Mercy (Sin City Outlaws #2)(6)

“We can’t just check in, our faces are probably plastered everywhere,” Zeek mutters, walking toward the motel.

Looking at the open road the thought of running flickers through my mind once again. The thought is there, but my feet won’t move. For some reason, what Zeek told me back there, about him saving me before his club is sticking in the back of my mind. I know how much that club means to him, and he’s throwing it away for me. At that thought, I swear I feel my heart clench.

He pulls on the small chain of the cuffs when he notices me looking out at the vast freedom before he tugs me behind him like a disobedient pup. “Don’t even think about it.”

“I’m not.” I kind of was.

Rounding the side of the building you can see into the main office. It has a couple of ugly blue chairs that look like they’re from the fifties, with a pock-marked counter running along the back side of the office. A man with a magazine has his feet kicked up, clearly oblivious to anything around him.

“Donald, that was just delightful, dear. We will have to go back there on our way back.” Zeek’s head snaps in the direction of the voices. Holding his hand, conveying for me to stop behind him and stay still. Following the voices myself, I find a little old lady hunched over, her flowery dress that looks more like a nightgown slapping against her with the wind. Her silver colored hair pulled into a bunch of little pink rollers.

“It was okay, at best, Mildred. Let’s not get carried away.” The man I assume is Donald states, his tone of voice not nearly as cheerful at the little old lady. They’re getting out of a red Buick, looks to be a 1980’s model, and heading toward a motel room. They’re both carrying takeout in their hands, and my stomach growls, this time with hunger pains.

Zeek marches toward the elderly couple, one hand gripped on my cuffs as he reaches behind his back and pulls his gun from his waistband. My eyes widen. What is he doing?

“Zeek, no,” I whisper, tears filling my eyes.

Why would he shoot them, they don’t even see us? Looking over his shoulder he gives me a look of warning.

“Whatever you’re doing, stop!” I whisper loudly, digging my feet into the ground. I won’t be a part of this. I’ll never come back from this. Older people are like cute little kittens or puppies. You can’t help but fall in love with their helplessness. Ignoring me he continues forward, dragging me behind.

“Zeek—”

“Shut up, Jillian,” he snaps.

Sucking in a trembling breath, I shut my mouth. I don’t know if he’d hurt me, but I clearly don’t know Zeek like I thought I did, so I bite my bottom lip to keep quiet.

I was worried about the scary motel? Ha, the scariest thing out here is Zeek f*cking Deluca.

Satisfied with my silence, he steps up behind Donald and presses the barrel of his gun into the gentleman’s back.

A sob breaks through my pinched lips.

“Which room is yours?” Zeek questions quietly, the sound of his voice is unrecognizable. I’ve never heard it before. It’s sharp, cutting through the night air and everyone within hearing distance.

The man tenses, and tries to look over his shoulder.

“Donald?” The lady standing outside of what I assume is their room, looks over her shoulder discovering her husband at gunpoint. “Oh my!” Her eyes light up, and a hand clutches her chest.

“Move,” Zeek growls, thrusting the gun into his back further.

“Alright now, just—just take it easy, yeah?” Donald steps toward the door, and looks at his wife with worry. My body winds up so tight, I feel like I might break in two watching this unfold in front of me. “Open the door, Mildred.” The little old lady looks at Zeek, then me. Her blue eyes bright and youthful, despite the wrinkles creasing her round face.

She nods, the little curlers bouncing on her head. Turning, she unlocks the door, and Zeek shoves Donald and Mildred inside the room.

Placing his gun in the back of his pants, Zeek turns around and shoves me in front of him.

“This is wrong, Zeek.” He doesn’t even flinch, I know my fight here is pointless. “Please don’t hurt them,” I plead, as I descend into the musky motel room.





CHAPTER THREE


Jillian



ZEEK’S FOREHEAD CREASES, as he presses his hand into my shoulder, pushing me backwards until the back of my legs hit the closest bed. Applying pressure on my shoulder, he forces me to sit down on one of the motel beds.

“Zeek, are you even listening to me?” Ignoring me he unlocks one of the cuffs and my hand regains blood flow, causing it to tingle unbearably. I sigh with relief, my mind now on my wrist instead of the fact we just held an elderly couple at gunpoint. Taking the empty cuff? he fastens it to the old bed post.

What the hell?

“You can’t cuff me to a bed, Zeek!” I object, my eyes wide. Anger licking up my limbs, replacing my need to protect and serve the elderly couple.

“You stay in the cuffs, and they stay attached to the bed. If they’re on you, then you can’t punch me in the face again.”

“I’m sure I can work around them,” I snide.

“You.” He points the gun at the couple, ignoring me. “Over there, where I can see you.” He points to a table with two stained chairs.

“Alright now, Sonny, you ain’t got to aim that at us. We’ll listen to whatever you ask of us, just don’t hurt us.” Donald ushers his wife toward one of the chairs.