Page 65 of Run Little Killer
Parting ways with Lennon was like a kick in the nuts. I told Rhett we should have just refused to take her to Englewood, tied her up in our room at the clubhouse or something to prevent her from leaving, but the old man was adamant about sending her on her way. He spit out some line about how if you love something, you set it free, but that’s complete bullshit. If you love something, you claim it, ruin it, fuck it hard enough so it can't ever leave.
I thought I'd fucked the flight instinct out of Lennon, but I guess I still had work to do.
Part of me hopes she's a brat when we show up to collect her. That she’ll be kicking and screaming as we haul her sweet ass back to our bikes. I want her to fight me, maybe even try to run so I can chase her down. At the veryleast, I hope there’s a snarky exchange that inevitably ends with me rutting into her like a feral beast, claiming what’s mine.
The passenger door of the red Toyota suddenly flies open, a mess of chestnut waves snaking out from beneath a black snapback as a girl jumps out.
Mysnapback.
My girl.
"Lennon!" a male voice shouts angrily as she takes off across the intersection, duffle bag swinging in her grip.
The toe of my boot knocks down the kickstand, bike leaning to the side as I dismount it and run out to meet her.
Some douche with frosted tips hops out of the Toyota and charges after her, his long strides eating up the distance. I dart a hand out as soon as she's within reach, grabbing her by the bicep and yanking her small frame behind me. The douchebag arrives a second later and my fingers curl tightly into a fist, arm cocking back and driving full force into his face.
Cartilage crunches beneath my knuckles, blood spurting out from his nose and pouring down like a faucet. He stumbles backwards, feet tripping over each other as he thuds against the pavement.
Uncurling my fingers, I give my hand a few shakes. My knuckles are split, coated in my blood and his. If there's pain from the impact, I don't feel it.
"What the hell is going on, little killer?" I ask, ignoring the bleeding idiot on the ground and spinning around to face her.
"Heknows," she pants, the color draining from her face. "He was taking me to the police station. Was gonna turn me in for the reward and leave Holly." Her words come outrushed, tears welling in her stormy eyes. "Nix, I'm so tired of running."
"C'mere," I coax, pulling her against me. Her arms slide beneath my kutte, locking around my waist as she clings to me like I might disappear. I run a gloved hand up and down her back as I hold her.
The pile of shit groans from beside me, hands shooting up to his face as he starts to come to.
"Do you mind?" I mumble, looking towards Rhett. I tip my head towards the douchebag. "A little help here?"
Rhett's mouth is drawn in a hard line as he stalks forward with possessive intent. We don't need to know what this asshole did to Lennon to justify making sure he never does it again.
The guy pushes upright, sitting cross legged as his eyes bounce around, trying to focus. Before he can even see it coming, Rhett reaches down, hands framing the guy’s face, and twists. Bones and ligaments snap, his body slumping into a lifeless pile in the vacant intersection just as the stoplight turns green.
The water istinged red as it swirls down the drain, washing away the evidence of violence. I twist the faucet off and reach for a threadbare towel, my knuckles tender as I dry my hands and step out of the bathroom. Lennon is perched on the edge of one of the motel beds, staring blankly at the glossy black screen of the TV.
Lucky for us, the Deviants have another chapter a couple towns over that were willing and able to lend ahand. So, Rhett stayed behind to clean up while I got our girl the hell out of there.
Speaking of…
Leaning a shoulder against the wall, I pull out my phone and fire off a text to Rhett.
Me: Hilltop Motel, industrial part of town, north over the tracks. Room 12.
Rhett: Sounds good.
Rhett: Did you hear? There was an accident, a red Toyota blew through an intersection earlier tonight. Smashed into a concrete barrier, and went up in flames.
A smirk plays at my lips as I type out my response.
Me: Oh yeah? How terrible...
Rhett: Yup. Be there soon.
"Everythings all taken care of," I tell Lennon, slipping my phone into my pocket and pushing off the wall.
Her head bobs up and down slowly, eyes still fixed blankly ahead. I scrub a hand down my face with a sigh. This is what she does– shuts down and goes cold. I get it, it's a trauma response I recognize well. Hell, I've lived through it myself, and that’s why I'll make sure she does, too.
