Disclaimer: I don't own the movie "Drive Angry." Everything belongs to whoever owns them, my wishful thinking aside.
Authors Note #1: I started writing this a while ago and then lost steam for it. Now I am back and determined to get it dusted off and completed.
Disclaimer: couple of years post movie, gore, blood, canon appropriate violence, adult language, drama, angst, romance, mild sexual content, slow burn, enemies to friends to lovers.
Feed me Faith
Chapter Four
She was cleaning tables at the diner a couple of weeks later, thinking about it. Pulling a double shift because her manager had flown the coop early for some sort of family emergency. Leaving her alone till close as time dragged. There were only a handful of people and most of them were mainlining coffee refills, so it gave her time to think about things.
Mostly about The Accountant and the way things seemed to be changing lately.
Usually she wasn't much for introspection and even less for settlin' down. Minus the big ass mistake that'd been Frank. She was a realist. More than that, she knew her place in the world and curbed her wants and desires accordingly. She'd gotten burned before for wanting more, and she liked to think her mama hadn't raised a fool.
But still, the feeling had staying power. That full throttle, pedal to the metal sort of thrust that had the potential to open the horizon if she let it. Life really was crazy like that, she guessed.
She dumped the grounds out of the machine and eyed the level of the nearest cups against the hands of the clock. Wondering if it was worth putting on a new pot just to save some hard feelings.
Things had been different since the storm and that night on the couch. Up until then he'd made an art-form out of being wounded. Somehow managing to remain aloof and otherworldly wearing second-hand underwear. But that night? That had been different.
Human.
The world had never been black and white. Never been easy or fair or any of the shit you were taught growing up. But somewhere along the line she'd started enjoying the ride. Realizing she was there for the long haul, no matter what, when not that long ago she'd been determined to get him out of her life as fast as possible.
She scuffed the toe of her black heels against the mat behind the counter. Rotating sore ankles as the old woman in the front booth signalled she was ready to pay. Digging through her purse for change and probably one of those tattered, 'Jesus loves you' dollars religious nut bags gave out instead of tips.
Still, the realization she had some sort of feelings on the subject was less of a bombshell than she figured it should have been. All things considered.
She pursed her lips. Trying and failing not to smile as the feeling grew like a warm bubble in her chest.
Again, Milton was probably in the bad place, laughing his god damned ass off.
Maybe she was getting soft, or maybe there'd been no way she could have avoided it, but either way- she didn't notice when the two boys from the back booth followed her car after close. Head lights switched off in the darkness behind her.
The house was dark when she pulled up, dark save for the night light glowing faintly from the hallway. Casting a weird, off-centre red glow through the dirty glass as she turned off the engine and checked the time.
Shit.
It was almost two in the morning.
He would've put Amber-May down at seven - eight thirty at the latest - and probably hit the sack around ten when she hadn't come home. She'd called when her boss had skipped out on her. Telling him she'd eat at the diner and not to wait up. But sometimes he did anyway. Looking up when she opened the door, blinking all slow from the couch like some big Maine Coon loopy from roasting itself in a sun beam all day. Hair stuck up in awkward feathers.
It was always the same. He'd lever himself up on his elbows, rubbing sleep from his eyes as the cushions crumpled underneath him. Sending him leaning to the side as his ankles kicked out, sleep pants flaring over bare feet. But he wouldn't smile. Not yet. Instead he'd get up and walk with her into the kitchen. Listening to her bitch about her day as she tossed her apron into dead space. That was when he'd smile. Picking the damn thing up every time and smoothing it over the back of a chair. Smile fully grown, just in time for her to see it as she turned around and caught it through the messy sheath of her hair.
The entire thing was something private…hers.
She turned her key in the lock slowly, hoping to keep the springs from screeching as she eased the screen door open and-
Intuition and the barely-there scrape of boot to gravel behind her caused her to duck at the last moment. Turning a blow that would have knocked her clean out, glancing. Crumpling her up the steps with a wounded cry as her fingers hooked into the flaking paint.
"Where is it?!"
A vice grip ripped her hair as someone wrenched it up. Dragging her up the last few steps and kicking her inside as her hearing warped. Tasting the color as blood pooled between her teeth – spraying out across the linoleum. Feeling anger bloom in her chest the same moment someone put their fucking boot in her stomach.
"Yeah, bitch, where is it?!" a voice snarled. "I know you have it, beautiful. So hand it the fuck over!"
The force of the kick rolled her over. Giving her a flash of empty couch cushions and the door to Amber-May's room half ajar.
"Where's what?" she spat, nails biting into the spaces between the floor boards as she tried to roll away. Trying to create distance as she put herself between them and Amber-May's room. Finally getting a glimpse of the bastards as they loomed above her. The leader holding a crowbar.
Shit.
It was those guys from the diner. Back booth. One coke. One coffee; sugar, six empty coffee creamers. Shredded napkin. No tip.
"I thought you said the bitch lived alone- there is some dude's clothes on the-"
Her heart sank when the sound of Amber-May fussing issued through the open door.
"What the fuck? A kid?" the smaller one questioned. Chipped front tooth. Stained shirt. Twitching. All red under the nose like the crackhead he probably was and-
Oh no.
"Hey asshole, I don't care if she has an entire fucking orphanage in here. Grab her fucking purse and tie her the fuck up. I want to see those keys. She's gonna show us where the cash is and then Boucher is gonna pay for screwing us."
She kicked out, wheezing. Trying to keep Mr. Grabby from getting his hands on her as she spidered out. Looking for something to use, anything-
"And what'ya gonna do, huh? Sit here while I do all the hard work? Like always! Fuck that, bro. You handle her. I wanna have a look around. There's gotta be somethin' in here to hawk. She's a chick, she's gotta have jewelry or somethin'."
The sound of a punch landing just above her head was soft - wet. Painting red over the top of her fingers as she recoiled instinctively. Throat pulling tight as Amber-May started to cry in earnest.
"You'll do the fuck what I tell you, ya hear?" the first one gritted, pounding his fist into the wall as the smaller one cursed and staggered away. "That's the plan. We stick with the plan and we both get paid. Got it?"
A tangle of rope hit the floor by her feet. Sending her scrambling away until the leader grabbed her by the hair again. Almost lifting her off the floor before dropping her again. Clipping her head against the door frame as star-bursts arced her vision from all sides. Threatening to spread.
"Screw you," she spat. Because at the end of the day, whether it was Frank, Jonah King, or these pathetic assholes, she was still her. And there wasn't a fight alive she'd take laying down.
"Your boss screwed us and left you holding the keys, honey. So now it's your problem and you're gonna fix it. Quick like. Or we know what we're going to do first. We'll come back here and-"
The bedroom door creaked, audible and damning. Making all three of them look up as the leader tossed her to the floor and started down the hall. Growling something about shutting the baby up for good as she let out of a fractured yell, trying to grab his pant legs. Leaving her with the smaller asshole as she flung out with her fist and missed his face by less than an inch. Getting her hand caught, shunted away, then slapped across the face so hard her ears rang as the bastard started untangling the loops of rope. Aiming to tie her up.
"Stay still, bitch! And give me that goddamned purse," the asshole snarled, thin hands peppered with lighter-burns and yellow patches of heroin-calloused flesh as he scrabbled at the clutch of her bag. Tossing her lipstick and tampons across the floor until he made a triumphant sound at the jingle of keys.
"Maggie Johnson, huh?" he laughed, snorting like it was funny as his hand tightened painfully around her ankle. Tossing her fake I.D to the side as he grinned at her - gap-toothed and feral-mean. "Bullshit. You don't look like a Maggie to me. Nah. In fact, you look familiar. Like- on the news or somefink'? Last year- hey- you're that chick! There was a reward and everything. Hey, Jack- it's the-"
Her breath caught in her throat, stomach flipping. Hair flaring as she twisted, trying to get away. Legs fish-failing as she struggled for traction. Blinking through the dull, sparking pin-pricks of pain as she tried to get up before-
She caught sight of him first as a dark silhouette separating itself from the shadows in the hall. All bared teeth and animal eyes before The Accountant brought the cut-off pipe from under the water heater down on the leader's head with barely a blink of hesitation. Dropping him with a dull, liquid crunch that made the second one look up. Eyes going comically wide as the Accountant loomed towards them. Slowly taking shape in the low-light as the one he'd taken down with the pipe gurgled, then went still.
It was like watching something ancient and angry coming to life. Seeing the old and the new plastered across every inch of him. From the set of his shoulders to the curl of his bare toes in the carpet. Head canting to the side like he was scenting the air or maybe just listening. Blood beading down the iron pipe and trickling between his fingers until his skin started to stain the same color as the carpet underneath the asshole's head.
Red.
Dead.
The smaller one scrambled with a knife, pressing it up against her throat as he wrenched her in front of him like a shield. Forcing her to inhale the stink of nicotine and sour sweat as The Accountant advanced. One step in front of the other, killing the distance like any other predator.
"I'll cut her," the bastard quavered, shaking against her spine. "I'll do it- back off! I mean it!"
But the smirk that spread across his lips in reply was chillingly familiar.
"I don't think so," The Accountant snarled, thumbs flirting with the blood that coated the pipe before his entire body just…shifted. Throwing the pipe up and into the air before grabbing it and sending it flying like a spear – faster than she could scream.
The air above her head shuddered, then parted. Whistling freshly cut oxygen like a howl as it punched through the jerk's right eye, half and inch from her head. Thumping him backwards with a bleeding dead weight and taking her with him. Getting an up close and personal look at the section of pipe that'd gone through the man's eye socket like a skewer.
The Accountant was there and ripping him off her before she could so much as breathe.
"You alright?" he asked, one hand ghosting down her side where she was half-curled. Trying to catch her breath as she let him ease her upright. Handling her gently, more gently than she could remember a man having ever done. Like she was precious and strong, but made of glass bones and spreading bruises. "Piper?"
His hands were wide against the small of her back, making her shiver.
"They're dead?" she asked instead. Coughing as she kicked the asshole's knife under the couch. Brain jumping to the least complicated question as she looked around at the hallway with a groan. What a fucking mess. The blood in the carpet alone was going to-
He nodded.
"I believe so," he answered simply. Not really looking bothered by it either. "Very, in fact."
"Shit," she bit off emphatically. Leaning into the curl of his chest for a minute before she forced herself to straighten. Wondering what they were going to do now.
"Piper, are you alright?" he said again, in a way that demanded an answer whether she was ready to give one or not. Suddenly making her aware of how little he'd said her name up until now. Wondering if it was the blow she'd taken to the back of her head or something else entirely when the little hairs on the back of her neck prickled at the way it left his lips.
Was that even a thing?
Gettin' warm for the way someone said your name?
"Yeah, god- thank you," she managed, pushing her hair back from her face as his hands shadowed the curve of her hips. Keeping them just shy of touching until she leaned up against the kitchen counter. "I just got the wind knocked out of me is al-"
She trailed off, looking up through the sheath of her hair before she stopped cold.
"Jesus, you're hurt!"
For a long moment - after she'd reached up to cup his face, bringing his forehead down so the cut on his forehead was within reach - neither of them moved. Stuck still and frozen between the graze of her palm on his cheek and the way he'd immediately bowed for her. There was something about it that echoed like a whisper in the back of her mind. Something important. Something she figured she should have been paying attention to, all things considered. But here she was, already flinging herself off the deep end.
"Doesn't look deep," she murmured, careful this time as she inspected the slice. Inhaling the strange combination of shower-fresh skin and the iron-tart of blood. "Did that first one get you? I couldn't see, it was too dark."
He shook his head.
"It's nothing. And no, I- I must have grazed myself when I was getting the pipe. There wasn't much time and I couldn't risk turning on any lights. I only regret I couldn't have ended it all sooner."
"Nothing, my ass," she muttered darkly. pointing at the kitchen table as she crossed the room for the first aid kit. Peeking into Amber-May's room as she went. Satisfied she'd sent herself back off to sleep. Small mercies.
She paused in mid-step.
Hold on.
"You mean to tell me you just killed two people, easy as pie. But nearly knocked your dumb ass out getting one of the pipes from the crawlspace?" she shrilled incredulously. Strangling a laugh into the press of her hand as it came up to cover her mouth. Feeling it coming from deep in her belly as her eyes found his and the rest came down like dominoes.
For a long moment he just blinked. Unassuming and confused before something flicked on like a switch. With a slow smile breaking ground until it turned into a grin. Eyes slitting richly as he looked at her like she was the best thing. Chuckling like dust being blown from something precious before the sound was a full-on belly laugh. Building until she was half-draped across the counter, laughing her ass off. Unable to hold back as the hilarity of it rolled out like the sunrise.
It was the first time she'd heard him laugh. Really laugh.
And honestly, she wanted to bottle it.
She wanted to hit pause right now and keep it.
She wanted it to last longer than its shelf-life.
She wanted it as a memory, but safer.
Because the seasons always changed. And sometimes they took the good things with it.
"Were they after the baby? You?" he asked later, tone sober as she swabbed the cut with a cap of vodka dumped on a cotton swab. Taking a swig for herself before handing him the bottle.
"More like my manager- I think," she answered darkly. Watching his fingers navigate around the bottle before lifting it to his lips. Expression not even so much as twitching as the level of alcohol in the bottle went down steadily. "Some sort of drug deal gone wrong, they didn't exactly get around to explaining."
"Still, we should be careful. That one recognized you," he pointed out, head inclining in the direction of second one still bleeding on the living room floor. "There could be others."
She rescued the bottle and took an overly generous swallow before shaking her head. It was a coincidence. It had to be. Her and Webster had taken precautions. She was three states away from where it'd all gone down and that was only after half a year of hiding out in the man's garage. Pretending to be his niece going through a rough patch.
"Well, judging by the whooping you gave them, I think me and Amber-May are in good hands," she pointed out. Returning the expression when the faint hint of amusement spread underneath his serious expression.
She took a deep breath, hesitating, before deciding to just go for it.
"That was pretty impressive," she hedged, slowly sorting through the bandages to find one long enough to cover the cut. Eventually giving up and slicing a gauze pad in half and taping it down. Figuring it would start healing on its own once the bleeding stopped. Head wounds always bled like a sonofabitch in the beginning. "See that on TV?"
He said nothing, but his shoulders set themselves in a harder line than usual.
"Hey," she urged. Crouching down in front of him to get him to look at her. Resting her hands on the knobs of his knees as the gauze on his forehead slowly stained itself dark. "Its okay not to be okay right now. What happened? Its a lot to take in."
His fingers twitched, like flicking away the spray of phantom blood.
"You saved us, me and Amber-May? The shotgun wasn't close enough for me to grab. If they'd gotten me like they wanted, someone would probably be fishing me out of a ditch in the morning," she told him privately. Ignoring the flare of her wounded pride.
"You would have thought of something," he told her simply, almost like he could sense it. "As it is, you gave me enough time to get into the laundry room. Otherwise it would have been fists against knives and somehow I doubt that would have ended well."
She shook her head. Long hair loose and desperately needing a wash. Wrinkling her nose at the smell of diner grease and a few other things she didn't want to think about.
"Maybe, or maybe if you hadn't been here, I'd be dead," she returned with a shrug. Aiming for casual even though something in her gut was burning. Almost hating him for refusing to own it. To accept that maybe she needed him just as much as he needed her. Or at least she thought he had- jury was currently out considering what he'd just done. "I mean it. So, thank you."
It was a strange stalemate until he spoke again. Filling the silence with awkward half-emotions that died before they could make it to either of their lips. Willing to kill to know just a fraction of what was going through his mind until she got her wish and couldn't put it back.
"It came naturally, he said softly, head turning into the dark. "Killing them, I mean. I could have injured them. The one holding you, the one in the hall- I didn't have to kill them. I could've- but I didn't want to, they hurt you and I-"
And yeah, she got that too.
She was about to say as much before the mood shifted and any remaining openness in his expression abruptly closed. Looking over at the bodies laying in the background. The fingers of his left hand twitching again. Like a tell.
"We should deal with them before dawn," he stated emotionlessly. Voice only slightly unsteady before he looked away again. Chin tucked and avoiding her eyes.
She nodded. Letting any remaining questions die a polite death.
She figured he'd earned a break, if only for a little while.
A/N: Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think. – There is more to come.