I tuck my finger into Mathias’ buckle and tug at it slightly, motioning for him to come closer with his legs stretching out beside me.
My fingertip slides smoothly across his belt and over his thighs.
With my other hand, I find what I need, taped under the carriage of the car. I feel the cool steel of the gun.
“Daddy, may I ask you something?”
I playfully nip at the leather of his belt being loosened as he starts his unlatching process to eventually kick out of these jeans.
The main struggle I've found with bikers is that their pants are so tight it's hard as hell to get them off, which is ironic seeing as I've never known a single one to not be down to fuck at a moment's notice.
You'd think they'd have solved this issue by now.
“Anything, baby girl.” His voice is light, lust filling it like hot air.
“I want to really know you, daddy.”
He chuckles, “You want to know if I’ve ever hurt anyone, baby girl? If I’m one of those bikers on TV. Have I ever killed anyone?”
He sighs in what sounds like relief but not at his own answer.
His left hand climbs out to twirl my braid. He stares at me with these hungry eyes.
I let my cheek rest right against the thin fabric keeping us from being skin to skin. I will take this pretty far, for everyone involved. But I can't do skin to skin.
I draw my line there.
“It’s all true. All of it, baby girl,” he says.
“Is that what you wanted to hear, baby?”
“You should be punished, daddy.”
His eyes are wide, hungry for my touch and what I could do. His arms supporting him up, he nods along to what he thinks is foreplay. I guess, in a way, it is... foreplay with death.
“You’ve been bad, daddy, I should punish you.” I flutter my lashes.
“You want to punish daddy? How, baby girl?”
He hisses when I take a small nip at his thigh to finalize my business here.
“Like this.”
Not to be too cringe here, but here comes the moment.
My arm is up and steady, my index finger on the black trigger with the silencer ready to catch the bang from anyone hearing it but me and the man I have sentenced.
I know what is going to happen next. We went over it a million times.
I know that the bullet will fire out of the steel barrel and land in the front right side of his head.
I know that the scar lining down his eyebrow will catch the tip of the shot.
I know it.
But that’s not what happens...
Before I get a chance to pull the trigger, I see the skin of Mathias’s head start oozing with blood as a different bullet finds refuge within Mathias’s skull.
A gasp escapes my lips out of sheer shock from being taken off guard.
My arm, overloaded with the weight of the pistol, drops to my side. I can't get my mind wrapped around what just happened.
The chill of the metal barrel sloshed against my bare skin makes it clear to me, I'm not the one who fired.
I want to scream. I want to regain control.
I just can't.
My heart is too silent, my breathing is completely gone.
I soak in each and every detail of the man lying dead in front of me.
The unnatural bend in his hand.
The trickle of blood still steaming out the freshly born hole at the top of his forehead.
I see everything.
I can feel when time starts again, like the little hand and big hand took a five-minute break, before clocking back in.
I can’t sit and stare at the dead. Not even for a moment more.
Tick. Tock.
I snap out of my haze and put the gun back under the car. Sliding it between the duct tape loops that originally held it for me.
My hangman’s noose if you would.
I feel sick.
I know the plan. I know what I have to do.
Keep it together.
Taking my hands I forcefully bend Mathias’ knees so I can tuck his legs into the trunk, curling them back so I can slip in beside him.
Now I’m waiting...with a dead man.
The tow truck arrives like a white flag on the field. In disguise, Grave steps out of the truck in his rolled up overalls.
I want to scream for help, but I know better.
I don't know what just happened.
He doesn't look terribly worried. He made the plan, he taught me the plan, he watched me.
If something was really wrong, he'd have to know, right?
Coming to the back of the car, he latches the pull chain. When he spots me in the back seat, I can see a melancholy look in his eyes.
I know he doesn't want me here.
This is the part we all worried about.
The part I tried my hardest to not think about.
I would be in a car. No music. No jacket. No real wind on my face. Not in control of the driving. With a dead body to keep me company.
This is the freakout moment that we were all waiting for.
That was just a side effect of the Justice.
I have no Angel.
I have no Percy.
I have no Uncle Jonah.
I have no knock-out juice.
This is just me and facing these fears.
These memories.
It’s just me now.
The car starts to move, making me fall into Mathias, gravity giving me a hard and cold shove.
And then we’re on the road again.
I can do this.
My eyes squeeze shut, and I feel the car start to move.
My mouth opens, and all that comes out is the beeping of my phone.
My eyes open, and I see that we’re out of Hell’s Raider’s territory. A motorcycle is riding alongside the car—the light weight crotch rocket that Dane has somewhere found.
Dane stays by my side.
My hand comes up to the window he is closest to, and I focus on the little brother riding with me.
The tire hasn’t blown.
The water hasn’t taken over as the driver.
I’m safe.
I’m not there.
I’m here.
He’s here.
I’m okay.
We are okay.
But one question still haunts me. If I didn’t shoot Mathais Barnes, who the hell did?
