I started to count my heartbeats as the car drew nearer, so heavy and tense they made me want to pass out. The policeman passed, didn't even slow down, and a second later he disappeared behind the latest mountain bend.
Fuck. Disappointed again. Why did I ever expect anything else?
It took forever to cross the state line into North Carolina. Far longer than it should've.
The men kept getting lost in the mountains, and I realized Mustache Man was just as fucked up as his Prospects.
My driver, Chaps, swore repeatedly. Then the storm hit, and ice cold rain buried his curses.
Freezing bullets pounded everything, so torrential and sudden and loud it should've been terrifying. We couldn't see. The bikes skidded down the hills just when I thought we were about to wreck, into some nameless little town with pale yellow lights blurred by the small ocean dumping down on us.
I was officially numb now. Ready for whatever was going to happen, even my own death.
The men screamed at each other as we rolled into a cheap motel. At first, I thought it was to fill up, but the gas pumps outside were just as derelict as the little shack next to it with the broken windows.
Our bike jerked to a stop. I watched Chaps jump off and go stomping toward his comrades, all of them pissed off and yelling.
“We'd better spend the fucking night, Lock. No way are we gonna get to Charlotte and make this chick presentable in this kinda weather.”
“The pimp said no delays, asshole. We'll take a few hours and keep going, whatever we need for this shit to blow over. Veep's got us on a tight schedule. Big Vic'll choke our sorry asses out personally if we don't keep moving.” Mustache man pushed the prospect, and I watched Chaps stagger back, a hatred he couldn't reciprocate glowing in his eyes. “Fuck you both. Get your own rooms. If you're just gonna stand there, I'll take care of this cunt myself. She owes me extra for all the trouble.”
I barely had time to blink or wipe the latest cold rain from my eyes. His huge hand practically ripped me off the bike, and soon we were heading for the dingy motel office.
I stood like a zombie, listening as he made arrangements with the bored looking man working in the run-down place. The dumpy owner didn't see anything out of the ordinary. He mistook my tears for rain, if he noticed at all.
Cash and keys were exchanged. The gorilla's hand seized my wrist again, pulling me out, toward a small white door with its paint flaking off.
My stupor didn't lift until I realized he was about to push me inside, alone with him.
Oh, God. He reeked booze and motor oil up close. The way his eyes wandered while he fumbled with the key told me he wasn't sober. Small miracle we hadn't all died on the way here.
His reckless expression told me he had even less incentive to hand me over untouched. He wanted me before I reached my buyer, and the demon was obviously too stoned to care about the consequences.
The door popped open and he flipped me around. I hit the wall hard, his body pressed against mine, too clumsy and horny to even close the door.
“I've had my good eyes on you this whole time, bitch. Fuck, I can see why that bastard in Charlotte paid a pretty penny for you. The pimp said you'd never been fucked before. Is that true?”
He didn't wait for my answer, and I wasn't giving him one. Both his sick hands fondled my breasts, squeezed them so hard I wanted to yelp.
I had to keep my guard up against my instinct to fight. If I made any move to push him, to kick him in the balls, he'd probably kill me.
Christ. Why was it so hard to get back to that numb, detached place I'd found in the storm?
“It'll be our little secret tonight, baby girl. Just you and me. The fuckhead buying you won't know shit about what I do to you tonight. I'll leave you something sweet to remember when his floppy old cock's busy fucking you. I hear he's an impotent piece of shit – likes to rough his girls up and get foot jobs.” He stood up straight, a tremor in his hands, his overgrown mustache twitching. “Never understood that shit. Tonight, little girl, the only shit I'll be doing with your feet is holding them over your head 'til you fucking scream.”
I opened my eyes, ready for the horror.
But he wasn't looking at me. I thought he was about to put his filthy lips on mine, but he stood straight up, listening to the deafening growl outside our door.
Bikes. Lots of them.
“Shit!” he snarled, jerking away from me and reaching for the gun tucked into his belt. “If those boys got themselves in a skirmish with some other smartass fuckers, I swear I'll wring their fucking necks.”
His boot hit the door and it swung open. I screamed when he flew back a second later and hit the ground.
The bastard went down. He hit the floor with a resounding thud and didn't move. It wasn't until I saw the hole in his chest that I realized he'd taken several bullets, and my knees gave out.