by Joanna Wylde
“Drop it and step away from the counter,” she said, her voice cold. I dropped it, staring her down.
“I wish he’d killed you,” I whispered. She flinched, but her hand didn’t falter.
“You’re going to walk though the restaurant in front of me like everything is fine,” she told me. “We’re going to leave through the door on the far side, away from the hotel. Once we’re outside you’ll get into the car and we’ll leave.”
I shook my head.
“Go ahead and shoot me. I’d rather die than get into a into a car with you.”
“You’re not the one who’ll be dying. Teeny is outside, and he’s got your boyfriend in his sights. If you don’t do what I tell you, I’ll call him and he’ll take the shot. Start walking.”
—
The backseat of the car was full of garbage and old fast food wrappers. I sat across from my mom, glaring at her as she held the gun on me with one hand. She held her phone against her ear with the other. She’d thrown my purse into the front seat.
“I’ve got her,” she said.
Seconds later Teeny opened the driver’s-side door and sat down. I screamed and lunged for my door, because I hadn’t been joking when I said I’d rather die than go with them. Teeny slammed the car into gear, tearing out of the parking lot as Mom threw herself at me, smashing my head against the window. Someone had seen us. They had to have seen us. If I could just get out, they’d have to leave me behind.
“Calm the fuck down!” Teeny shouted over his shoulder. I took that as a sign that I should fight harder. Then he stomped on the brakes, sending me and Mom shooting forward into the front seats with a thud.
Teeny turned on me, raising his gun and pointing it at my head.
“I never liked you,” he whispered. “Believe me—I want to pull this trigger.”
“Don’t be crazy,” my mom begged. Was that a hint of real feeling in her eyes? “Becca, we don’t want to hurt you. This will all work out just fine—you just need to do exactly what I tell you. First up, I’m going to tie your hands and feet with this duct tape. You gotta settle down, sweetie. Otherwise you’ll hurt yourself.”
I stared at the gun, mesmerized. This was really it—I had to make a choice because Teeny would do it. I saw it on his face.
Suddenly I wasn’t so ready to die.
My stepfather glared at me, holding the gun as Mom fumbled with a roll of duct tape. I flexed my muscles, trying to buy a little extra wiggle room as she tied me up. Less than a minute later, she’d secured my hands, feet, and even put a strip of tape over my mouth.
Teeny grunted his approval and pulled back out into traffic.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Mom said, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and pulling me close like I was a little girl . . . like she wasn’t actively kidnapping me. “Mama’s here. I’ll take good care of you.”
—
We drove for a good forty-five minutes out into the desert, past our old house and down along a dry riverbed. Finally Teeny stopped the car outside a motor home. One of those old ones, like the kind Walter White used to cook meth in Breaking Bad.
Knowing my mom, she’d seen the show and been inspired by it.
It’d obviously been parked there long term, and I wondered if the thing could still drive. Probably not. They pulled me out of the car and I hopped awkwardly inside, Mom on one side and Teeny on the other. Sure enough, the camper smelled like cat pee—they’d definitely been cooking in here. Great. Knowing my luck, the whole place would explode.
Mom helped lower me to a small couch on one side of the camper. I think I expected an interrogation, but instead she and Teeny grabbed seats at the little table across from me. Teeny tossed my purse down with a thunk, and then he had my wallet out.
“Nothing,” Teeny said after a minute. “Where’s your money?”
It took me a minute to realize he was talking to me. I shrugged, unable to answer. He growled and leaned forward, ripping the tape off my mouth. It took the top layer of my skin with it. God, that hurt.
“I’ve told you all along—I don’t have any money. I’m a waitress and I’m going to school. I spent the last of what I had on breakfast.”
“What about this boy of yours?” my mom asked, her voice almost playful. I decided she was trying to play “interested mom” to get information. I’d give her plenty.
“Do you remember that guy who took me to Idaho? The one who kicked your ass?” Teeny scowled and Mom had the grace to blush.
“That was such a confused time,” she said quickly. “I think we all look back and wonder—”
“What about him?” Teeny demanded. Holy shit—he hadn’t been holding a gun on Puck at all, I realized. There was no way Teeny would’ve forgotten his face.
“He’s my old man now, and he brought some of his friends with him . . .” I said with a smirk. “They’re probably on the way to find me already. You really sure you want to piss him off like this?”
They both stared at me blankly.
“Him?” Mom asked finally. “That same boy?”
“He’s not a boy, and he’s not going to be happy when he finds out what you did. Let me go now and I’ll call him off. Otherwise you’re fucked.”
Teeny’s mouth gaped and I laughed. I couldn’t help myself. I could actually see the little ferret inside Teeny’s head starting to run faster and faster on its wheel. He swallowed.
“We didn’t mean any harm,” he said quickly. “You know how impulsive I am. But I never mean anything by it.”
“Eat shit, Teeny,” I sneered. He bristled. Crap. Don’t piss off the asshole with the gun!
“We have to kill her,” Teeny announced. My heart froze and Mom looked between us, stunned.
“What do you mean?” she asked. “We can’t kill her. She’s my daughter.”
“Like you care,” he muttered. “I sold her ass to half the club, you never said a thing.”
“She was a big girl—she could handle it,” Mom hissed, narrowing her eyes at him. Any other time I might have found concern touching. Now? Now I mostly just didn’t want to die. Looking around frantically, I tried to spot something I could use as a weapon. Anything. Unfortunately, the duct tape limited my options in a big way.
That’s when Mom and Teeny started going at it. He shouted insults at her as she moved into a full-on hissy-fit, squawking and screeching My purse still sat on the table. The gun was zipped into a side pocket—so far as I could tell, Teeny hadn’t noticed it yet. He’d been too focused on my wallet.
If I could get over to the gun, maybe I could . . . What? Grab it with my tied-up hands?
Fuck.
Suddenly Teeny’s gun was in my face again. He stood over me, hands trembling, and I saw my death written in his eyes. This was happening. For real. They say your life flashes in front of you when you’re about to die—that didn’t happen to me. All I could think about was Puck and how much I loved him. Suddenly it was terrifyingly obvious that I’d been letting a good thing slip through my fingers. Why the fuck had I done that? I should’ve just enjoyed him.
“Teeny, you can’t shoot her,” my mom was saying, her voice growing hysterical. “That’s my baby girl. I was okay with taking her money, but this is different. You don’t get to kill her. I won’t let you do it!”
“Shut the fuck up,” Teeny growled at her. Then his attention focused back on me. “Stop looking at me. Close your eyes. Close them!”
I closed my eyes, mind racing. The gun clicked as he cocked the trigger.
Out of nowhere, I heard my mom howl with rage. Teeny shouted in surprise, then there was a cracking, squelching noise and believe me when I say those two sounds shouldn’t go together.
Something hot and wet hit my face as a heavy weight crashed to the floor.
My eyes flew open to find my mom beating Teeny with a bat. A fucking aluminum bat. Holy crap. She smashed his head over and over again, blood spattering everywhere. Reality spun up again and I started to pick out her
words.
“No! No! You don’t get to hurt my baby, you cocksucking asshole!”
I scooted across the couch as far as I could, trying to avoid the spatters of blood and hair and gray chunks that I really, really didn’t want touching me.
“Mom,” I called, trying to keep my voice steady. She seemed oblivious. “Mom! You can stop, Mom. He’s dead now.”
She slowed, panting heavily. The bat dropped out of her hands and bounced against the faded linoleum.
“He’s dead,” Mom whispered. She looked like something out of a horror movie. Ragged, stringy hair hanging down in bloody chunks. Spatter all over her face and chest. Then she smiled at me, one of her front teeth rotten and gaping.
“I’m sorry about that,” she said after a long pause, nodding toward Teeny. I swallowed, wondering what the hell I should say or do. I wasn’t dead—that was a good thing. But despite the fact that she’d saved me, Mom was scary as fuck and obviously batshit crazy.
“I need to get going,” she announced, and I couldn’t tell if she was talking to me or herself. “Need to get out of here. Can’t let them find me like this.”
“Wait! You have to help me. Just help me get the tape off. You can just drop me in town. It’ll all be over.”
She glanced down at me, her face suspicious. Suspicious and almost feral . . . Like a cornered animal. I couldn’t even tell if she recognized me.
Shit. Trapped in a motor home in the desert with a dead body and a crazy woman.
“Gotta go,” she said again, grabbing my purse. She shoved my wallet back inside, then walked toward the back of the RV. I raised my hands and started tearing at the tape with my teeth. I needed to get myself free and get the hell out of here. I didn’t think Mom would hurt me, but who knew? She’d obviously lost touch with reality.
I’d worked one strip of the tape loose when she came back carrying a bright red suitcase.
“Okay, then,” she said, stepping over Teeny’s body to give me a quick kiss on the cheek. “You just sit tight and I’ll take care of everything. Don’t worry, sweetheart.”
She smiled at me, then turned and stepped out of the motor home. Seconds later I heard the sound of a car door closing before she drove off.
I looked down at Teeny’s body and closed my eyes.
This really, really sucked.
SEVENTEEN
It took me about ten minutes to get my hands free. The feet were easy after that. Then I was up and moving toward the back of the RV. I don’t know what I expected to find there—so long as it wasn’t a bloody corpse, that would be an improvement.
Stepping into the tiny bathroom, I caught a look at myself in the mirror. There was blood on my face. Blood and . . . brains? Oh fuck. Fuck. Trying not to panic, I turned on the water and scrubbed myself frantically. After a couple minutes the sink wheezed and ran dry. I clutched the edges of the counter, trying to catch my breath.
At least my face was clean. Now what the hell should I do next? You can do this. My phone had been in the purse, along with my gun. Thank God for Puck and the fake ID he’d provided—if Mom ditched it somewhere, it wouldn’t lead straight back to me.
Fuck, if only that was my biggest problem. That title went to the dead guy waiting for me outside the bathroom door. I didn’t know where I was, didn’t have a phone, and the only potential escape vehicle was a meth camper. Of course, odds were good the RV couldn’t drive anyway, which made things even better, right?
I needed to look around, see what I could find to work with. Oh, and not lose my shit in the process.
Counting to ten, I opened the bathroom door and stepped back out into the hallway. There was a small bedroom to my right. I started searching it, which wasn’t easy because Mom had obviously just ransacked the place. Lots of clothes everywhere. Couple bags of weed. I pulled open a drawer to find a purple dildo with dry, crusty stuff on it.
Ewwww . . .
I almost didn’t open the second drawer, scared of what I’d find inside. Get over it—you could die out here. Sliding it open, I hit pay dirt in the form of a .38 semiautomatic smiling up at me. I grabbed the pistol and checked it for ammo. Fully loaded. Now that was a thing of beauty. Feeling better, I kept looking, hoping for a phone or some keys. Thirty minutes later and still no joy. Pisser. There was only one place left to look. The most obvious place, really.
I needed to search Teeny’s body.
Biting my lip, I walked over and poked him with my foot cautiously. I knew he was dead, but somehow I kept expecting him to jump up and start yelling at me or something.
He didn’t.
My stepdad seemed smaller now. He’d never been physically imposing—if I’d fought harder, could I have protected myself? I’d never really fought him that much, not after the first time. I’d been too afraid to try.
Now he just looked pathetic. Almost fake. When he’d raped me, he smelled like stale sweat and grain alcohol. Now he smelled like raw hamburger. It was so pathetically mundane—shouldn’t a dead human smell like more than meat? If he’d managed to shoot me, I’d smell like that right now, too. Just another bag of burger.
Trying not to gag, I leaned forward and caught his hip, rolling the body to the side so I could reach his pockets. Inside I found a set of keys and a cell phone, my fingers leaving bloody streaks on the glass as I turned it on.
No service. Fuck.
Maybe the keys would work. I moved toward the front of the RV, wondering if I’d actually be able to drive the thing, assuming I could get it running.
Moot point—none of the keys even fit the ignition.
Now what?
I wasn’t sure how long I’d been in the camper, but it felt like hours had passed. The sun was pounding down, superheating everything. A fly buzzed by, landing on Teeny’s body. When I heard a motorcycle in the distance, my first reaction was a surge of excitement. Puck is coming to save me! Except Puck couldn’t possibly be coming to save me, because his bike was still up in Idaho.
The roar of the bike’s engine grew louder.
I ran over and locked the camper door, then darted into the tiny bedroom. Peering out from behind a faded curtain, I watched as a motorcycle pulled up next to the camper. A man wearing Longnecks colors swung off. He pulled his helmet free and I gasped.
It was Bax—Teeny’s brother.
Crappity crap crap!
Frantically I grabbed the .38, sitting down with my back against the bedroom wall. What should I do? Hide? The whole vehicle shuddered as Bax pounded on the flimsy door. I heard him cussing at Teeny, then everything shook again as he took his shoulder to the door. Seconds later he stepped inside.
“Oh, Jesus,” the man muttered, and I imagined the scene before him. His brother on the ground, chunks of brain and hair spattered around the room. The murder weapon still sitting right there, dripping with blood and slime. “Teeny, you little asshole.”
More rocking as the big man shuffled around. A gasping, wheezing noise. Was he crying? My tension grew as long seconds passed—would he search the bedroom? If he found me, I was fucked. I’d have to shoot him. Shoot to kill, preferably before he even realized I was here.
Looking down at the gun, I swallowed. Could I do this?
Another sound broke through my thoughts—a second vehicle was coming. I heard it turn toward the camper, growing louder as it pulled up. Bax must’ve heard it, too, because he scrambled to his feet, cocking his gun.
A door slammed. I clutched my own weapon, sliding toward the window to peek outside. Puck was just stepping out of his truck, semi-automatic pistol out and in front of him. His Reaper friend was climbing out the other side. I watched as they started around the camper in a wide circle, obviously scoping the place out.
No fucking way. How he’d found me I couldn’t imagine, but one thing was certain—if I didn’t so something, he’d walk right into an angry Longneck looking for revenge. A strange and terrible calm came over me and suddenly I understood why Puck had yelled at me earlier.
&
nbsp; I had to protect him.
Nothing else mattered.
Pulling away from the window, I edged toward the door, easing it open in silence. Bax stood waiting, gun at his side. He stretched his neck and smiled. I focused on my target as reality narrowed down to just the two of us.
I’d seen that look on his face before. Smug. Sure of himself. Exactly the way he’d looked right before he raped me. Lifting my gun, I braced carefully as I took aim.
Then I pulled the trigger.
The gun bucked in my hands but I held it steady, watching as Bax jerked to the side and fell heavily to the floor. His weapon dropped and I stepped forward, ready to shoot again as the men outside started shouting.
Puck didn’t sound like a very happy camper, I thought, wondering why that seemed so funny. It wasn’t normal, wanting to laugh right after putting a bullet in a man . . . Maybe I’d finally lost it? Oh, well. As for Puck, I’d just have to worry about him later. Right now I needed to be sure Bax was down for real. Reaching his gun, I nudged it away with my foot, then stood over him, gun trained on his head.
“Puck, are you out there?” I shouted.
“Becs? Is that you?”
“Yeah,” I yelled back. “I’m inside. There’s two guys in here with me, but I think they’re both dead. The door should be open, come inside.”
I heard the door hinge squeak behind me, then the hiss of Puck’s breath.
“Your girl doesn’t fuck around,” said the Reaper.
“Becs, drop your gun and step back,” Puck told me. “I’ve got them covered, so get out of the line of fire.”
Didn’t have to ask me twice.
I moved back toward the bedroom, setting my gun carefully on the dirty countertop. Puck stepped into the camper, nudging the bodies with his foot. Neither moved. He gave me a quick glance, his eyes taking inventory of my body.
“I’m fine,” I reassured him. “I mean, I think I just killed a guy, but aside from that it’s all good.”
Puck raised a brow.
“Sure you’re all right?” he asked. I considered the question seriously—everything felt sort of detached. I could feel my heart pounding, but it didn’t seem like a real part of me.