Page 30 of Big Easy
Our headlights cut through the darkness as we tear across town. My fists are gripping the bars so tight my knuckles ache, and the rumble of the bike vibrates through my bones, feeding the storm building inside me.
The old rundown motel finally comes into view, the faded neon sign flickering against the night sky. The Refuge is the kind of place that attracts the worst type of people. You don't check in here unless you're running from something or up to no good.
We slow, rolling into the cracked asphalt parking lot. The air is heavy with the scent of mildew and a sour piss smell that makes my stomach churn.
We kill the engines, and the sudden silence is deafening.
The place is too still.
Too quiet.
The kind of stillness that breathes danger.
My senses sharpen, and my chest tightens knowing every second that passes is one too many. I scan the numbers on the doors. "Over there. Room 12. That's the number on the receipt."
Our boots crunch over loose pavement and broken glass. We're just feet from the door when it happens.
A muffled scream slices through the stillness, followed by a single, sharp gunshot. The sound rattles the motel window.
"Look what you made me do. Shut up—shut up."
My body reacts before my mind catches up—gun drawn, blood roaring in my ears, I roar, "Sutton!" I kick the door.
"Jaxson!" Her voice tears through the air, frantic and broken. The desperation in her voice slices me open. Another shot cracks, the bullet punching through the window and showering the ground outside with glass.
I kick again, and the door finally bursts open. I charge inside—and freeze.
Sanders is holding Sutton at gunpoint. Her wrists are bound, her cheeks streaked with tears, a bruise already darkening her skin. My grip tightens on my gun.
"If you take another step, I'll kill her," he spits, eyes wide and twitching.
I step forward, slow and steady. "Let her go."
"Stay the fuck back!" His voice is wild, manic in its pitch. "You don't get it, do you? She was meant for me. Not you. Not anyone else. Me."
My teeth grind. Keep talking, asshole. Keep giving me a reason to end you.
"You think you can just walk in here and take her? No. I've been watching her. She's perfect. She's mine."
"Sanders, you hurt her, you don't walk out of here alive."
He grins like a man already teetering off the edge. "Then I'll take her with me to the other side. We'll be together forever. No one can stop me. Not you. Not anyone."
My jaw aches from the pressure. You're not walking out of here breathing.
I meet Sutton's eyes. A single tear slips down her cheek, and that's it—the last thread holding me back snaps.
"Stop looking at her!" Sanders bellows, jerking her closer until her gasp shreds through me. "Here's what's gonna happen—I'm walking out of here, and she's coming with me. You try to stop me, I'll paint the walls with her blood."
"You're fuckin' crazy if you think for one second me or my men are letting you leave with my woman." My voice is low, lethal, every word aimed to cut.
"Stop calling me crazy! I'm not crazy!" His voice cracks, the veins in his neck bulging. Then he lowers his tone, almost whispering, and somehow that's worse. "She just needs to see me without your noise in her head. She'll love me. I'll make her love me."
Then his gun shifts toward me. His eyes narrow, his lips curl. "If I kill you, then she'll have no choice but to love only me."
There's my opening.
"I warned you the next time I paid you a visit, I'd kill you." I squeeze the trigger. The blast is deafening in the small space. His head jerks back, a spray of blood hitting the wall. At the same time, a sharp, searing pain blooms in my chest, stealing my breath.
