Runaway ✔

008 • Dana

Dana jumped out of bed. Her chest cramped, her legs felt powerless. She went down on her knees, but she got back to her feet immediately. Where was the door? She tried to orient in the room that wasn't hers. Come on, the room wasn't that big!

Her hand found the wall and she stumbled to the door. A weapon... she needed a weapon. Her head was filled with fear, she couldn't think clearly. Had she taken the gun with her? Had she left it? A sob left her lips. Should she hide, or look for a way out? Wasn't the window a better idea? Or would someone be waiting outside?

Dana realized it was dead quiet around her. Had they killed everyone? Trembling she shuffled down the hall. Tears were running down her cheeks.

It's my fault if they're dead. My fault. My fault.

Carefully she peeked around the corner when she reached the end of the hallway. The clubhouse was dim, there were still bottles everywhere. Close to the door, someone sat in a chair, with his feet on the table.

Did they shot him a few minutes ago?

She pushed her wrist to her lips to smother her sobs. It didn't help, a moaning sound came out of her throat and echoed like a cannonball through an empty cathedral. She cringed.

The figure near the door sat straight and turned his head. Her eye caught the gun that was on the table. Immediately she turned around and headed back to her room. The window! Her bare feet made loud noises when she pulled them off the sticky floor.

Sniveling she breathed while she ran further. She could barely breathe. She slipped through the open door of her bedroom, jumped on the bed and started to pull the window. It was a pivoting one, she could never get through it. She had to break it, but with what? She stumbled off the bed, her eyes fluttered through the room.

And then there was someone at the doorway. She was too late.

There however was not a gun that was pointing at her. There was just a man standing there, whom she recognized after a few seconds.

He was a member of SAMCRO. The one she hadn't spoken with yet.

He stared at her as if she was some wild animal, as if he was just as scared of her as she was of him.

"What's goin' on?" His voice sounded softly but urgent.

Dana had the feeling the world was spinning around her. She dropped on the bed and bend her head, ashamed. "Nothin'."

Tenaciously she stared at the floor, hoping that he would leave, that he would forget he'd ever seen her this way. With all her might she tried to displace the tears from her eyes, but there was still too much fear in her body.

She heard his footsteps. Was he leaving? Carefully she peeked between her eyelashes.

He crouched down in front of her, looking up. His dark brown eyes were worried, emotional. She had been right, he really was a sweet guy. She calmed down a little and wiped her tears away.

What a comedown. Here she sat, howling in her nightdress, on the run from nothing.

"I thought I heard a gunshot," she mumbled. She hesitated and looked at him. Maybe it had been outside? Or was it just her own gunshot that she'd heard again, between sleeping and being awake? "And then I saw you, with the gun on the table..."

"I kept watch," he answered. His voice was friendly and soft. "In case you were followed today."

A lump in her throat delayed her answer. "You... you don't know me, but you stay up all night for me?"

He shrugged. "Club protocol." He smiled.

Dana's lips curled a little as well. "Yeah? Are there often deranged sisters walking in?"

"All the time."

She rubbed her cheeks until they were dry and sighed deeply. She still felt shaky. She wouldn't mind if he would hold her in his arms to comfort her, but he seemed to shrink from touching her. As if he knew what she was – someone who'd been abused – and didn't know how she would react. The thought that people put such a label on her made her feel sick.

"Ya want something? A glass of water? Cigarette? Something stronger?"

She shook her head.

"Want me to get your brother?"

"Please don't," she mumbled. "It's bad enough you've seen me this way."

"It isn't." He sounded resolute. "You're here for a reason."

"That isn't an excuse to run around like a fucking idiot for fear that someone wants to shoot you."

"People do crazier shit when they're afraid."

He still sat crouched down, so that she was looking on his head. His hair was shaved on both sides, and there was a short mohawk in the middle. On both sides of it a similar black tribal sign was tattooed.

"What's your name?" she asked.

"Juice."

"Juice?" Well, they came up with original nicknames. In any case, it sounded better than Half-Sack. "You only drink juice?"

He grinned. "Once I did. When I first took a step in the MC, the bartender was strict about the minimum age."

"You're the youngest?"

"If you don't count in the prospects."

Dana yawned. When she realized she did so, she quickly covered her mouth with her hand. "Sorry," she mumbled. "It's not that you're boring, but..."

"It's in the middle of the night, you're right to be tired." He stood up.

"Same goes for you."

"I'll have a good sleep tomorrow. Wanna try to get some sleep?"

Dana hesitated. Actually, she didn't want him to leave, to be left alone again. But she didn't dare to ask if he wanted to stay. So she nodded. "Yeah... guess that would be a good idea."

"Just give a yell when you need somethin'. I will be here in a sec, okay?"

She nodded again. "Thank you, Juice."

He smiled, showing his straight teeth. "Sleep well, Dana." He turned around and closed the door behind him.

Dana lied down again and thought about the gun near the door. She was safe. She had to rely on that.