Ready Or Not (The Hunter’s Club #2)

Chapter 27

27

Side Effect - FKA Rayne

Rachel hops on the bike behind me. It’s still mid-afternoon, but we have a long trip to my next spot. It’s a spot I haven’t wanted to ever think about again.

Manson yells at me for being impulsive, but there’s a reason I don’t dwell on things. Especially this thing.

Rachel has started to relax on the bike. She leans back a little more now, not gripping me like I’m gonna kill us both. It’s kind of nice to have a backpack. It’s nice that she knows I hold her life in my hands, and she still gets on the bike anyway. It makes me smile.

Sure, I kinda forced her to. Po-tay-toe, Po-tah-toe.

A small animal darts into the road, and I swerve sharply to avoid hitting it. Rachel scrambles to grab me and grips me around the tits, which shoots a sick feeling through me.

As soon as I right us, she lets go and wraps her hands around my waist.

I freeze up. Fuck. The pressure on my chest brings up all kinds of old memories I want nothing to do with. Suddenly, I feel like I’m going to get sick.

I spot a picnic spot ahead and whip my bike off to the side of the road.

“Get off,” I bark.

“What?”

“Get the fuck off!” Heat rushes through me, and I jump off the bike, barely getting the kickstand down and my sunglasses off before I hunch over the grass. I puke up everything in my stomach.

Still, I can feel the touch. It’s pawing at me, moving up and down my whole body. I want it off. I want it fucking off!

Rachel stands silently, watching. The bike rumbles beside us.

My body shakes, and I try to suck in a breath. I hate this. I hate every second that Rachel’s watching me. Watching me be weak.

“Turn it off,” I snap.

“What?”

“Turn it off!” I motion at the bike.

Rachel jumps to obey. I suck in deep breath after deep breath. Rage at how defenseless I’m being rushes through me. Immediately, I hate the hot sun beating down on us, hate the way my jeans are touching me, and hate the way Rachel looks at me like I’m crazy.

I snarl at her, “Don’t you ever, ever feel me up again. Got it?”

Rachel pales. “I didn’t…I’m sorry, I…”

I straighten, staring her down, letting all the anger rush through me. “I’m not your plaything, you got that? You don’t get to touch me whenever and however you please.”

Rachel’s pretty eyes widen. I can practically smell the fear. I know this reaction has nothing to do with her, but I can’t stop. I need her to know. To never fucking touch me there. I smile through my rage. “Don’t mistake my familiarity with kindness. I kill people for less.”

I see the subtle flick of emotion. Rachel doesn’t show much, but it’s there. You just have to pay attention.

I step back. “Now. Stop looking at me like I’m crazy.”

Immediately, Rachel looks away.

I run my hand over my hair. My braids are sweaty and messed up from the wind. I pace back and forth. I want to clench my fists until my fingers dig into my palms. I want to feel the blood. I want to dig around in someone’s brain with my bare fingers.

Fuck! Why couldn’t we be at our next stop already? I need it now . I need it more than my next breath.

It’s hard to breathe. Everything that I keep locked up so carefully wants to come out. It wants to fucking come out . As soon as Rachel closed in on herself after I mentioned her Papa, I knew what happened to her. And now my memories are screaming to be let out.

So I scream, letting the pent-up energy out. I knew I shouldn’t have started this journey. I never should have visited my mother’s grave. As soon as I did, I knew it would all come back in a rush, and I’d never be able to stuff it back in.

Maybe that’s why I did it.

I kick at a clump of grass. It goes flying. I need much, much more than that. I need release. Acid, beer, sex. Dirty, rough sex that hurts.

I scream again. Manson is the only one who can fuck me when I feel like this. It’s like he has a sixth sense when he knows things are hard. He’ll break in through my window and fuck the shit out of me, whether I let him or not. He wears a mask and never says it’s him, but I know it’s him. It’s fucked up and wrong, but I always feel better after.

My chest aches with how much I wish he were here. But Manson isn’t here. In fact, he’s actively tracking me down. Trying to prevent me from hunting down my nightmares. After telling me he buried Pup.

I whirl.

Rachel’s still standing there, quietly. She’s gripping her arms and biting her lip.

Fuck. She thinks I’m crazy.

“Don’t look at me.”

Again, she looks away. “I’m sorry, Riley.”

Sorry? She’s sorry? I scoff. “Fuck off.” I don’t need her pity. I want to rip my hair out. To scream and go crazy and kill everything that ever hurt me.

Softly, Rachel says, “I would have helped you kill her if that means anything.”

I freeze. My entire body locks up.

She’s mocking me.

I whirl on Rachel, about to lay into her, but her face is angry. She isn’t looking at me, just kicking a clump of grass. She doesn’t usually show emotions, but right now, there’s pure, venomous rage all over her face.

I falter.

Rachel is a terrible liar, but she looks serious. For a moment, she looks like me—a little wild. And that makes me pause.

No one has ever offered to kill for me. No one . They all told me how crazy I was. How I needed therapy. How I couldn’t kill her, as Manson said.

I force a swallow, then immediately straighten. Rachel was mocking me. She had to be.

“Get on.” I motion at the bike. I have people to kill.

I get us going again, but the whole ride, I can’t get my quiet doe’s offer out of my head.