Chapter 3: Zayna

Chapter Three

Zayna

I don’t know who these people are, but I’m glad they didn’t send me away with the Indians. This is far more interesting. Quin, the wife, is thick as hell and overdressed for this hot ass desert excursion. She looks great, don’t get me wrong but… I guess we’re throwing grenades and possibly committing a murder.

My heart pounds with irrational excitement. Practice. Experience. It’s all going to help me get where I’m going. Quin notices my enthusiasm and I realize it’s in my best interests to fall back. The red-headed man driving the truck looks like your stereotypical Texan redneck — but much more attractive. Most redheads probably have the sense to stay out of the sun, but the husband Tanner has a burn across his cheeks, his nose, and the back of his neck.

They don’t give off the Epstein and Ghislaine vibe, so I feel more comfortable around them than… anyone else. I never trusted Vickie completely because I heard rumors she drugged a man and stole his wallet after a blowjob gone bad. The Indian girls were a little country and more racist than you would expect.

Shit, I didn’t take their land… I barely even knew about their tribe. To some, that makes me part of the problem. Tanner stops the truck and I peer between the couple to get a better look at the fucked up situation out there that has their attention.

My stomach tightens into that painful knot again when my gaze focuses on the swollen, rotting heads. If you don’t pay attention, they look like beach balls. When you focus on the gruesome features, biology takes over. The urge to vomit overwhelms me and it feels like fingernails are digging into the lining of my throat, making it hard to pay attention to anything except my nausea.

It’s plain disgusting. What kind of monster would kill people and cut off their heads like that? It’s excessive to say the least. But people are people, and I might be grossed out, but I want to know more. I need to.

I lean back and then I see a man.

My instant reaction is that… He’s hot. They would have printed him on those old black and white Abercrombie bags back in the day. His hotness creeps me out, like his beauty just barely covers his darkness. He has narrow, cruel looking eyes and his facial features are etched in at sharp angles. His model cheekbones make him look like he doesn’t belong in this murder scene playing out.

The man must be over six-foot-seven. Big as hell. He’s wearing a white shirt covered in some brown splatter and the rest of him looks like it’s covered in dirt. His short blond hair is in an Army haircut with just a little on the top and the sides shaved all the way down.

And those arms… Fuck, those arms are big as hell. I don’t know what the hell comes over me. Without waiting for permission from the folks that dragged me out here and without any knowledge about what the hell I’m getting into… I leap out of the truck and onto the dry, sandy driveway.

Oh. Fuck.

The smell hits me like a flat-palmed slap to the face. My sinuses sting with my first breath and my body reacts before my mind does. I feel dizzy, stumbling a few steps forward. I hear the truck doors open up as my guardians follow me, but they don’t have to worry about me going too far. Three steps forward and the disgusting smell drops me to my knees with violent retching.

I hear the redheaded man say, “Jesus Christ, Ruger.”

The blond man’s boots make a loud smacking sound as he jumps to his feet. They must be snakeskin and they look strangely expensive in contrast to this dumpy ass setting – no offense to the Native Americans, I know they have been through it. Puke rises in my throat, burning its way up my esophagus. I haven’t eaten enough for anything to come out, so the painful retching just makes me feel like I’m going to throw up water. Nothing comes out.

Tears pierce my eyes as I struggle to gain control of my breathing, so lost in my disgust that I can barely make out the conversation happening behind me. Not like it pertains much to me, anyways. The blond man grabs my cheeks and drags me from my bent over position on my knees to kneeling upright. I cry out, finally getting in a good breath of air.

His grasp forces me to look up at him. His large, bulky body blocks out the sun, casting an ominous shadow around his already terrifying body. His hands are wet and I can’t tell what the hell they’re wet with because it feels too slick to be water. The man tilts my face up even more so we make eye contact and I nearly wet myself in terror.

I’ve never seen eyes that blue.

Or that empty.

It’s like staring into a void. He recognizes my fear and a dark smirk crosses over his face.

“Take some deep breaths,” he says. “Deep slow breaths.”

His chest moves slowly. It’s impossible not to watch him move. My survival instincts have me frozen in place, completely submitting to this man’s grasp on my cheeks. What the fuck. What the fuck. He has three heads mounted on spikes and I can tell now that the liquid on his hands is blood. Maybe entrails.

I whimper and my chest rattles around like a pigeon trapped beneath a laundry basket.

“Stop,” he says. “Stop that fussing. Take some deep breaths.”

“Okay, Ruger, get your hands off her,” Tanner says.

“We have bigger problems,” Quin hisses. “Who the fuck are these people and where the hell is…”

I can’t make out the rest of her sentence because Ruger takes his other hand and touches my chest.

“Don’t throw up,” he says. “Just breathe.”

His hand on my chest has the strange effect of calming me down but once I’m calm enough to have control over myself, all I want is to get away from this terrifying blue-eyed demon. I lean back, prying my cheeks from his grasp and I let out an ungodly scream.

“Ruger!” Tanner yells.

“She’s fine,” he says. “She’s fine.”

“What happened?” Quin asks.

I’m still shuddering a little, but I can breathe and now that I let out that “what the fuck” scream, I feel like I can stand up on my own. If this man will let me. I expect him to be looking at Quin since she just asked him a question and I mistakenly make eye contact with him as he answers. Ruger. His name is Ruger. What type of redneck ass name is that?

“Midnight SS came to get Darlene,” he says. “We were in the middle of something. I handled the situation.”

“You call this handling the situation?” Tanner growls. “What are you, Jeffrey fucking Dahmer? And where the fuck is Darlene?”

“I didn’t fuck them in the ass,” Ruger responds, focusing on exactly the wrong thing. “They just pissed me off.”

A shiver runs down my spine. This man beheaded three people on spikes because they just pissed him off. Tanner doesn’t back down, thankfully. I would feel way fucking worse if there was no one between me and this goddamn maniac. With his hands on my cheeks, it almost feels like it’s just the two of us. He just keeps staring down at me with those horrifyingly blue eyes. Like glaciers. So blue they’re almost clear, with the most intense dark blue rim around the irises.

“Ruger, eyes here,” Tanner growls.

But Ruger doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even move for a full minute. He just watches me and the two of us breathe together. I can feel the rage emanating off the red-headed man as Ruger slows everything down. My lungs expand slowly and replacing the scent of blood is something else.

I know it’s the man with his arms outstretched, but I don’t want to believe a demon like him could smell like… that. He finally drops his hands from my face and reaches for my hand.

“Stand up,” he says as I stare at his outstretched hand, confused, grossed out… and concerned that touching this man will somehow transmit his crazy over to me. Considering how I ended up here… maybe that’s not such a bad idea. I take his hand as the red-head shifts in the dirt impatiently. I have to take his hand. I don’t see any other way onto my feet.

I thought stomaching blood and guts would be easier than this. I might be in over my head. Ruger’s hand has blond hair matted to the back of it with blood. He still has blood beneath his fingernails. I avert my gaze to the dirt before allowing myself to reach my hand out to his.

Ruger’s grip feels like it could snap my arm. I have to bite my lower lip to keep from crying out as he pulls me to my feet. My head spins and the heat has started building up sweat on my hairline. I’m on my feet and looking around. This trailer is isolated for miles but still… This white boy isn’t afraid of cops?

I look back at him over my shoulder. Of course he isn’t. He has one of those insane reverse mullet hairstyles, so he must be in his early or mid-twenties. He’s sunburned all over his pale, tattooed skin. Lots of tattoos.

“It’s a worse mess inside,” Ruger says. “Y’all better come in.”

“Do I want to know where Darlene is?”

I don’t ask who Darlene is, but obviously I want to know.

“She’s dead,” Ruger says. He flings open the entrance to the trailer. Quin sticks close to her husband as they peer through the entrance before following Ruger through. I’ve never been able to perceive adrenaline running through my veins so damn clearly before.

It feels strange. Like I can see all the colors in the room a little sharper. Everything smells stronger – which threatens my barely surviving gut once I enter the room. The ceilings are low, but this is a typical double wide. Well, except for the layout. Quin and Tanner know what the fuck they’re about because once we get all the way into the trailer, I realize that Tanner is standing between me and the door with Quin strategically positioned to my left.

“Hey,” she says. “We’ll be out of here soon.”

“Huh,” Ruger says loudly. Everybody jumps. It doesn’t make me feel good that he can get the red-headed man to flinch. Hopefully his ass isn’t all talk. Some big men are nothing but talk…

“What the fuck happened in here?” Tanner says. “Please tell me this won’t be a problem for the club.”

The furniture is all moved to the edges of the room, except for the dining table in the center. It smells like raw meat and bleach. Putting my finger on the combination of disgusting smells causes me to retch. Quin puts her hand on my back, the warmth spreading through me stopping me from letting loose all over the blue vinyl flooring with peeling and suspiciously bleached circles.

When I stand up on my own again, Ruger’s eyes are fixed on me. The shiver that runs down my spine feels like a giant centipede. I try to focus on details in the room. One at a time. The nipple light. The cleaned floors. A giant knife on the table.

“The three heads are Midnight SS. They came for Darlene.”

“Where are their bodies?” Tanner says, so matter of factly, that I can’t believe I doubted he was fucked up enough to handle the blond guy.

“Buried.”

Tanner shrugs. “Nobody digs up bodies on the reservation.”

“Exactly,” Ruger says, not bothering to hide the flicker of irritation across his face. Tanner seems like he’s just asking questions but… there’s definitely tension here. I know I’m not crazy about the tension because Quin feels it too.

“Should Zayna and I–

“Stay right fucking there,” Tanner growls, his eyes narrowing and then relaxing again. Almost imperceptible. But not completely imperceptible.

Quin stays quiet, so I guess she’s the type to listen to her man. I get it. That man looks fine enough to obey completely. No offense to Quin.

“Darlene back there?”

“Nobody will find Darlene,” he says.

“Southpaw won’t like this,” Tanner responds, sighing and rubbing his temples. Quin moves over to comfort her husband. He does look like he needs it.

“Doesn’t matter. It’s done,” Ruger says. “I’ll talk to God about it.”

The irritation on Tanner’s face turns to full blown anger. He starts to say something and then…

WAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

A loud baby cry reverberating from another room. Nobody says a word and the baby just cries…