CHAPTER FOUR
Jillian
AN HOUR LATER I END UP falling asleep. The same dream of the Devil’s hand clamping on my shoulder returns. The rough, reptilian hand slithers down my chest, and fondles my breast. Its sharp claws shredding my shirt, it’s rough skin coarse against my sensitive nipple. I sigh loudly, Zeek’s name ripping from my chest. The scaly hand applies pressure, its talons digging into my flesh pouring warm blood down my abdomen. Pain ignites throughout my body like I’ve never felt before, and a shrill cry erupts from my throat, as it tears into my chest, grasping my heart in the heel of its palm.
Crimson spills from my mouth as the hand leaning over my shoulder takes my heart with it.
“Jillian!” A horn honks, and I jump awake. My body soaked with sweat, and my chest heaving for air. I glance over at Zeek, who is halfway out of the driver’s seat, worry stretched across his face. “What the fuck?” he growls.
“I—I had a bad dream.” I pant, rubbing my forehead. Shaking his head, he situates himself back in his seat. “It was nothing. Don’t worry about it. How much longer?” I ask, my voice muffled with fear.
“Well, I am worried.” He exhales a deep breath. “We’re almost there.”
Sitting up in my seat, I grab a bag of chips that hasn’t been opened, revealing three other unopened bags underneath it.
“Fucking stoners,” Zeek chuckles, grabbing a bag of Cheetos. “They get the munchies,” he continues, a boyish smile fitting his face. I try not to laugh, but I fail, and a small smile breaks through. “Ah, she smiles, finally.”
Kicking my feet on the dash, I open the bag of sour cream and onion.
“Don’t get used to it. Baby steps.”
We sit in silence, well, mostly silence. The chomping of chips, and the crinkle of the bags the only noise.
“Look in the glovebox for some pain relievers or maybe he’ll have some pot left over.”
“Really, you want me to look for drugs?” I can’t even hide the amount of sarcasm in my face.
“It’s weed, the Indians used it for healing and shit. Hell, it comes from the ground, like fucking flowers and shit, it’s natural.”
“Flowers? Really? I don’t see anyone sitting around smoking lilies,” I smart.
“I’m sure someone has tried it before, and if it made you feel like weed did, people would be smoking lilies, I’m sure.”
I roll my lips into a thin line to stifle my smile.
He pulls on the homemade tourniquet on his arm, the white rag nearly soaked with blood. Swallowing, I sit up and open the glove compartment. He’s not wanting it for the thrill of getting high, he’s in pain.
He was shot trying to save my ass.
“There’s nothing.”
“Shit!” His husky tone vibrates through me and I wonder how much pain he truly is in and if it’s bearable at this point. Should he even be driving? I question as I glance back over at him, my eyes zoning straight in on where the blood soaked rag is.
“You sure we shouldn’t see a doctor?”
“Yes!” he snaps, making me jump in my seat. Asshole. He glances at me out of the corner of his eye, like he didn’t mean to lash out.
Having had enough of this interaction I turn in my seat, looking out the window.
An hour goes by, and I can’t help the incredible urge to pee any longer. I’ve been holding it for the last twenty minutes.
“I need to pee.”
Zeek huffs, looking over at me.
“Can’t you hold it, we’re almost there.”
“How close?”
“I don’t know. Ten minutes, maybe?”
I could hold it, but I want to be a pain in the ass. After all, he put me in fucking cuffs again.
“No, I need to go now.”
His shoulders rise, his eyes piercing me knowingly. He knows I’m trying to anger him. I can’t help the smile breaking through my lips. “Really bad, too.”
Motorcycles zoom past us, but it’s too dark to read the insignia on their cuts.
“We really are close,” I state.
Zeek pulls the van over, a bunch of cars, and bikes parked around a building about a block up.
“Why are you parking back here? Aren’t you going to go in there, guns blazing and shit like you normally do?”
“No, I’m not.” He exhales, sitting back in his seat. “Normally I would. But things are different.” He pauses, his lips rolling over one another in thought. He seems conflicted, or worried. To be honest I don’t know what it is, I’ve never seen this look on Zeek’s face before. “I killed one of their members,” he mutters, his words coming off like he’s not proud. I almost forgot Zeek and his brother, Lip, got into a war, resulting in a member of the Devil’s Dust being killed at the hands of Zeek.