Page 10 of The Devil's Weakness

“Will this be all?” she asks.

“I also need twenty on pump seven,” I tell her.

“That’ll be twenty-four thirty-two.”

I hand her twenty-five dollars and take the change she gives me.

“Have a good night,” she offers.

I give her a small smile and nod, and I’m out the door.?

See, I was just paranoid.

I walk to my car and open the door that houses my gas cap. Unscrewing it, I place the nozzle in the tank and pull the handle until it flows. Just then, I hear the roar of motorcycles in the distance. My head shoots up, and my blood runs cold.?

Shit. Fuck. Damn it.

I watch in terror as several bikers pull into the parking lot, and I just about piss myself. It’s them. The Devil’s Skull has found me. My life flashes before my eyes, and you know what? It’s pretty fucking bleak. I laugh at myself with disdain.

I ease my hold on the handle, ready to drop it, and hurry into my car when I catch sight of the back of one of their vests.

It was blank except for a patch at the bottom which readHancock.

It’s not them.

Oh, thank God. But I only feel slightly better. I check the pump and see that my tank is almost full. I beg the gas to flow faster, wanting to get out of here as soon as possible. Seeing members of another Club feels like bad luck.

Finally, the pump shuts off, and I hang it back up. Getting into my car, it takes everything I have not to peel out of there and get back on the road. But I don’t want to bring any attention to myself.?

I should drive back to Route 70 and put more distance between myself and home, but I don’t. Instead, I travel down the side road a little further, remembering that I saw a sign for a motel nearby. I wouldn’t mind turning in for the night. It’s early, only eight o’clock, but the sun has nearly set. I don’t want to drive through the mountains in the dark.??

Within a mile, I see the bright sign for the Mountainside Motel, and I turn into the parking lot. Parking in front of the office, I pull my wallet out again and go inside. The man behind the counter is creepy, and I immediately feel like I’m in a horror movie.

If the Devil’s Skull finds me, I really will be.

He tells me it’s forty dollars, and I hand over some cash. When he places the key on the counter, I pick it up quickly and practically run out of the office. I barely hear him telling me to have a nice night, almost as though he’s singing it in his creepy man voice.

Hopping back into my car, I drive to the other end of the strip of rooms and park in front of number eleven. Grabbing my food, I haul everything out of the vehicle. I enter my room and lock the door behind me, placing my bag on the floor and my food on the table. Then, I collapse onto the bed and stare at the popcorn ceiling.

It feels like it’s been a week since I woke up this morning. This morning, when I was just plain old Sasha Cooper—before everything that happened,happened.

Now, I’m a fugitive in a shady motel just outside of Berkeley Springs, West Virginia. Holed up, terrified, and running from a group of men who are sure to kill me if they figure out what I did.?

I’m hoping wherever I stay tomorrow night is cheaper because I don’t have a lot of money, and I don’t want to risk going to the bank. Withdrawing money is something the Devil’s Skull could easily track if they were to get my information.

You can’t underestimate them. I meant what I said earlier about the Club living by their own rules. And they keep dirty cops in their back pocket to make sure they get away with the shit they do.

Murders. Robberies. Who knows what else. They’re a menacing group of criminals.

Once more, a chilling set of black eyes appears in my mind.

I’ll never forget the night I overheard Captain Turner speaking with him behind the diner. He’s one of the largest members of the Club that I’ve seen, and he’s the owner of the gaze that’s haunted me for two years. He’s tall, dark, and terrifying with a dangerous stare that cuts through me like a sharp blade. It’s not something I’ll ever forget.

“—weren’t there when you were supposed to be.”

As I step through the back door of the diner on my way to the dumpster with a load of trash, I overhear an angry but hushed conversation. I close the door gently and press my body against the wall beside it, poking my head around the corner as far as I can go without being noticed.

“I tried getting there as soon as I could,” Captain Turner assures the tall man who’s facing away from me.

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