Page 24 of Run Little Killer
The muscle in her jaw feathers, eyes narrowing as she tilts her head to the left, studying me.
I want her to push back, fight me– hell, my dick isbeggingfor her to run. She made a mistake in kissing me. She gave me a taste, and now I need more.
Seconds pass, my tongue tracing across my teeth.Go ahead and run, little killer. I start to stand, ready to chase after her, pin her down, and tear into her tight little cunt.
She lets out a disgruntled sigh, rolling her eyes as she walks towards me.
"Thatta girl," I say, her hand clamping down on my shoulder as she steps up and sinks down on the leather seat behind me.
Rocking the bike upright, I kick back the stand and turn the key right as my hat is whipped off my head. I twist around to see Lennon position my black Deviant Devils hat onto her own head.
"I need it more than you."
Well fuck me if she doesn't look sexy in it, that primal desire stirring back to life inside me. Waiting, wanting any reason to claim and devour her.
I let her have this one, tugging the black bandana up over my mouth and nose before jerking a nod at Rhett. He nods back, rocks kicking out from under his tires as he twists the throttle and peels away from the diner. As I roll forward, Lennon settles in, arms snaking around me. The heat of her body blankets my back as she molds against me, leaning into the turn as we pull onto the highway.
Hasson is only a few hours from here. We'll get into town tonight, grab a motel, and be at Huber Auto first thing in the morning. Mav is smart, keeping one foot in each world. We don't ever haul any of the goods ourselves, we just make sure no one rips off the person who’s transporting them. When it comes to club business and the protection runs, we don't ask specifics. As long as it's not fucking traffickingpeople, I don't give a shit what they transport.
Mav brought me into the fold and told me to prospect after I helped save his ass ten years ago. I was barely twenty-one and in a piss poor mood, posted up in the alley behind some shithole bar after burying my mom. It became my go-to after I found her dead. I spent the majority of a week posted up on the stool at the end of the counter, drowning myself in cheap whiskey. No one talked to you there, the old broad behind the bar always had a heavy pour, and after dealing with the tweakers that showed up to the funeral, I needed a strong drink.
I'd just finished my cigarette and tossed it to the ground when I saw Mav get jumped. It was two on one, and as he laid one of them out, he got his shit rocked and fell backwards. I jumped in and beat the fucker bloody while Mav came to. I wish I could say I did it because I was trying to be a good guy and help someone out, but I didn't. I was so pissed off about my mom choosing the fucking drugs again that I was looking for any excuse to feel my knuckles split open.
I didn't hesitate– hell I didn't care if they jumped Mav because he was innocent or guilty– I just needed to release the anger. I hadn't seen my mom for almost five years, I'd written her off, and then one day she just appeared again. She wasn't clean, but she looked half decent and seemed tobe functioning. I knew better, but deep down, there was a stupid part of me that thought she'd finally change for me. I was her kid, after all, and she'd done a shit job at being there for me when I was little, but when she waltzed in with her plans to go to rehab and move to Phoenix with her newest boyfriend, she seemed happy. And she was– just not enough to stop her from chasing one last high before checking in. Too bad that batch was cut with fentanyl.
She left me there– alone– after she had the fucking audacity to come back into my life. It would’ve been better if she'd stayed away or died before tracking me down. Instead, she made my last memory of her finding her crumpled up body in a pool of vomit on the floor of her apartment.
Each time my fist connected with the faceless fuck pinned to the asphalt beneath me, it was a cathartic release. I couldn't yell at her and tell her what a shitty mom she was, but beating that shithead within an inch of his own life was a close second.
Mav offered to buy me a drink after that, and next thing I knew, I was a hang around at his motorcycle club. In a way, if it wasn't for my mom, I might not have found the club. Then again, if she'd loved me more than the drugs, maybe I wouldn't have needed the club.
It wasn't long after that Rhett took me under his wing, and I became a prospect. I started tagging along on protection runs with him and Grim. Grim lived for no one but the Deviant Devils and the bottle. Hell, not even Cirrhosis of the liver could keep him from the bar at the end of the night. After he passed, it became just me and Rhett doing the runs, which I don’t mind at all.
Lennon shifts in the slightest, and I cram all my thoughts back into their box, punting it into the abyss ofmy mind. Her hand taps on the crest of my thigh before a little finger points toward the rest stop ahead on the right. I nod in acknowledgement, twisting the throttle and sliding up beside Rhett. As he glances in my direction, I tap my gas tank and motion towards the exit. He tips his head and I pull back, following him off the highway.
The kickstand has barely touched the pavement before Lennon starts squirming her way off the back of the bike.
"Watch the-"
"Pipes, I know," she rushes out, gripping onto my shoulders. "Ugh my legs," she groans, jumping off and swaying a step before jogging to the bathroom.
Leaning forward on my handlebars, I watch the brick building, making sure no creeps give her trouble and for the seemingly dwindling chance she chooses to run.
It’s a shame she doesn’t, because I’m in the mood for a good hunt, and she makes the prettiest prey.
11
LENNON
My ass is numb by the time we pull off the highway for the night, following the signs past a run down bar to Shady Oaks Motel.
The name is entirely too fitting.
Clusters of trees surround the property. Orange and red leaves cling to the branches, some scattered across the pavement as we roll into the parking lot. The tan and green paint on the exterior is chipped and faded, and half the lights in the sign above the main entrance are burnt out, the few that still work flickering. It's the perfect setup for the start of a low budget horror movie–too bad I'm the villain in this one.
It's kinda ironic, really. In fairytales, they consider the knight a hero, praising him for slaying the dragons and saving the princess. But when I slayed one of my own monsters and saved countless other girls from being assaulted by Chad, I'm suddenly considered to be ‘armed and dangerous’. It’s a double standard, if you ask me.
In the diner, I couldn't risk Nix seeing my face on the news. If the guys find out what I've done, they'll drop myass on the side of the road– or worse, turn me in. I'll just have to do everything I can to prevent them from discovering the truth, because as much as I hate to admit it, I need them if I'm going to see this thing through. I've spent this entire ride– well, the first hour at least– trying to come up with all the different ways I can execute my revenge without ending back up in Briarwood or dead, and it's harder than I thought.
