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Authors: Riley Rollins
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ditch, everything felt so intense, so visceral. I was wide awake, and all my senses were working in overdrive. Finally Axl succeeded in freeing my hands. I reached up and he grabbed my hands with his, pulling me to my feet. He rubbed the skin of my wrists, which were raw and red.
“Holly,” he said, looking into my eyes, “We’ve gotta get the hell out of here.” He wrapped his hands around me, pulling me closer. I shivered, not realizing how cold I’d been. His embrace made me feel completely safe and protected, just like back in the pickup truck. It was magic—I didn’t think anything could comfort me right now, but he did.
I nodded, blinking hard, trying to think straight. “I can go to my friend Brooke’s house,” I said.
“No. Fuck that,” said Axl. “You’re comin’ with me until this blows over.”
Oh my god , I thought. Not again. I felt my dream of competing at the indie film festivals slipping away from me. And graduation—I couldn’t afford to miss any more classes. But what fucking choice did I have?
“What about my parents?”
Axl’s forehead wrinkled, his eyes squeezed closed in thought.
“You gotta tell ‘em to get outta here. They can go to the cops if they need to.”
A lump formed in my throat.
“Fuck,” I whispered. I looked at the two men lying on the ground next to their van. “What happens when the cops find them?”
“That ain’t happening. Somebody’s gonna come clean this shit up stat,” Axl said, grimacing. “I’m gonna stash these guys in the back of their van for now.”
“What about the blood?”
He grimaced again. “It’ll be gone before dawn. Right now you gotta get your stuff and leave a note for your parents. Tell ‘em to bounce.”
I swallowed hard. “Okay.”
I hurried back toward my house. As I started across the street, out of the corner of my eye I saw Axl dragging the men’s bodies into the back of their van.
Chapter 15: Axl
While Holly grabbed her stuff, I crammed the two dirty Reaper carcasses into the back of the van. I thanked fuck that this had gone down in boring-ass Coppertail; not a soul drove past while I loaded up the van. And no one noticed that when I backed it up ten feet, it was to cover the massive pool of blood on the asphalt.
I put the van in park, pulled out my cell phone, and sent a text to the contact in my book named “Mr. Clean.” The Sons contracted him to take care of fucked-up situations like this. I grimaced at the thought of the drain this’d be on my bank account—this was a personal call, not a club call, and a nighttime rush job at that. Mr. Clean didn’t work cheap.
I exited the van and slammed the door, locking the keys inside as Holly came out of her house. As long as he got here before the Reapers did, we’d have a head start. Mr. Clean would be doing a good deed, I thought wryly. By getting the carcasses outta here, he’d be saving the neighborhood from a god-forsaken smell when the sun came up in the morning.
“I’m ready,” said Holly, apprehensively. She had a small red backpack slung around her shoulder.
I stepped off the road into the ditch, hauling my bike upright. It was too dark to see the damage, but I had no doubt it’d need some fuckin’ bodywork after that. Pissed me off, but I’d done what I had to.
I pulled off my cut and surveyed it. It was splattered in Reaper blood. Now there was a badge of pride if I’d ever seen one. I grinned at my jacket, and if it’d had a mouth, it would’ve grinned right back. But I couldn’t wear this thing right now. It’d just be another target on our backs—literally.
I stuffed the cut into a saddlebag, but not before using the clean side to wipe the fuckin’ blood off my face. “Let’s go,” I said.
We mounted the bike, and we rode the hell away from that bloodbath.
I took us to an old hideout of mine. An old, decrepit motel in the desert near the California border where no one ever fucked with you. It was full of people who
“Holly,” he said, looking into my eyes, “We’ve gotta get the hell out of here.” He wrapped his hands around me, pulling me closer. I shivered, not realizing how cold I’d been. His embrace made me feel completely safe and protected, just like back in the pickup truck. It was magic—I didn’t think anything could comfort me right now, but he did.
I nodded, blinking hard, trying to think straight. “I can go to my friend Brooke’s house,” I said.
“No. Fuck that,” said Axl. “You’re comin’ with me until this blows over.”
Oh my god , I thought. Not again. I felt my dream of competing at the indie film festivals slipping away from me. And graduation—I couldn’t afford to miss any more classes. But what fucking choice did I have?
“What about my parents?”
Axl’s forehead wrinkled, his eyes squeezed closed in thought.
“You gotta tell ‘em to get outta here. They can go to the cops if they need to.”
A lump formed in my throat.
“Fuck,” I whispered. I looked at the two men lying on the ground next to their van. “What happens when the cops find them?”
“That ain’t happening. Somebody’s gonna come clean this shit up stat,” Axl said, grimacing. “I’m gonna stash these guys in the back of their van for now.”
“What about the blood?”
He grimaced again. “It’ll be gone before dawn. Right now you gotta get your stuff and leave a note for your parents. Tell ‘em to bounce.”
I swallowed hard. “Okay.”
I hurried back toward my house. As I started across the street, out of the corner of my eye I saw Axl dragging the men’s bodies into the back of their van.
Chapter 15: Axl
While Holly grabbed her stuff, I crammed the two dirty Reaper carcasses into the back of the van. I thanked fuck that this had gone down in boring-ass Coppertail; not a soul drove past while I loaded up the van. And no one noticed that when I backed it up ten feet, it was to cover the massive pool of blood on the asphalt.
I put the van in park, pulled out my cell phone, and sent a text to the contact in my book named “Mr. Clean.” The Sons contracted him to take care of fucked-up situations like this. I grimaced at the thought of the drain this’d be on my bank account—this was a personal call, not a club call, and a nighttime rush job at that. Mr. Clean didn’t work cheap.
I exited the van and slammed the door, locking the keys inside as Holly came out of her house. As long as he got here before the Reapers did, we’d have a head start. Mr. Clean would be doing a good deed, I thought wryly. By getting the carcasses outta here, he’d be saving the neighborhood from a god-forsaken smell when the sun came up in the morning.
“I’m ready,” said Holly, apprehensively. She had a small red backpack slung around her shoulder.
I stepped off the road into the ditch, hauling my bike upright. It was too dark to see the damage, but I had no doubt it’d need some fuckin’ bodywork after that. Pissed me off, but I’d done what I had to.
I pulled off my cut and surveyed it. It was splattered in Reaper blood. Now there was a badge of pride if I’d ever seen one. I grinned at my jacket, and if it’d had a mouth, it would’ve grinned right back. But I couldn’t wear this thing right now. It’d just be another target on our backs—literally.
I stuffed the cut into a saddlebag, but not before using the clean side to wipe the fuckin’ blood off my face. “Let’s go,” I said.
We mounted the bike, and we rode the hell away from that bloodbath.
I took us to an old hideout of mine. An old, decrepit motel in the desert near the California border where no one ever fucked with you. It was full of people who
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