[center][h3]The Perils of Abigail Travis, Part 5 - “Cut”[/h3][/center] [center][img]https://i.imgur.com/b2q22wd.jpg[/img] [/center] Cold. Half ‘er face felt a right chil, while rest of ‘er’s sorta snug. She could hear sounds ‘o’ folk movin’ about, talkin’ an’ laughin’ one t’other, all friendly like. As she ‘membered where she was, Abby opened ‘er good eye. Cottonmouth was sittin’ at ‘er side, lookin’ right down on ‘er. “No..” she commenced strugglin’, putin’ arms up tah shield from blows was gon’ start any second. “No…no…” she tried bringin’ ‘er legs up fer defense as well, “no…” “Hey…hey!” the enforcer showed open hands held in supplication. “You’re shiny….you’re shiny. Nobody’s gonna hurt you.” Her head was still thuddin’ an’ dull, and ‘er heart’s racin’ at sight 'o' the man what whipped ‘er bein’ this close. [i]Here it comes,[/i] she conjured as he turnt away fer a tick. But this time, what Cottonmouth brought tah her weren’t no kinda weapon fer beatin’. This time, he held pills in one hand an’ a tall glass ‘o’ water in t’other. “Augh!” she cried out as both hands clutched tha glass. She drank, and drank, and drank s’more… “Mouse,” Cottonmouth said, “Get another glass over here.” He waited, pills balanced in a patient hand as the hostage gulped the last of her first real drink in three days. He held them out toward her as Mouse arrived with another brimming glass. “Take these,” his voice was gentle. “They’ll help with the pain and swelling.” When the girl cast a mistrustful eye, he replied, “if I was tryin’ to kill you, I woulda done it already.” That seemed good enough fer Abby. The bikers had ‘er sprawled on one of them sofas in their lounge area. Slowly, she pulled ‘erself upright an’ swung ‘er feet tah tha deck. She’s surprised tah feel socks on ‘er feet, an’ the knees what poked out from under tha blanket was wearin’ denim. They’d put ‘er clothes back on ‘er…cept’n tha bra an’ tee shirt what got cut up by Lido… Abby tucked tha blanket over her bosoms an’ beneath each arm, afore downin’ them pills with three more healthy gulps ‘o’ water. “Here,” Cottonmouth returned the icepack to her right eye. “You’re gonna have to hold it there…sorry. You hungry?” Here he was…him as beat on ‘er with her own boot, now tha very soul ‘o’ kindness hisself. [i]Has to be a con,[/i] she ‘membered how them grifters on China Doll switched to an’ fro tah confuse ‘er fer their aims. Fer all their chicanery they never laid hands on ‘er, though. [i]And,[/i] she contemplated, [i]...while con this may be, I ain’t et in three days, neither…[/i] “Yeah,” she answered. “Dinner’s not for a couple hours. Chili and cornbread, and gorram it’s good,” he smiled. “But we’ll getcha somethin’ to hold you over. Whatcha want?” “PB an’ J’ll work,” the girl said, a little dumbstruck. “You got it.” Abby flinched when Cottonmouth jumped to his feet. He run off tah tha galley an’ left ‘er jest sittin’ on tha couch. They’s bikers about, some what gandered her way an’ passed whispers, but ain’t a one of ‘em lookin’ tah have a go. And none ‘em seemed any bit riled that Cottonmouth left a big buck knife on tha coffee table right fronta her, tah boot. A minute later an’ all she could conjure was how there ain’t nothin’ better’n a PB and J with a sack ‘o’ cheese puffs on tha side. Cottonmouth fergot a napkin, so when she’s finished, Abby set tah lickin’ orange fingertips clean. “You want another one?” he asked. “Nah.” With food in ‘er belly an’ sweet, sweet water soakin’ inta her system, Abby’s head was clearin’ enough fer curiosity tah change course. “Why tha change?” she up an’ asked. “Why come y’all stopped kickin’ tha [i]la shi[/i] outta me?” Cottonmouth sat down upon the coffee table, forearms resting over his knees. “Don’t want to steal Root’s thunder,” he smiled, “but I can say this. Sorry for poundin’ on you like I did. That’s my job…” “And it was my call.” Root stood in the table room’s open doorway. “Wasn’t personal, kid. How you feeling?” he asked as he stepped toward the sofa, followed by Nips. “Beat hard an’ nearly raped,” she snarked inta his face. “How’re yew?” “Oh yeah,” Root’s memory jogged. “What’s the word on Lido?” Cottonmouth shook his head. “He’ll live, but he’s not gonna feel like walkin’ for a couple days.” The MC president listened, his face impassive. “Takes us down to five for burn in. Cheesedick’s jaw still ain’t right after she kicked ‘im.” He chuckled as his sole eye landed upon the girl. “Well, Little Missy, you knocked two of my guys outta commission and put my top L-T in for an earlobe reattachment.” “With her hands behind her back,” Nips added. Root grinned. “With your hands behind your back. Not sure what you know about bike clubs, kid…” “...Done learnt enough already…” “...And you did it the hard way, which was sorta stupid,” he observed, “But one of Nips’ jobs is to keep me straight on our rules and regs. While the rest of us were gettin’ ready to space you, she was keepin’ score. May I?” he gestured toward Cottonmouth, who relinquished his seat on the coffee table. “You met Mouse,” he pointed toward the tiny woman. “She’s what we call a prospect. Sworn into the club, but she’s still some membership requirements to complete. You,” he pointed a casual finger toward Abby, “helped her with one of those today.” “Using a weapon to defend the club,” Nips offered Mouse an approving nod. “She’s had two beatdowns. Was scheduled to see Lido for the third, but that’s not happening.” “And,” Root added, “she’s still short her act of trustworthiness. But you? According to Nips here you’ve taken four beatdowns that left marks on three of ours. For all the punishment the only thing we got out of you was your name, if it really is ‘Abby,” he chuckled. “Told ya true,” Abby sipped ‘er water. “Collected a few nicknames along tha way…” “And one more today,” the biker chief lifted a hand toward his lieutenant. “But your stunt with the shotgun? Aside from makin’ all of us [i]la shi[/i] our pants, you used a weapon to defend your club.” “Muh club?” She’s still lookin’ fer tha con, and by dawg they had ‘er confused now. “Your boat.” Root said as Nips draped a denim vest in his outstretched hand. “China Doll. Have to admit I’m a little jealous right now, but as Nips tells me, ‘Rules is rules.’ And so,” he unfolded the garment to present with both hands, “you met all the qualifications for a full patch. Welcome to the Headhunters, Payback.” “Wait…wait,” shed tried sayin’ as a throaty bellow echoed through tha lounge. “Ain’t joinin’ yer club. Tomorrrah night I’m back on muh boat.” “Maybe so,” Root shrugged. “That means we got til then to change your mind. And that cut,” he said. “You put that on, you’re our sister, safe as safe can be among us.” Mouse come ‘round, holdin’ a tray with a bunch ‘o’ whiskey shots. Abby looked upon tha vest. [i][b]Headhunters M.C. - Greenleaf[/b][/i] stood out bold around a pair ‘o’ skulls what had some kinda tribal dots on ‘em. Truth be told, this was tha sorta thing she’d as like pick up at a thrift shop. “Well,” Abby said, “don’t look like yer offerin’ me no other kinda shirt.” As she stood an’ dropped tha blanket, she had tah admit surprise at sight of all them bikers turnin’ their eyes away from her bare chest. The vest went on, an’ fit good an’ snug. “Why ‘Payback?” she asked as tha zipper went all tha way up top. “Uh,” Nips hesitated as she handed their new sister a shot. “Cuz payback’s a bitch?” Fer tha first time in three days, Abby smiled.