Tear Me Away (Desert Wraiths MC Romance)

By: Amy Kiss



"Ok," the hulk said, in a rich and deep voice. The gun went clattering across the pavement.

The mouse peered back at the sound. He looked at the hulk's empty hand.

A knife simply appeared in it. It flashed in the moonlight.

It returned coated in something dark.

I blinked. Now the knife hilt stuck out of the mouse’s throat. He gurgled and went staggering towards the fence. Towards me. His eyes searched everywhere, and then they saw me. His mouth opened, and I scrabbled back, away from this thing that was a man. The hulk watched from behind. Under that gaze, his eyes cast the rest of his face in shadow. I hugged the street before he could see me.

Everything remained silent. When I looked up again, the hulk was gone. There was only the sound of something wet beginning to dribble down the curb.

I listened to the blood flow, wanting nothing more than to leave this place and its stillness. That was death, wasn't it? The lack of motion in a person's life, in a person’s chest, inside her heart. I had seen animals die. I had delivered death even, sobbing as I stuck in the needle, but it was the silence that I found so eerie. That empty space, where a life once was.

Well, I got rescued from that. Voices returned. Two new ones with the occasional interjection from that deep and sinewy one I'd heard once before. The killer.

"Make sure you check the crates for blood smears," he said.

"The fuck I look like, a maid?" one of the new voices asked.

"Hell, no," another voice said. "You look like shit, is what."

"Aw go fuck yourself. And fuck you, Ghost. It's your mess. You wipe it."

"It's our mess, Twist," the killer said. "You looking to get the club arrested? Is that what I tell Nico?"

I really wanted to see, but all I could imagine was peeking over and seeing the dead man coming towards me through the bars, hands clutching at his throat. Instead, I found my phone,switched it to night mode and snaked it up to the window.

No dead man. Just three dudes in leather jackets. The pale killer stood a couple inches taller than the next, but his body seemed completely at rest while others fidgeted.

The first new guy swore off into the sky. "Why couldn't I kill him and you clean up?"

The killer shrugged. It looked like two peaks rising out of a mountain "Cause you didn't."

"Fine, fuck it, whatever. We'll take care of it."

The killer nodded and looked out at the body. His eyes glowed red on-screen for a moment, and I shivered though the air was pretty warm. Then his eyes lifted up, and for a moment he was looking right at the lens. I fought the urge to yank it out of view. After a moment, his gaze left.

Then he left. The other two grumbled and came toward the fence. I was ready for them to pull out garbage bags, but they just pulled out the glistening knife, propped the dead guy up and began winding a white bandage round his neck.

"Christ, man, that’s enough. You dressing him up for Halloween?"

"You want him to be leaking blood if a cop sees us?"

"If a cop is close enough to see blood under a helmet, we're gonna have to ice him anyway so who cares."

I should be recording this. I had seen a murder, but this was video proof. I could just turn it in and walk away.

I pulled the phone back to make sure the sound was turned off. I clicked on the recording and put it back so the red light didn't show.

The two bikers wiped down the place and then poured something bleach smelling all over the place. The dead guy sat against a crate like he was resting from a neck sprain.

"Hey you go get that stuff outside," one of the bikers said. "I'll mop up the rest of this here."

Outside?

Oh no.

One of the guys landed heavy on the pavement, just on the other side of the car. His tobacco smell hit me and I nearly peeed myself. It had felt like I was watching TV before, but now this was real. This was Poltergeist and they were here.

Maybe I should just pretend I was passed out over here. But these guys had no problem with murder. What was a little rape on top of that? Even better if she didn’t remember.

The biker poured some more bleach on the other side of the car, completely oblivious. He would reach under soon, and see me. I pocketed my phone and shuffled behind a wheel, right before his hands began scrubbing under the car.

"Aw shit." His voice boomed under the car. "Man, it's all under here."

"That's his car, dummy," the other biker called out. "We gotta move it anyway."

I heard the jingle of keys.

His car. The dead guy's car.

"We go dump him first and then get that shit. Ain't no one coming round here for hours."

I sighed in relief.

The scrubbing stopped.

A long electric silence passed. The scrubbing started again, and this time I stayed damn quiet.

"Yo, I told you we'd do the car after."

"I'm just doing the edges before they sink into the cracks and go brown."

"Well all right then, Martha Stewart."

“Fuck you.”

The guy by me stuffed something into plastic then stood and stretched loudly. I twisted my head and saw his massive fist heading toward me across the car hood.

There are times you can see a move is stupid, but you do it anyway. Especially when your brain’s drunk.

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