“Store just got robbed,” I said as I put down my half-finished drink. “I need to head over there and see how bad it is.”
“How are you going to get there?”
“Uber?” I said, like there would be any other answer.
“But wouldn’t that be expensive?”
“Would you rather me drive and get a DUI? Or are you just upset that I’m leaving now?”
It was the latter. Justine was a peacekeeper, but that also meant she got bothered easily if she felt people didn’t want to spend time with her.
“We can hang again sometime early next week, OK?” I said. “I have to get to my store, though. There’s no getting around that.”
“OK,” Justine said, a more reassured smile appearing. “Please be safe, Katie. I don’t want to wind up turning on the news tonight and seeing a report that a second robbery or worse took place.”
“Relax,” I said. “I’ve got pepper spray in my purse and other protection.”
Like my gun.
And maybe the Reapers.
Maybe Connor if I get the courage to ask for it. If I think that he would and was full of shit for some reason this afternoon.
“I’ll be fine.”
I sure hoped that was the truth.
* * *
When the Uber pulled up to the store, on the outside, the place looked normal. At least the assholes had not broken any glass or caused any damage. Cigarettes were not cheap to purchase wholesale, but replacing glass was both an explicit and implicit cost—the cost of repairs, plus the cost of lost business from people thinking that my gas station wasn’t safe.
I got inside and saw what Lakisha meant. The rack of cigarettes had basically been cleaned out, save for a couple of cartons strewn on the ground, probably from when they had hurried out. Lakisha was sitting behind the register, remarkably calm but still looking shook.
“You’re OK?” I asked.
“Yeah, they didn’t hurt us, but it was still a bit terrifying.”
“I get it,” I said. “Did they leave anything we can give to the police?”
Or to the Black Reapers?
“Actually, one of them left a note,” she said. “Said to give it to you when you showed up, specifically.”
That couldn’t be good. I wasn’t in the business of making pen pals with anyone. I felt my heartbeat rise as Lakisha handed me some scrabble written on a piece of paper ripped from its original source. I looked down and bit my lip.
“Your bf killed my brother,” the note read in hastily written cursive. “Get in our way, and you’re next.”
Killed your brother? That little shithead that tried to frame me for some shit on his phone?
I gulped. Connor hadn’t said anything about any murders, but things were starting to make a whole lot of fucking sense. Why he’d been such a head case this morning. Why he’d been so distant when we went hiking. Why, perhaps, he had acted so cold and distant after I had left him.
One thing was for sure.
We weren’t done. Even if we were “done,” the Bandits, of all groups, were making sure that we were staying roped in together.
