between them as their eyes meet. But as much as I love to see Rhett in his lover boy era for the first time since Tess died, I'm not missing out on a chance to rail Lennon in the shower.
"C'mon, little killer," I say, hands slapping against my thighs as I push to stand. "We'll have more hot water if we clean each other at the same time"
"You just want an excuse to feel me up," she huffs, folding her arms across her chest as she stands.
"I don't need an excuse to touch what's mine," I say as I pivot around. Banding an arm around her thighs, I toss her over my shoulder, causing her to let out a little shriek that makes my dick throb.
I carry her into the bathroom and deposit Lennon on the counter, moving towards the tub to twist on the tap. Hot water rushes out of the faucet as I insert the drain stopper.
Reaching behind my head, I pull my sweatshirt off one-handed, then pop the button of my jeans and shoving them down my hips, my cock springing free as I kick my clothes aside.