Outcasts (Badlands 3)

“Get the fuck up; we need to go.” He glided towards me like he was floating on air, and pulled what looked like a mini scythe from beneath his black ensemble. The blade on the damn thing had to be a good seven inches long. And was that blood?

I instinctively brought my arms up, but it was more in defense than for him to slice through the rope like he did. It fell away, landing on the floor as if it were a dead snake.

It didn’t truly register that his hand was wrapped around mine and he was pulling me out into the hall until I realized my legs were moving. He didn’t launch into detail about what would happen next, but he wasn’t a real talkative man in the first place. That clearly hadn’t changed.

The striped wallpaper in the hall hung in peeled sheets, revealing moldy grey walls underneath. It sounded like the warped wood flooring was going to cave in from the pressure of our weight, sending us straight to the basement I knew the rats dwelled in. I’d been able to hear them in the vents when the house was quiet.

We were halfway down the stairs when I saw the body at the bottom. I couldn’t bring myself to feel sorry for him. I didn’t even try.

With no shoes on my feet, I made sure to avoid the crimson puddle just like Grimm did.

At the sound of footsteps, Grimm brought me flush against his back and pulled out a shiny black gun.

I didn’t see the initial impact the bullet made with the man’s face, but his screech of pain was somethin similar to the sound a cat made if you stepped on its tail.

When we started moving again, I saw him holding a hand over the spot his right eye should have been, blood rushing through the gaps in his fingers in a waterfall effect. He fell backward into the wall, making that same high-pitched sound.

I didn’t feel sorry for him either. He deserved this serving of vigilante justice.

My nerves felt like live-wires ready to short circuit, like at any moment I would wake up. This would have all just been a corporal daydream from me being stuck in my head again. I barely noticed how hard I was squeezing Grimm’s hand, and when I did, I found myself squeezin it harder.

He couldn’t let me go. He had to take me with him.

I didn’t care what his rep was; he was a much better alternative than being left behind with any of these men.

The first floor of the house was in the same condition as the second, if not worse. I didn’t understand why Noah was even staying someplace like this. He was used to more luxuries than I had been; a true spoiled pig.

We went through a kitchen and entered a hall with a strong noxious odor I couldn’t place. Bypassing two doorways, I saw a dead man on a toilet, and another with his throat split open. I would be a liar if I said I wasn’t impressed with how fast Grimm got this all done.

He took me down two stairs and right out a side door. Darkness was waiting for us, as were the few carrion birds I’d made friends with.

Grimm looked back at me and, without warning, turned and scooped me up as if I were a ragdoll before proceeding to take off.

“What are you doin?” I asked, holding onto him as he nearly ran with me in his arms.

“No shoes,” he answered, seeming to know exactly where he was going.

It didn’t take all that long for us to reach a garage, leaning on its last leg. He sat me down and immediately went inside, still givin me zero explanation as to what was goin on.

When he came back out, it was from around the corner of the structure, and he was wheeling a blacked out customized bike. I only knew it was a Harley because it said so right on a black front panel. The tires were thick, and the pipes gleamed; had this been a different situation, I might’ve drooled over the damn thing. It was so fitting for Grimm to have such a thing.

“Put this on,” he gruffly demanded, thrusting the large black hoodie he’d had on just a second ago into my line of vision.

I took a quick glance at him and saw he was focusing real hard on everything that wasn’t beneath my neckline.

That filthy feeling I always had intensified.

He was probably well aware of what had happened in that room. Did it make him think worse of me? Unable to look at him a second longer, I snatched the garment and pulled it over my head. It was long, covering everything, and almost to my knees. And it had his familiar smell. I left my hair tucked down inside it and pulled up the hood, knowing I was gonna have to get on his bike.

“Come on,” he said, swinging a leg over the side. I moved so I was behind him and tried to copy his flawlessly executed move with no help, but wound up gripping his shoulder.

“Easy,” he warned.

Trying again, I lifted up my slip and his hoodie and was able to take root behind him on my next attempt.

“Hold on tight,” he said over his shoulder, turning the engine over. I did as I was told and wrapped my arms around his middle, smashin my breasts into his back and clinging to him as he hit the gas and propelled us into the road.

Two kids and what looked like their grandmother stood in their front yard three houses down.