My Damaged Protector

Chapter Forty-Seven ~ Start to Finish

The four of us sat comfortably in the snug little cab of the truck, recounting the events of the last day and a half while we all ate. Warm air blew through the truck, ruffling through Daryl's hair, mine being twisted back into a messy bun as I laid my head against his shoulder, hand held tightly in his while he drove.

My mind raced back to Alexandria and the family we had waiting there. I could picture Jasper worried beyond belief, asking Merle all kinds of questions while they trained with the knife. He was getting so good in the days leading up to the dry run, managing to hit targets with the gun and finally holding the knife in the best way. I was glad he had Merle and Daryl there to help him, I knew there was no way I'd be able to do it on my own, not with the way he looked up to the Dixon brothers.

I must have dozed off for a while because the next thing I knew, the truck was coming to a stop and Daryl's hand had tightened considerably around mine. My eyes fluttered open, blinking the sleep away as I took in the group sat a few yards in front of us. There were eight men on motorcycles seated in the road before us, each having their hands resting on the high handlebars and not moving.

"Why don't you come out? Join us on the road?" The man in the middle called, brushing some grey hair back. None of us moved much, Sasha's hand drifting to rest on her gun while Abraham was flashing his eyes across each face. Daryl and I hadn't moved an inch, already exhausted from the last people we met and not in the mood for more people. "If you wanna resist, try somethin', I mean, it's a choice, I guess. But we will end your asses, split you right in two, straight through to the sinuses. So, come on." The leader beckoned us out with a wave of his hand. Daryl slowly took the keys from the ignition, both he and Abraham popping the doors open and jumping out first. I slid out after Daryl, keeping close to his side as we met the other two at the front of the truck. "Yeah, that's great. It's going well right out of the gate." The man gave us another smile, one that told me he was no good. "Now, step two, hand over your weapons." Every man on the bikes pulled weapons out, holding them up in a way that was meant to scare us.

"Why should we?" Daryl grunted.

The man sighed. "Well, they're not yours."

I scrunched my brows together. "What?"

"See..." He held his hand out, getting off the bike and stepping forward. "Your weapons, your truck, the fuel in your truck, if you got mints in your glove compartment, if you got porn underneath the seats, change in the seats, hell the seats themselves, the floor mats, your maps, the little stash of emergency napkins you got there in the console, none of those things are yours anymore." Daryl shifted and gently pushed me between him and Sasha.

"Whose are they?" Sasha asked with a hard glare.

"Your property, now belongs to Negan." He sneered. "And if you can get your hands on a tanker, you're people our person wants to know. So, let's get those side arms, shall we?" The man walked forward, stopping at Daryl first. He had carefully taken the gun from Daryl's waistband and thanked him before moving on to me. I had no intention of having that man as close to me as I was sure he would get, so with a huff, I handed over my weapon before he could even think of reaching for it. He reached Abraham last, looking up at the slightly taller and more defiant man. "If you have to eat shit, best not to nibble. Bite, chew, swallow, repeat. It goes quicker."

Abraham reluctantly handed over his gun and the man turned back to his bike. "Who are you people?" I called after him.

He looked back. "I get the curiosity, but we have questions ourselves. And we'll be the ones asking them while we drive you back to wherever it is you call home. Take a gander to where you hang your hats. First though, your shit. What have you got for us?"