She nodded, still in shock.
“Come on. I need to gas up. Then we’ll get you home.”
She just nodded again. She looked completely numb.
I rode the bike over to the pumps and filled the gas tank. Janine kept looking over her shoulder back toward where the two bodies were lying in the darkness. I didn’t say anything to her, just put as much gas in as fast as I could. When my tank was full, I got back on and the bike roared to life.
We sped out of there, back the opposite way we had come, back down the highway.
I didn’t know what the girl was thinking, but it couldn’t be good. She’d just witnessed her first gang murder, or at least heard it. She’d been around us for a long time, but she’d never had to see what we did close up before. I couldn’t begin to guess what she was feeling.
We sped back, and suddenly I felt her press herself up against me harder. She gripped me like that, holding my body hard, and I could feel her begin to shake.
Crying, probably.
I clenched my jaw. I wanted to stop and hold her, help her, but I couldn’t. I had to keep going, just in case the cops were looking for us or just happened to ride by. We couldn’t slow down.
So I let her hold me like that as I rode fast back toward her apartment.
19
Janine
They were the first murdered men I had ever seen in my life.
When Clutch rode out of town and eventually got onto that desert highway, I’d had a feeling that we were running from someone. I couldn’t tell who exactly, since I didn’t want to look back, but I figured it was bad. Clutch wasn’t the type to do something rash without a reason.
When we got to the gas station and he told me to get into the bathroom, I understood what was happening, but some stupid part of me thought maybe he’d just fight the guys, beat them up, and then we’d run away.
It never occurred to me that he was about to kill them.
But of course he did. Of course he killed them, because they were there to kill us. He had no choice. I saw the weapons the men were carrying, and I saw the patch on the one man’s back. They were Snakes, and they were after me.
I was numb at first. I hadn’t actually seen them die, but I had heard the shots and seen the bodies. I was just totally numb and couldn’t think about anything but those bodies and the blood, all that blood.
We hit the road and headed back toward the city and my apartment. I couldn’t stop myself from hugging up hard against Clutch as all my fear and terror spilled out of me. I cried and cried, sobbing against his back. We couldn’t stop of course, since Clutch had just killed two guys. We had to keep running back toward the city, where we would be safe. But I needed to hold something, needed to cry, to get it out of my system.
We rode back through the night, not stopping or slowing down. Clutch was like a stone sitting ahead of me, but he was also something else.
He had killed for me.
About halfway back home, that thought hit me like thunder. Clutch had just killed for me without a second thought. He’d put himself in danger and killed two men just to keep me safe.
I knew that was his job. I knew Clutch was an enforcer, a violent and dangerous man, but I’d never seen it before. Now it was real. Clutch was willing to kill for me.
That hit me in a strange way. I’d been wrestling with feelings for him for a while now, feelings I couldn’t exactly define or control. But knowing what he’d do for me, it began to push me closer and closer to something, to some edge.
We moved on through the night, not talking, not stopping, not slowing. There was only him. He was my strength, my foundation. I held him tightly, terrified of letting him go.
Finally, after that felt like the longest ride of my life, we pulled up outside my apartment building. We hadn’t come across any problems or seen the police, which was good.
He cut the engine and stood. “Stay close to me,” he said.
I nodded, suddenly afraid again. He reached into the bags at the side of his bike and quickly reloaded his gun. He nodded to me and then moved into my building. I kept close to him, staying just behind.
We moved slowly. He checked each corner, each doorway. He was careful, methodical, and I was afraid.
Up the stairs and down the hallway. I kept close, kept near. His bulk and his body were reassuring. I tried to control my breathing.
We stopped outside my door. He tested the knob and then held out a hand for the key.
I gave it to him. He unlocked it and kicked it open, flinging the door wide and entering gun first.
Nothing. I followed close behind. The apartment was dark, lonely, empty.
“Stay,” he grunted at me. I watched as he moved through the whole place, checking every closet, the bedroom, under the bed, the shower, everywhere someone could hide.