Page 57 of Nightmare

If you’re an “old lady” then you’re considered gold to the man you’re with, but even then, you have your place.

It’s strange, but it works.

Reaching the back window, I use a pile of chopped wood by the door to push myself up so I can peer through. The large open area is filled with bikers, and on the floor is a huge roll of black plastic that is coating the entire floor. There are probably thirty bikers standing in the middle, surrounding something, and when one of them moves, my eyes widen.

There, on the ground, covered in blood and completely battered, I see something I never would have wished to see at any point in my young life, and certainly not coming from a man who I have come to care about. Western is standing, his large frame hovering over a man who looks like he has been beaten so badly he isn’t alive any longer, but when his arm twitches, I realize that he is.

Blood pours from his mouth as his body jerks, and that blood sprays all over the black plastic on the floor. My eyes widen even farther when Western reaches around and pulls out a gun from the back of his pants. As if in slow motion, my brain not comprehending what’s actually happening, Western points the gun at the man on the ground and pulls the trigger. The bullet whips through his skull, causing a spray of blood to explode from the side of his head.

Vomit rises in my throat as I stumble backward, my entire body wobbling as I gather my footing. Tears threaten to burst forth at the realization of what I just saw, and I turn, running with frantic desperation, needing to get the hell out of there. Swallowing the vomit that’s threatening to explode out down, I reach the front gate only to see two bikers have returned to stand guard. Their eyes widen in shock when they notice me.

I don’t think I was meant to get in, and they must have only left their post for a second earlier.

“What the fuck are you doin’ in here?”

The biker that speaks I haven’t met so I don’t know his name. He’s a drawn out, older man, with a long white beard and sagging skin. He’s had a rough life, that much is apparent, and he’s looking at me with stark blue eyes that are less than impressed. I can’t be in this club a second longer, so I force my best smile and act as casual as I can. I’m certain they’re not buying it, because my hands are shaking, and I have a fine sheen of sweat coating my face.

“I was just looking for Nightmare, but he doesn’t seem to be here – I couldn’t find anyone, the house was locked. You guys weren’t here when I came in.”

The two bikers glance at one another, their eyes narrowed.

They’re not buying my pathetic act but I’m at least hoping they believe I didn’t see anything.

“We were gone for a fuckin’ second and you snuck in. Can’t be here. You need to get the fuck out, right now.”

Nodding quickly, I rush past them.

I don’t want them to ask one more question.

Getting into my car and turning it on, I make it only yards down the road before suddenly pulling off.

I just get my door open in time before the contents of my stomach come rushing out.

God help me.

~*~*~*~

“YOU OKAY, HONEY?”

Luna’s eyes scan my face as we busy ourselves working that night.

I know I’m pale. After seeing what I saw, I can’t seem to get the blood to come back into my face. My usually rosy cheeks are no longer. Every single time I think of it, I can feel the blood rushing out. My skin prickles, my stomach twists, and my legs get wobbly. I’m trying really hard not to think about it, but no matter what I do, I can’t unsee the image of that man’s brain exploding.

It's not just that, it’s the fact that they had lined the floor with black plastic, knowing full well what they were going to do in that club.

They just do things like that? Just casually kill people? Surely that isn’t how a club works? Surely the police and people of the town would know if people were getting murdered? Sure, the club is out of town a fair distance and is secluded in its location, but it’s not far enough away that you would so casually take a life.

The thought that gets me the most, though, is the thought that maybe I’ve been wrong all along. Western might not have killed Daniel and Braithe, but he took that man’s life as if it meant nothing. That makes him a killer. Right? Does it matter who you kill? If you’re capable of doing it, then you’re a monster, right? God, why am I even questioning this.

Of course I’m right.

“I’m just ...” I answer Luna finally, my voice shaky. “Can you do Western tonight? I don’t want to serve him.”

Narrowing her eyes, Luna steps forward. “Did he hurt you?”

“No, not at all,” I say quickly. “It’s nothing like that. It’s, ah, his wife isn’t a fan of mine, and so I’m keeping my distance.”

A lie, but it’s a believable one.

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