“After this morning’s incident, I thought it would be best.”
Course he did. It was all fun and games until I was launching bowls of steaming oatmeal at his face. But I thought that had happened days ago.
“I need to leave, and timing is kind of urgent, so if you could just…” He twirled his finger in the air, signaling for me to turn around.
I wasn’t willingly giving him my back. Crossing my arms tightly over my chest, I slightly widened my stance, as if I were a bull preparing to charge. “Why is it urgent?”
“I don’t have time for this. Turn around, or I’ll have him give you a zap.”
He took a step closer, instantly retracing it when I did the same.
Why had I never realized he was afraid of me? Vitus had done the same thing. I was just a girl, after all. I wondered where he was goin that had a light sheen of perspiration on his sullen skin. How much had I missed happening around me?
I silently held my wrists out in front of me and gave him a blank stare. If I was gonna be tied up, I preferred my arms to be in front of me. With no further demands, he quickly secured the rope, pulling so tightly I let out a small grunt as the brittle rope dug into my skin.
“I’ll unbind you when I return. This is just a precaution.”
I could’ve pointed out that I was locked behind a door in a house full of men…there wasn’t much to be cautious of on my end, but I had nothing to say to him.
He turned and wordlessly left me alone with what almost looked like concern on his face.
I took my usual position back up, studying the rope to see if I could possibly escape.
I was still doing that when the first pop spilled through the ventilation system. Unlike the last time, I knew it wasn’t a rat. Voices from below and rapid footfalls made me think it was just men rough-housing.
Someone came up the stairs, but didn’t come into the room, and then I heard it again. It was much closer this time around, and followed by something—someone—falling down the steps.
When the door flew open, I didn’t even jump. Staring at the massive hooded figure, I thought I’d either officially lost my mind or that I wasn’t awake. He shifted only slightly, making himself appear even taller, and looked me straight in the eye.
I knew those eyes. I saw the beard. Saw the inverted cross I’d always wanted to touch.
I even remembered the scent of citrus sweet and spicy wood that was naturally his. The hairs rose on the back of my neck as we simply stared at one another.
I couldn’t tell ya what it was that happened right then, only that I suddenly felt more awake then I had in days. Yet I still wasn’t fathoming what was going on. Leave it to Grimm to open his mouth and give me some swift clarification while skipping over all casualties.
“Get the fuck up; we need to go.” He glided towards me like he was floating on air, and pulled what looked like a mini scythe from beneath his black ensemble. The blade on the damn thing had to be a good seven inches long. And was that blood?
I instinctively brought my arms up, but it was more in defense than for him to slice through the rope like he did. It fell away, landing on the floor as if it were a dead snake.
It didn’t truly register that his hand was wrapped around mine and he was pulling me out into the hall until I realized my legs were moving. He didn’t launch into detail about what would happen next, but he wasn’t a real talkative man in the first place. That clearly hadn’t changed.
The striped wallpaper in the hall hung in peeled sheets, revealing moldy grey walls underneath. It sounded like the warped wood flooring was going to cave in from the pressure of our weight, sending us straight to the basement I knew the rats dwelled in. I’d been able to hear them in the vents when the house was quiet.
We were halfway down the stairs when I saw the body at the bottom. I couldn’t bring myself to feel sorry for him. I didn’t even try.
With no shoes on my feet, I made sure to avoid the crimson puddle just like Grimm did.
At the sound of footsteps, Grimm brought me flush against his back and pulled out a shiny black gun.
I didn’t see the initial impact the bullet made with the man’s face, but his screech of pain was somethin similar to the sound a cat made if you stepped on its tail.
When we started moving again, I saw him holding a hand over the spot his right eye should have been, blood rushing through the gaps in his fingers in a waterfall effect. He fell backward into the wall, making that same high-pitched sound.
I didn’t feel sorry for him either. He deserved this serving of vigilante justice.
My nerves felt like live-wires ready to short circuit, like at any moment I would wake up. This would have all just been a corporal daydream from me being stuck in my head again. I barely noticed how hard I was squeezing Grimm’s hand, and when I did, I found myself squeezin it harder.
He couldn’t let me go. He had to take me with him.
I didn’t care what his rep was; he was a much better alternative than being left behind with any of these men.
The first floor of the house was in the same condition as the second, if not worse. I didn’t understand why Noah was even staying someplace like this. He was used to more luxuries than I had been; a true spoiled pig.
We went through a kitchen and entered a hall with a strong noxious odor I couldn’t place. Bypassing two doorways, I saw a dead man on a toilet, and another with his throat split open. I would be a liar if I said I wasn’t impressed with how fast Grimm got this all done.
He took me down two stairs and right out a side door. Darkness was waiting for us, as were the few carrion birds I’d made friends with.
Grimm looked back at me and, without warning, turned and scooped me up as if I were a ragdoll before proceeding to take off.
“What are you doin?” I asked, holding onto him as he nearly ran with me in his arms.
“No shoes,” he answered, seeming to know exactly where he was going.
It didn’t take all that long for us to reach a garage, leaning on its last leg. He sat me down and immediately went inside, still givin me zero explanation as to what was goin on.
When he came back out, it was from around the corner of the structure, and he was wheeling a blacked out customized bike. I only knew it was a Harley because it said so right on a black front panel. The tires were thick, and the pipes gleamed; had this been a different situation, I might’ve drooled over the damn thing. It was so fitting for Grimm to have such a thing.
“Put this on,” he gruffly demanded, thrusting the large black hoodie he’d had on just a second ago into my line of vision.
I took a quick glance at him and saw he was focusing real hard on everything that wasn’t beneath my neckline.
That filthy feeling I always had intensified.
He was probably well aware of what had happened in that room. Did it make him think worse of me? Unable to look at him a second longer, I snatched the garment and pulled it over my head. It was long, covering everything, and almost to my knees. And it had his familiar smell. I left my hair tucked down inside it and pulled up the hood, knowing I was gonna have to get on his bike.
“Come on,” he said, swinging a leg over the side. I moved so I was behind him and tried to copy his flawlessly executed move with no help, but wound up gripping his shoulder.
“Easy,” he warned.
Trying again, I lifted up my slip and his hoodie and was able to take root behind him on my next attempt.
“Hold on tight,” he said over his shoulder, turning the engine over. I did as I was told and wrapped my arms around his middle, smashin my breasts into his back and clinging to him as he hit the gas and propelled us into the road.
Two kids and what looked like their grandmother stood in their front yard three houses down.
A bug zapper was lit up and illuminated what they was doing. They stopped mid-dig of whomever the person was they were burying to watch us pass. A tiny wooden cross stuck lop-sided out of the ground w
ith the word MOM written on it in tiny red letters.
As Grimm sharply turned the corner, the older child lifted her chubby hand and waved at me, smiling in spite of death being right in front of her.
At her age, seeing something like that in my neighborhood would have been hard for me to wrap my head around. It would have never happened in Centriole in the first place.
For this young girl, it was just another day in the Badlands. A child understood reality much better than I’d ever had the chance to at such a young age.
Like many of the other folk out here she had a family and she was educated. She had to wake up every day and go to sleep like everybody else did. Only, unlike the people livin nice and comfortably in The Kingdom, she wasn’t guaranteed to survive and see another day.
She understood what this world was really like, and still found it in her heart to smile. In my mind, she was already stronger than I ever was. And as I was taken away from that old neighborhood, I came to realize somethin.
That wall didn’t protect a damn thing. It just crippled everyone behind it.
Chapter Seven
When we hit the open road, he gunned us forward, roaring full speed ahead.
I waited for Noah to come crashing into my whimsical bubble and drag me back to the real world where my wrists were bound and I was alone on that bed, waitin for him to have his way with me again, but he never came.
It was just me and Grimm. Of all the people I thought would come and get me, I always knew it’d be him. He had always been my shadow.
Just when I was ready to give it all up, he came kickin doors in and remindin me he’d never let that happen. I held onto his waist a little tighter, but felt no fear in this moment.
The starless sky was like a black swirling sea overhead. It was the first beautiful thing I’d seen in months. The vast wasteland looked picturesque like this. Wind whipped at my face and made my eyes burn, but I didn’t care. It was fresh and clean, filtering in and out of my corrupted lungs—another sign that I’d really been freed from my four-walled prison.
The faster Grimm went, the more I felt the little tick in my chest that had been long gone trying to sputter again.
There was a chill in the air, but his hoodie gave me comfort, and his solid body was like a mini heater. He was the realest thing of all, the final bit of proof that this was reality. I could feel his firm abdominal muscles beneath my palms and smell him with every breath I took.
I’m not sure how long we rode, but when he finally began to slow, my arms ached and my thighs burned. There were structures rising up in the near distance and I belatedly realized I was looking at a city.
He pulled off to the side of the road and cut the engine. “You need to piss?” he asked, easily swinging off the bike and turning to face me.
For real? His face was so serious I had the absurd urge to laugh—and that was really somethin I was certain I’d forgotten how to do. How long had I been with him? An hour? Three? I could almost imagine that awful shithole of a house was months behind me already.
But my barren feet had felt the wind just as clearly as my cheeks. The slip I had on was still covered by nothing other than his hoodie, and I still felt filthy. It was impossible to look at him for longer than a few seconds, and I’d never had that problem before.
His gaze was penetratin. I forgot how easily he could see right through me.
Then there was the whole other issue that I couldn’t even believe was happening at a time such as this. The way this man pulled me in over and over again, like gravity I couldn’t overcome. I tried damn hard, too. I had been since the day we met. He would be a bad habit I’d never break free of.
I was in no kind of state to indulge in him. My mind was too unstable, brimming with an ugly cyclone of hatred, pain, and rage.
My soul had divided in two, and somethin wicked had taken residence in the middle. I didn’t want him looking at this version of Arlen Prosner, but I wasn’t much of a fan of the old one, either.
All of that sobered me right up and killed my momentary joy. I was like a mockingbird that could no longer carry a tune. And what was a mockingbird without its song, now that its whole purpose was gone?
The strange part of me I wasn’t real acquainted with yet had an answer, but she still withheld it. Grimm stood before me, strong as ever, like he was the one who would explain everything, as if it was his responsibility to shoulder my burdens and make it better.
And wasn’t that bullshit? Hadn’t I handled everything up until this point? A harsh resounding no swiftly echoed inside my head. I didn’t understand that either, so I wasn’t goin to bother trying.
Clearing my throat, I shook my head, putting on the best poker face I could. Not a second later, his hand was cuppin my chin and reorienting my face with his line of vision.
“When I speak to you with words, you give me your eyes and speak back. That’s how a conversation works.”
“Plenty a people talk without payin attention to what the other’s doin, Grimm.”
I scowled and pushed his hand away; he easily let me go, but then snapped his fingers in my face to make me focus on him again.
“Last I checked, we’re not plenty of people. I want your eyes on mine. You got that, brat?”
It sounded like he’d left somethin hangin off his sentence, but I knew Grimm well enough that if he didn’t elaborate the first time, he wouldn’t be goin back to amend his words.
Besides, he’d just called me brat. I didn’t think I’d ever hear that nickname again. To be honest, I’d hated it, but ya know somethin? Brat sounded a helluva lot better than Arlen at the moment.
“I don’t have to go number one or number two,” I answered, holdin his gaze a full seven seconds—I counted.
“That’s an improvement, but you could’ve just said you don’t have to take a shit.”
“I don’t talk like you, Grimm.”
“Clearly,” he grunted, going to the saddlebag on the opposite side of his bike.
“You shouldn’t have an issue looking people in the eye. Why would you want to hide that face of yours?”
I blinked. Was that sarcasm? If he’d just complimented me, I might still be daydreamin. When I just stared at him like an illiterate fool, he opened the bag and pulled out a pile of clothing.
He wordlessly held the bundle in his hands, waiting for me to get off his Harley and put it on right there on the side of the road. I climbed down, feeling like I’d just stepped in a bowl of Jell-O.
“Careful,” he warned, shooting a hand out to steady me by grabbing my shoulder.
“I’m good,” I said after a few seconds, taking the small pile from him. I sorted everything out, surprised to find a pair of underwear and a bra folded inside the dark green tank top.
Seeing as we were on the shoulder and out in the open, I dressed as quick as I could.
I slipped the black underwear on, then the fitted charcoal pants. Next were the brown leather combat boots. A pair of socks had been shoved down inside them. I reckoned Cali was to thank for all the extras—the girl had smarts.
Once the shoes were laced, I pulled Grimm’s hoodie over my head and turned around, giving him my back as I took off the slip and clasped the matching bandeau bra.
Little bumps peppered my skin as it was exposed to the night air. Snagging the tank top, I hurriedly added that last, and tried to ignore the feel of Grimm’s eyes on me the entire time.
“What now?” I asked, turning to face him the second I was decent.
“I have to go into the city—”
“You ain’t leavin me,” I butted in.
“Never planned on leaving you, brat, I just thought you’d like to be dressed before we went.”
That was logical. “Oh, well, here.”
“Keep it.” He ignored his outstretched hoodie and climbed back on his bike.
Shruggin my shoulders, I pulled it back over my head, pushing the sleeves up as best I could, and then climbed back on behind him, try
ing not to pay much attention to how sore my ass had become.
This was nothin compared to what it’d felt like…whenever that incident was. He gunned his engine again and we were off, leaving my slip of ruined material behind us.
Chapter Eight
She didn’t need to hold me so tight, but I wasn’t going to stop her.
This was the only time I’d had a woman sitting on the back of my bike instead of dragging them behind it. Being held like this was different, but not as intolerable as I’d imagined.
I tried not to think about it too much, how right it felt. I focused on wondering why I’d said what I had. I’d been trying to tell her she had too pretty a face to hide it away.
That was an understatement, anyway. Brat was a bombshell. It knocked me off kilter to even think that. I had almost eleven years on her, but my moral compass hadn’t spontaneously decided to start working again because of that.
This thought process was more along the lines that I’d been with women all over the spectrum—beautifully dark to pale, freckled redheads, and none of them looked like her. They weren’t even a fraction as enticing; they’d still be alive if that were the case.
I could only imagine how much better she’d look at this age. I could see it clear enough that my dick hardened as we tore up the blacktop, and I was in no position to fix it.
That was a good enough reason to concentrate on other matters, like getting inside her head on our trip home.
Not sounding like a pubescent little boy was a good start. That bullshit that just came out of my mouth was cringe-worthy.
Not only was it a corny ass line, but it didn’t exactly translate what I’d been thinking clearly. Speaking to women wasn’t in my repertoire of skills. I was usually telling them to shut the fuck up for screaming in my ear. That was in both instances: fucking and killing.
Cobra was the best at things like that; even Romero was smoother than I was, and he wasn’t Casanova by anyone’s standards—not even my sister’s.
Outcasts (Badlands Book 3) Page 5
