20. Chapter 20
Chapter 20
S omeone was crying.
Was it him again? Sobbing like the pathetic little wimp he was?
No, it couldn’t be him. The shovel made sure of that. He could barely make a sound anymore, not outside of his head.
Naz hated being stuck in his head.
The darkness blocking his vision seeped away. His eyes were already open. He stared down at the knife he gripped, where it was embedded in Rocks’s gurgling throat. The man’s brown eyes, wide in shock, became empty and dull. Soon he was just a bleeding body.
Naz’s body felt like shit, like Rocks must have wiped the floor with him, using those massive fists like boulders.
That’s why he’d planned on taking Rocks out first.
Maybe he had. His eyes flew around the warehouse. Four bodies. At least, he assumed the others on the crew were bodies, what with all the blood.
The one with the mush for a face must be Julio; Carlos and Miguel were still recognizable.
Meg was crying.
He found her under the table, huddled beneath her raised arms, curling as tight into herself as she could. Bags and bottles had spilled on the concrete from the skewed tables, and he batted them aside to crawl underneath with her, wrapping her up in his arms.
If she was crying, she was alive. He hadn’t gotten her killed.
She stiffened against him.
Naz deserved that. His episode must have scared her. He rocked her until his mind focused enough to speak.
“Meg.”
Her head jerked up, clipping his jaw, and he smacked his head into the underside of the table. It barely hurt compared to other places on his body.
Meg searched his eyes from so close, hers drenched, tears still flowing. Her pupils were blown wide, trying to swallow her eyes. Some of the fear in her face eased, and her body grew less stiff. “It’s you.”
She buried her head in his neck, her arms wrapping around him.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
She’d had bruises on her face.
Naz hoped he’d find one of the men still alive so he could kill them.
He rubbed her back until her apologies wound down and her breathing stopped shuddering.
They needed to get out of there.
Naz eased her away from him, checking her over. She had bruises, a fat lip, scratches on her neck, and her knees were scraped up and bleeding. All of it made him furious, but none of it would kill her.
When he reached out and brushed a finger over the darkened skin of her cheek, he left a smear and realized he’d probably been getting his blood all over her. Or someone else’s.
He hit his head again crawling out from beneath the table.
Rocks was dead. He already knew that.
Julio was closest to the table. His mincemeat face and missing eyes made it hard to tell at first, but he wasn’t breathing.
Where the fuck were his eyes?
Naz was pretty sure he almost stepped on one of them when he crossed to Carlos. His dead eyes were still attached, though his head was at an odd angle.
Miguel was on his side with his eyes squeezed shut. His right arm and leg were hanging limply, obviously broken. Tremors ran through his torso.
“Please,” Miguel begged, his voice more liquid than air. “Please, please, please.”
Naz still had his gun at the small of his back. The gunshot echoed in the warehouse.
Meg made a choked sound but didn’t scream. She stood near the table, cradling her left wrist.
Naz’s torso hurt the worst. He lifted his shirts. Blood seeped from a gunshot wound near his waistband. His fingers probed his back, finding the exit wound. That was good. It looked like a through-and-through, tearing mostly muscle, he hoped. If it’d hit anything major, there’d be a smell, and more blood. Time would tell.
Only one bullet wound from four opponents wasn’t bad. He must have surprised the shit out of them.
The rest of his pain came from the jabs Rocks must have given him. He was pretty sure one of his ribs was broken, but otherwise, he just had overly tenderized flesh from fists living up to the man’s name. It’d keep for now.
He tied his undershirt around his lower side, hoping some pressure would help stop the bleeding from the bullet wound, and pulled his other shirt back on.
Meg crossed to him, but she was limping, and she’d lost one of her shoes.
Naz found it slightly under Julio, with some blood staining the stripes. He’d have to get her another pair if the blood didn’t come out, or something better.
He crouched at her feet, and she clutched his shoulders for balance. She winced when he gently turned her ankle before slipping on her shoe. The ankle didn’t appear to be broken, and she gripped his shoulder with the hand she’d favored.
When he straightened, he lifted her in his arms.
“Hey! You’re the one shot. Put me down!”
He ignored her demand. She wasn’t limping her way to his motorcycle.
Naz headed toward the open warehouse door. Sunshine shone through, so he couldn’t have lost a lot of time.
Just enough to make all his planning and overthinking pointless. Leaving Rocks to the fucking end. Naz was an idiot.
He’d also forgotten someone.
Seb sat on the asphalt near Naz’s motorcycle. His legs were spread out in front of him, and he leaned back on one hand, smoking a blunt with the other and lazily blowing smoke into the air.
Naz let Meg slide out of his arms, pushing her behind him.
Seb wasn’t looking at them. He stared toward the woods.
Naz watched him. Meg remained silent, her hands clutching his shirt at his back, making it pull against his injured side.
“It would have been smarter if I’d taken off after leaving the warehouse, but I was curious.” Seb took another drag before flicking away what was left of the blunt. “That one gunshot at the end had me worried, but when there wasn’t any shouting after, I figured you only needed one.” He pushed to his feet. Naz tensed, but Seb moved slowly, his hands held out, peaceful and empty. “Julio and the others were always loud. Screamers, too, it sounded like.”
Naz didn’t remember the screams, but Meg shuddered behind him.
Seb’s eyebrows lifted as he scanned Naz’s face and soaked shirt and bloodstained hands. “Shit, you’re a mess. Would have been easier to shoot all four of the fuckers.” His eyes shifted toward the warehouse. “Gotta admit, I’m still curious. Might take a look before I disappear. You should, too. The disappearing part.”
Naz didn’t have to be told that.
“Julio was a prick, but he was blood to some. This’ll be messy, but I would have done the same if I were you. Glad I’m not.” Seb huffed out a breath and eased to the side, his curled lips lifting when he focused on Meg. “Naz is a good one. Try not to break his heart too bad.”
“Fuck off,” Meg said.
Seb laughed and walked toward the warehouse.
Naz stared at his back.
Meg took a limping step to his side, staring after Seb as well, who had paused in the open warehouse doorway. “Is letting him live smart? Not like the asshole helped you.”
Naz shrugged. He didn’t have any desire to shoot him. Seb had done what he thought was best. Naz didn’t hate the guy.
He wiped his wet fingers on his shirt before lifting his helmet over her head, his fingers hooking the strap. Her pupils were still blown wide, with only a thin ring of amber around them, and she squinted from the sun. He lifted her onto the back of his motorcycle before sitting in front of her. Meg quickly pressed against his back, her thighs hugging his hips and her arms tight around his torso, making his aches and pains worse, but there was no helping it.
It wasn’t anywhere near dark. The blood smeared on his arms and hands was drying but not invisible under the bright sun.
Good thing Diego was staying in one of the seedier neighborhoods, with meth heads on the cameras.
Naz had to take a roundabout way to get there. Meg started to get twitchy on the ride. Her thighs clenched tighter around him. She shifted against the back of his shirt, small movements that made him aware of her breasts, though she stilled every time the helmet knocked into him.
Her hands began to wander, and he placed one of his over them, squeezing to clasp them together again on his stomach before returning his to the handle.
He got them into the garage of Diego’s house, but no SUV sat there like before. Naz stared at the inner door, hesitating.
Meg didn’t wait for him to help her off the bike. She scrambled off, hands fumbling with the helmet strap, shaking, and he set the bike so he could step off to help her with it.
She stumbled back a few steps when he turned to set the helmet on the bike. A dim bulb lit the garage. Her eyes still showed she was high, and she was feeling it now. Maybe she’d been feeling it when his episode had scared her half to death back at the warehouse. Fear could spike as easily as euphoria when high.
Her hands rubbed along her bare stomach under the crop top. Above them, he could see the outline of her hardened nipples. She never wore bras, not that he’d seen.
She licked her lips as she stared at him and squeezed her thighs together.
“Fuck,” she muttered, and then she lunged for him, her body trying to climb him. Her hand grabbed his side, over the bullet wound, and he jerked away, almost knocking her to the floor.
Her hands flew off his body like she’d been burned, and she shuffled back, the limp in her step lessened but still noticeable.
“Sorry. I’m sorry.”
All he kept hearing from her were apologies. He hated the way she seemed to shrink each time she apologized. He wanted her to say anything else.
“Meg.”
Her eyes flew to his at the sound of her name.
“No,” he forced out. When had saying his most used word become harder to say than her name?
Her head dipped, her shoulders coming up as she cringed into herself. “I’m sorry. Fuck, I’m such a piece of shit. I’m sorry.”
Naz moved toward her, using his finger to tilt her chin up, then shifting it to place across her lips. “No,” he repeated, though it took even more effort this time as he took in how soft her lips were.
He pulled away when he realized he hadn’t yet cleaned any of the blood off his hands.
Meg licked her lips. Her forehead didn’t look so tight. “You don’t want me to apologize? That’s—” She shook her head, smiling. “That’s so like you.”
Naz was just glad she’d understood. She was high and feeling fucked up, but she still got him.
“Thank you,” she murmured instead. Her hands started moving along her thighs, over her tight shorts. “I feel like my skin is going to peel off. Are we staying here, in the garage?”
He pointed to her and nodded. Then at himself, followed by the door.
“I’m staying here while you check it out. Got it.” She limped to the wall, sliding down to sit on her ass. Her hands came up, and she pressed her face into them. “I’m tweaking on this shit, I think. Unless this is how it’s supposed to feel. I didn’t want to take it. Wish I hadn’t.”
She’d put up a good fight. He regretted not stepping in sooner. Maybe he would have held off his full-blown episode.
He left her in the garage while he searched the house. It was like he’d suspected from the missing SUV. Diego was already gone, off to the next gig, and he’d taken anyone else that had been there with him.
Diego’s monitors were gone, but the house was furnished. The smallest boxes of diapers they’d brought over had been left stacked along the wall.
Diego wasn’t there, but that was better. Naz shouldn’t pull him or Ramiro into the shitstorm he’d created. That way, they could honestly say they didn’t know what the fuck he’d done.
It was too late for cleanup anyway. Still, Ramiro deserved a heads-up.
He pulled out his phone. His stomach swooped when he saw their picture together on the screen. There was a scuff on the edge from when Meg dropped it.
He opened his messages.
‘Had an episode. Too much to clean. Lying low.’
Figuring that told Ramiro as much as he needed to know, Naz sent the message, then switched his phone from vibrate to silent. It would be better to ignore Ramiro’s questions to come.
He made his way through the house to make certain it was clear, ending up in the bathroom off the main bedroom, which held some medical supplies. Enough to clean up the bullet wound and slap on bandages that weren’t his dirty undershirt. Both the front and back of the wound still bled sluggishly. A dark splotch seeped through a single bandage, so he slapped another over each side and called it done.
His rib was tender as hell but not broken after all. He decided not to wrap it.
The rest of his aches and darkening bruises would heal with time. He’d washed the blood off his hands a few times, but the rest of him was still streaked with it. He needed a shower.
Meg was still in the garage. He’d already left her there too long, worried that she’d fuss over him when she needed to be fussed over instead.
His black shirt hid the color but was still sticky with blood, and sporting a bullet hole. He left it off as he made his way back to the garage.
Meg writhed on the concrete floor. Her eyes were shut, and she hadn’t heard him return, not over the whining sounds she made in her throat.
Her hand was in her shorts, working between her legs. She cried out, the movement there stilling as she came. Her body relaxed as some but not all the tension left her.
Naz’s pants felt too tight, like they were strangling him. He didn’t look down at himself.
No, he watched Meg’s eyes open, the small smile on her lips.
“That’s a little better,” she said, “but I’m still so fucking horny. How long will this shit last?”
Naz wasn’t even sure what they’d given her. Guilt slid over him again. He should have stepped in before she swallowed the pill.
He offered a hand to help Meg up.
She pulled hers out of her shorts. “I can go in?” she asked.
He nodded.
She grabbed his hand with the one she’d used to get herself off. There was a dampness to the fingers that slid over his skin.
His nostrils flared as he tugged her to her feet. A slightly musky scent took over his senses. He didn’t hate it.
And his dick was hard.
Naz turned away, trying not to panic. It was only him and Meg there, and it was only a semi. He hoped Meg wouldn’t notice. The voices in his head remained quiet, exhausted from all their activity already that day.
He remembered the way Meg had limped when she faltered behind him. Thinking about his dick did him no good. He turned to lift her, but she stopped him with her hands on his arms.
“No, Ignacio,” she scolded. With her tone, a piece of his childhood lurked at the edges of his memory, not quite coming into focus. “You were shot! My ankle isn’t that bad. I could use a shower, though.”
He led her to the bathroom with the medical supplies. Her knees weren’t too bad, but the supplies included Neosporin to rub on them after she was clean.
Meg stripped off her flannel first. The shadow on her forearm hinted at the bruise to come. She wasn’t looking at it, though. She held the flannel in front of her, her eyes skimming over each bloodstain.
Naz was responsible for putting them there. He’d wrapped her up so tight when he’d heard her crying, not thinking about the blood he’d get on her.
“Shit, we left my backpack behind.” Meg sighed as she dropped the flannel. “I’ll miss that damn shirt.”
He knew she wasn’t talking about the flannel.
Her eyes moved to his, and she forced a smile. “Think this house has anything I could wear?”
Naz left her in the bathroom to scrounge around. The drawers in the main bedroom had some things, mainly the ugliest old man clothes he’d ever seen. Pastel, ball-lifting shorts of various colors and polo shirts to match, with tighty-whities in case his balls weren’t encased enough by the tight shorts. His dick became limp again looking through the clothes, which was a relief.
There was some granny underwear in one drawer, but no other women’s clothing. The closet had some loose dresses in different flower patterns, but Naz left them alone. Meg hated dresses. He’d give her one of the polo shirts first.
Checking out the spare rooms, he found a closed box in a closet with clothes that looked like they’d fit Meg better, but there was still no underwear. He grabbed a pair of jeans and a white T-shirt with a smiley-faced flower on it. He’d show her where it was once she wasn’t high.
After setting the clothes on the bed, he listened to the shower run, but he didn’t hear anything over it. Nothing to hint that she was crying.
Naz grabbed the grandpa clothes and went to the hallway bathroom to clean up.
He did his best to keep his bandaged side out of the water. His head rasped a little when he washed it, but shaving wasn’t on the agenda, not at the moment. It took soaping up three times before the water ran clear. When he realized he was trying to scrub off bruises, he stopped.
Naz stood dripping in the shower for a while, his hand on the wall. He stared down at his limp dick. If he stared at it long enough, maybe he’d understand what made it tick. All he knew for sure was that watching Meg orgasm affected it.
He should stay away from her until she wasn’t high anymore.
There was a tremor in his hand as the steam from the room faded away.