“How about this? If your hotel is on our way, then we’ll drop you off.” We definitely won’t do that. “But if it’s a huge detour, we’ll take you to our compound where you’ll get one of many spare bedrooms all to yourself.” Unless she invites me in, then all bets are off.
“It’s just down that road, I am perfectly capable of walking.” This little Stabby is lying through her teeth but I have to admire how well she does it.
“Downthisroad?” I point to the right and raise my brow, waiting on her next lie.
“Yes, exactly that.” Aaaand she doubles down.
“Hmm, Boner? You know of any hotels southbound on 17 from here?” I keep my eyes squarely on her, watching as her cool exterior begins to deflate just a little.
“Nah, not unless she’s staying in the office of a used car lot.” This entire strip of road is like an ode to dealerships. “If you want to buy a vehicle, though, that’s the direction to go.”
I’m about to crank up the charm, make her feel safe and all that shit. It’s the truth, too. I mean, sure…we’ve been attacked by sex trafficking thugs, rival motorcycle clubs, and had our garages literally blown up because we were harboring a victim. Aside from that, our compound is like an armored tank.
“The fuck is going on back here?” Ah, this is inconvenient. Our stabby guest doesn’t turn around—smart—but I can’t do anything to hide the blood on my face and arms. Thankfully, the lighting out here fucking sucks, which puts women in a vulnerable position.
Just that thought pisses me off.
“Go back inside. Ain’t nothing to see here.” My voice is low but clear.
“The fuck do you think you are?” Damn, people just cannot take a hint.
“Don’t move.” I’m talking to…fuck, I need to get her name, and if she doesn’t give me one, I’m making it up. When I turn my attention back to asshole wannabee who was probably popular in high school but fizzed out once he became the little fish in a big pond, I’m no longer amused. “You wanna know who I am, asshole? I’m the guy who’s gonna burn this place down because it’s not safe. This young lady was attacked tonight by some random fucker wanting to steal her suitcase.” I’m finding it difficult to ignore Stabby’s face as her facial expressions slowly morph from annoyed to amused to…holy shit, this is brilliant.
“I was so scared!” In the matter of a half a second, she’s sobbing, clutching at my cut with real fucking tears soaking her cheeks. Damn, she’s the reincarnation of Elizabeth Taylor with a touch of Ma Barker for good, deadly, measure. “He just”—hiccup—“grabbed my arm and”—hiccup—“slammed me against thatwall”—hiccup and finger pointing—“right there.” By the time she turns around to face who I’m now guessing is the owner, if the horrified look on his face is anything to go by, she’s in full character. “I was bleeding from my head. And see? He even punched me.” Whoa. That’s not acting. That dead motherfucker gave her a bruise. Good thing he’s about to be fertilizer.
In my periphery, I see movement. Looking over with discretion to avoid the Gen-Xer attendant here catching on to this overly dramatic ruse, I see Boner crossing his arms and leaning against the dumpster, effectively blocking his view of the dead body.
“Shit, are you okay?” Gotta give it to the guy, he changed his tone pretty fucking quickly so I guess I’ll let him live. Maybe.
“I…”—fucking hiccup—“I don’t know.” Then she turns back to me, fingers fisting my leather vest. “I just want to go home. Can we please go home? My babies are waiting for me.” Oh, fucking hell. She may be going a tad too far, but I’ve never been one to back down from a challenge and tonight is no different.
“Come on, I’ll call the babysitter.” I speak softly into her thick red hair, then turn my narrowed gaze to the guy. “If I come back here and that floodlight isn’t fixed, I’ll fucking light this place up myself.” Okay, maybe I went too far, implying I’d set fire to this whole fucking gas station, and because I am a betting man, I’m calling it right now. That asshole’s about to whine to the cops like a little pussy.
“Yeah, man. Yeah, of course.”
I nod, short and sharp, then lead Stabby out of the alley just as the guy goes back inside.
Like a fucking miracle, Bash arrives with the van and proud smile on his face. “Yo! Someone called for reinforcements?”
As soon as we’re out of sight, Stabby releases me and her face goes right back to cool, calm, and fucking collected. I already miss the smell of copper from her kill mixed in with whateverliquor she was drinking earlier. I’m guessing it’s tequila. That citrus note is a dead giveaway.
“Where’s the package?”
I shake my head at Bash. “This ain’t James Bond.” I shrug, like,whatcha gonna do?. “He likes to think he’s a spy,” I say, making Stabby frown.
“You Americans are fucking weird.”
I’m going to take that as a compliment, considering some of Sledge’s expressions are impossible to understand.
“Tom-ay-to, To-ketchup.” I grin when I see her lip tick up in an effort to smile despite her better judgement. Then I turn to Bash. “He’s over there with Boner. Hurry up though, the gas station owner or manager already came sniffing just minutes ago.”
“Gotcha!” He saunters up to Stabby and holds out his hand, completely unaffected by the bloodied clothes and skin. “Hey there! I’m Bash.”
She takes his hand, shakes, and smiles. “I’m Parker.” But she pronounces it Pah-Kah where theerat the end is barely an afterthought.
“What the fuck? You said three dates!” I’m offended, but also, I fucking love that name.
Parker.
