Piston by Andi Rhodes

Chapter Twenty-Six

_{I’m on my own.}

Holland

My head is split in two. That’s the only explanation for the pain. Someone has sliced my skull into two separate halves and is taking their sweet time putting it back together. I reach up and touch my hand to the spot that hurts the most and wince at the sticky wetness I encounter.

That can’t be good.

“It’s about goddamn time you woke up.”

I try to open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. My eyes are heavy but somehow, I find the strength to lift my lids. Terror grips me when my head falls to the side and I see two people sitting on a bed two feet away.

“Don’t try to talk,” the woman says. “There’s nothing you can say that will change your fate.”

I shift my eyes from her pockmarked face and stringy hair to the man sitting next to her. I immediately regret it because he appears more evil than she does. He has a toothpick sticking out from between his teeth. He’s not a large man, not by any stretch of the imagination. But the sledgehammer in his hands is another story.

Is that what he struck me with? It can’t be. I wouldn’t be alive if it were.

“W-who…” I try to swallow but can’t. “Who…”

I squeeze my eyes shut in frustration. Why the hell can’t I talk?

“I’m Sal,” the man says and then he points to his partner. “This is my wife, Rachel. You might know us better as Des and Devin’s parents.”

My eyes widen at the revelation.

“Figured that would mean something to you,” Sal comments.

He rises from the mattress and steps to the edge of the bed I’m lying on. He drops the sledgehammer next to me. I try to move away, but my body isn’t listening to my brain’s commands. His hands grip me under my armpits and he slides me into a sitting position. He’s deceptively strong and that makes my fear skyrocket.

Rachel moves to sit on the opposite side of me. “I don’t like hurting people. That’s why I set the fire. It was a warning. But no one listened.”

“What she’s trying to say is she’s a mama bear trying to protect her cubs.”

What the hell are they talking about? Why do they need to protect their sons?

“Ya know,” Sal begins as he picks up the sledgehammer and swings it up to rest on his shoulder. “None of this would have happened if the Soulless Kings would have just taken on my boys as runners. We’d have been set with all the drugs we could want, our bills would be paid with the money they earned. Life would have been good.”

“But that’s not what happened, is it Holland?” Rachel asks. “No, it isn’t. All of a sudden, the club decides to grow a conscience. And ya know what? That’s on you.”

I narrow my eyes at her.

“It’s true. Everyone knows that the Soulless Kings are ruthless, but they’re also loyal. They take care of the people making them money. And then you came along and suddenly, the money didn’t matter. All they gave a shit about was our sons being underage and then taking them from us.”

“B-but…”

Sal backhands me across the face, increasing my pain tenfold.

“Des, he’s a good boy. He’ll do whatever he can to earn money. Unfortunately, he doesn’t always use his brain.” Sal shrugs. “Mostly when he’s trying to protect Devin. He fucked up that night by taking Devin with him. And before you came along, that might not have mattered.”

Rachel yanks me toward her by the hair. “And he keeps doing the same thing, over and over...protecting his bitch baby brother. All we—”

“But Rachel and me… we’re smarter than they are. We figured out their game.”

He swings the sledgehammer up and swings it down toward me. I curl into a ball to defend myself against the blow, but he moves it at the last second and it bounces off the bed.

“Damn.” He whistles. “You’re quicker than I thought you’d be. That shit we pumped into you must be wearing off.” He shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. You’ll be dead before it’s completely out of your system.”

“Anyway,” Rachel says and glares at her husband. “You always do that, Sal. You never let me talk.”

“You’re taking too long,” he snaps. “Say what you gotta say so I can kill her. Our guy is going to be here soon and I don’t want her doing something to tip him off.”

Their guy?

“I wanna be high when we kill her,” Rachel whines. “I’ll make sure she stays quiet when he gets here, but you’re not taking that from me.”

“Rachel, fucking say what you have to say.”

“All we had to do was beat them at their own game. Sal here,” she says and beams up at him, the man she was just having a pissing contest with. “He threatened Devin, knowing that Des would want to protect him. And then…” She scoots closer to me and clasps her hands together, giddy and very disturbing. “Then he convinced Des to do whatever we wanted to keep Devin safe. Now he’ll do whatever we want him to. It’s so easy now.”

“She’s right,” Sal says. “He posted the note on the gate at the clubhouse all to keep his brother out of harm’s way. He agreed to keep going to the club and shop to gather information for us. He’s basically a spy.”

I’m never making it out of here alive. These two are batshit nuts. Meredith was bad but them? I can’t win against evil.

“Shh.” Sal puts a finger to his lips. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Rachel asks.

A knock on the door breaks through the tension. If I weren’t so scared, I’d laugh. Knocks on doors are apparently my kryptonite and I have a feeling this one won’t be any different.

“Who is it?”

“Motherfucking Santa Claus,” a deep voice barks from outside. “Open the goddamn door.”

Rachel scurries off the bed and rushes to do as instructed. I watch as she slides the flimsy chain and opens the door. Her face lights up and she claps her hands.

“Yes,” she squeals and looks over her shoulder. “Sal, he’s here.”

“I can see that, you stupid bitch.”

Sal walks to stand next to Rachel. He digs in his pocket and pulls out a tattered wallet. He spreads it open and stares for a moment.

This is my chance. I have to make a sound, do anything to get the man’s attention. I have no idea who he is but anything is better than these two.”

“He-help,” I manage to croak out but not loud enough for anyone to hear.

“I got forty-two dollars,” Sal informs the man. “What can I get for that?”

I brace for the pain and slam my head back against the headboard. It works! The man pushes his way into the room and stops in his tracks when he spots me.

“What the hell is going on here?” he demands, glaring at my captors. “Why is she covered in blood?”

“Nothing is going on,” Sal says nonchalantly and then looks back at his wallet. “Oh, shit. I miscounted.” He plucks money from his wallet. “How much will a grand get me?”

The man looks back toward me and seems to be contemplating his options. When he sighs and looks back toward Sal and Rachel, I know I’m screwed.

“My silence and the smallest rock I’ve got.”

Rachel snatches the money from Sal’s hand and shoves it into the man’s chest. “Good enough. Gimme the rock.”

The man takes the money and shoves it in his pocket. He pulls out a baggie and slaps it into Rachel’s palm.

“Lose my number,” he demands of them. “I’m not supplying you again.”

“Done,” Sal agrees.

The man turns to walk out of the room, but before he’s through the door, he glances at me and his face falls. “Sorry, lady. I can’t be involved in anything that’ll get the cops sniffing at my door.” Then, he winks at me.

Confusion slips into my thoughts and he disappears out the door, taking any hope I may have had a few minutes ago with him.

Rachel frantically digs into the baggie and pulls out what I assume is a crack rock. That’s the only thing that makes sense.

“C’mon, Sal.” She thrusts the drugs at him. “Heat it up. I need this.”

“Fine, but let’s make it quick. I want to finish with her and get the fuck out of here.”

Rachel grabs a spoon and syringe out of a bag on the edge of the bed and hands them to Sal.

My mind races as fast as it can in my impaired state. I have to figure out a way to save myself because clearly, no one is going to help me. I know Janessa has already discovered I’m gone, but I don’t know what she’ll do. I hope she calls Piston, but even if she did, they don’t know where I’m at.

I’m on my own.

I wiggle my fingers and toes. When I’m able to do that, I start testing movement in my extremities. It’s not easy but I can do it. I have to do it. If I can get myself to stand up then maybe I can fight my way out.

Against a sledgehammer?

Rachel and Sal, finished with shooting up what the man gave them, sit on either side of me on the bed.

“Now,” Rachel says. “We ca…” Her head slumps and bobs back up. “We…”

Her words are slurred and she’s struggling to stay upright.

“What’s wrong with you?” Sal demands.

He reaches across me and slaps Rachel on the cheek a few times, trying to coax a response from her.

“What did you do?” he sneers at me when she doesn’t budge.

“No-nothing.” Finally, I can speak more.

“Yes, you…” His head starts to bob like hers did. “Wh…”

He slumps on top of me. I take a few deep breaths, knowing that this is my moment. This is my opportunity to get myself out of this room, out of their clutches.

“You can do this,” I mumble to myself.

I shimmy my way out from under Sal and scoot to the edge of the bed where I fall to the floor. I test my movements again and when I’m able to brace my hands on the grimy carpet, I slowly push myself to my feet.

The room spins around me and I sway but stay upright. Sheer willpower is all that’s getting me through this. I take one step, then another, then another. Before I open the door, I look back at Sal and Rachel and see that they haven’t budged.

A shudder of relief flows through me, and I slide the chain that Rachel put back into place when the man left. I quietly open the door and step outside. The sun blinds me, sends my already splitting headache into overdrive.

I lean against the wall outside of the room and try to catch my breath. Walking those few feet zapped my energy. Once I feel like I can walk without passing out or falling where I stand, I shove off the brick and make my way out to the parking lot.

I take in my surroundings and realize there are no cars. We’re at The Million Dollar Motel and suddenly, the lack of guests makes sense. No one comes here, unless they’re doing something wrong. If it were the middle of the night, it would be different. Evil comes out at night, lurks in the shadows. This place would be hopping in the dark and not in a good way.

I lean over and brace my hands on my knees.

Think Holland. Where can you go?”

The sound of motorcycles reaches me, and for the first time since I opened my door to Sal and Rachel, I feel like I’m going to be okay. It’s probably not Piston but judging by the sheer volume of the engine roar, it’s a lot of bikers and bikers are not bad people. If I can get their attention, I can get their help.

I stumble toward the road, out into the middle, and try to stand up straight. I can see the pack clearly so I lift my arms and wave, trying to get their attention. They don’t seem to be slowing down and it dawns on me that the sun is at my back, which means they’re driving right toward it.

Every muscle in my body burns. My strength is waning. The bikes are getting closer and I’m finally able to make out the person in the lead position.

Piston!

I lift a leg to move out of the way but end up collapsing on the pavement. That’s it, it’s over. I tried so hard, but all my efforts were in vain. He’s going to run me over. Not only will that end my life, but it will kill him too.

I brace myself for impact. Instead, I hear the unmistakable crunch of metal, of tires squealing. My ears begin to ring, the world starts to fade away. I manage to open my eyes and the scene in front of me is worse than anything I could possibly have imagined.

Piston is on his side, his arms and face barely recognizable with all the scrapes and blood. He’s not moving. His leg is at an unnatural angle and his Harley is a hunk of twisted metal.

“Nooooo!”