Page 70 of Run Little Killer
The room spins as each aftershock rolls through me, knocking me further off my axis until the edges of my vision tinge black.It's all too much.I let go, body slackening between them. My eyes flutter shut, and if I'm dying right now, I can't think of a better way to go then with both their dicks seated inside me.
29
NIX
“Can’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 griptightens 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 evenheknows 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 acrooked 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 placeisthis?" 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 fewgraphic 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."
