Page 56 of Savage

“You’ve been out for hours.”

“Oh my god, where are we?”

“Just outside Port Macquarie. I woulda just pulled over and slept by the side of the road, but we can’t run the risk of the cops stopping to ask questions. Owners would have reported the car missing at the scene. We’ll have to ditch it soon, find another ride.”

“Where are we going?”

“Sugartown, about three hours north of here.” She nods, but I doubt she’s taken any of this in. “We’re gonna have to stop for the night. Sleep, tend to our wounds—God knows we have enough of them. I doubt we’ll find a chemist open this late, but there’s bound to be a servo somewhere.”

We pull into a service station about ten minutes later, and I wait outside while she uses the toilet. When she emerges, she’s wiped the dried blood from her face and tamed her hair into a ponytail. She winces when she sees me, and I realise I must look like shit, so I push her back into the stall and close the door behind us.

“What are you doing?” she asks.

“I gotta clean up before I walk in there covered in blood and I’m sure as hell not leaving you alone at a rest stop in the middle of the night.” She nods, and I can’t help but smile. “I should endanger your life more often. You’re much more agreeable.”

She gives me a sad smile, and I figure it’s probably way too soon for jokes. I turn to the mirror and look at my face. Jesus Christ, I look like I just came shuffling out of a Romero film. I run the water and splash my face, wincing when it stings the cut on my forehead. I tear off a couple sheets of paper towel and pat my face dry, but Lauren takes it from me and begins cleaning up the spots I missed on my ear, my neck and even a little on my cheek.

“You have to scrub it a little. Tell me if I’m hurting you.”

“Take a lot more than that to hurt me, princess,” I say automatically, but even as the words leave my mouth, I know that’s not true. This woman could break me with her fucking pinkie finger and she doesn’t even know it. I gave her that power over me, and now I can’t take that shit back. And worse still? I don’t want to.

She cleans me up as best she can, and disposes of the paper towel. Before she turns, I grab her arms and pull her into me. It’s weird how much we feel considering we know so fucking little about one another. I take her chin in my hands and tilt her face up to mine.

“We’ll be okay, princess. I’m gonna take care of us.”

Though now I’m thinking I have no idea how to do that. I got some money saved in the bank, but it’s nothing compared to the cash in the safe back in my room. I want to smack my head against the mirror for not fucking thinking straight. I kiss her quickly on the mouth and then head for the door.

Once inside the servo, we grab as many packages of Band-Aids and Neurofen as we can find, and two of the overpriced first-aid kits. I throw them on the counter with a box of donuts and a couple of packets of chips, a bar of chocolate, some water bottles and a tin of breath mints. The dude behind the counter just stares at our loot and then begins ringing everything up as if someone suddenly lit a fire beneath his arse.

I pay for the shit using my card because I’ve got no damn cash on me, not really something I’m used to, and we hobble out to the car. Twenty minutes later we’re walking through the door of some seedy-arse motel to bunk down for the morning. It’s almost daylight now, so we’ll have to wait for nightfall before we can steal another car.

Lauren and I take turns bandaging each other up. The cut on my forehead won’t stop bleeding, and I could probably do with a stitch or two, but I tape a band aid over it instead and hope it closes up soon—or at least crusts to a point where blood doesn’t drip down my face.

When we’re done, we undress and fall into bed. She curls into my side while I drift off.

???

The metallic click of a bullet sliding through a chamber wakes me. My eyes spring open, but the bite of cold metal against my temple forces me to hold completely still.

Until I see her, bound and gagged on the worn motel carpet.

Her body quakes as Tag kneels behind her. Her face is contorted with fear. Pain. Tears stream down her red cheeks. Her mouth gapes open in horror around the gag. Her eyes stare accusingly at me as his dick slams in and out of her.

I explode.

I don’t think. Just act.

I launch myself up off the bed, but I’m shoved back down with a boot to my gut. It hurts like a motherfucker, but I dodge the next kick and come back swinging, slamming my fist into the side of Prez’s face. He laughs, as he grips my shirt and head-butts me.

The thin bones in my nose snap, I taste copper on my tongue. Pain lances through my skull. My head spins. Blood drips from the wound in my forehead, blurring my vision. Prez smashes my head into the grimy concrete walls. “You know what disappoints me, son? Is that you never seem to fuckin’ learn. I gave you a home, a roof over your head, a seat at my goddamned table, and my patch, and you throw it back in my face. You shit all over it for a filthy fuckin’ whore!” he bellows, slamming my head into the wall, punctuating each word with a sharp blow to the skull.

“You know what hurts even worse, though? Is that my boys all seemed to have gotten soft. Ethan, Tiny, you, and even your dearest old dad.”

I don’t know how I didn’t register the others in the room. My dad is in the corner, bound and gagged, and surprisingly, the look on his face isn’t one of disappointment—it’s sympathetic. Not once in my twenty-seven years have I ever seen that look from my dad.

“See, I’m beginning to notice a pattern here,” Prez continues. “First the kid deserts, and then the father follows. Only problem with that scenario is that all of you bastards owed me something, and it’s time I fuckin’ collected. Tiny stole something very valuable from me. Fuckin’ cockhead over there—” he turns and points to Rue, who’s standing guard at the door. “He killed the bastard before I had a chance to reclaim it. But there’s a way to get it back, and that lies with you.”

“Let her go,” I plead. “I’ll give you whatever you want; I’ll tell you whatever I know. Just let her go. Please.” Tears stream down my face. Saltwater stings the cut on my cheek. I close my eyes, not wanting to see him thrusting inside her, not wanting to witness her being hurt all over again.

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