A/N: Yay! I updated. Sorry for the time between chapters, but I just don't have that much time to write between work, babysitting, and school. I'll try to write more.
Sands sat up in the uncomfortable motel bed and rubbed his temples with his right hand. He stretched a bit and stood up. His hands naturally felt around for a table or dresser or TV. His hip slammed into the corner of the table and he grunted.
"Why the fuck do motel have to keep all of the furniture in one fucking corner of the room?" He touched his way to the shower and turned it on. One of the things that he prided himself on now, was taking a shower. Most people aren't aware of how slippery the bottom gets and how difficult it is to listen to the outside world through the streaming water. His gun was placed within arms reach and he climbed in.
Mort woke up with no memory of falling asleep. He kept his eyes closed and gripped the cold steel harder in his hand. If he lifted his hand, it would be at his head. If he flicked his thumb, it would pull back the hammer. If he squeezed the little ignition strip he could blast his brain all over the driver side window.
But there was no telling who would pull through. Maybe him. Maybe Shooter. Maybe they would both die with the body. Maybe there was more than just Shooter. The rest of them were waiting for perfect time to pounce.
He let his head fall against the top of the steering wheel and repeated the action. Over. And over. And over. And over again.
A constant beat of insanity.
Sands slipped his gun into his belt and followed the memorized steps out the door and towards the office of the little shithole. He heard the dull sound of stomping and turned towards it.
The gloved fingers of his hand felt a truck. He traced his way to he driver's side and tapped on the window. He raised an eyebrow and leaned against the side of the truck.
Mort stopped his banging and looked at Sands through the window. He looked down at the gun and threw it back into the glove bow with disgust. He rolled down the window and swallowed.
Sands gave a short, 'hm,' and walked his way to the passenger door. He grabbed the handle on the first try and jumped in. "I hope there's somewhere that serves decent food in this stinking little butt crack of a town."
Mort continued to just stare straight ahead.
"That's your cue to drive, fuckmook."
"I'm not your chauffeur."
"Of course." Sands took out his gun and pointed it at his brother. "You're my hostage. Now drive. I've got a hankerin' fer some grub."
A/N: Sorry for the shortness, but nothing is flowing right now. Thanks for reading, please review.