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“Sounds about right to me,” his friend adds, grinning just as twisted.
“Whatever, just don’t start fighting,” the cashier, still looking tired, says. He even finishes it with a yawn. “I’m not in the mood to clean your blood off the shelves.”
“You’re not having shit,” Nok barks, his voice deep, angry, and gravelly.
Joseph puts his hand on Nok’s shoulder. “Nokosi maybe we should—”
“I didn’t say this was open to negotiation. Ain’t no cameras in here, boy. Give me your money and we’ll be on our way.” He looks at the shaggy-haired cashier. “You seen us in here, kid? Seen what we done?”
The cashier shakes his head. “Not my problem, don’t care.”
Nok is going to blow. I can see and feel it. And he will lose. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.
Fuck. What do I do? Why do I care? There are plenty of other assholes in that school to taunt. There will be another just like him.
I hide behind the shelves and assess my options. I have my switchblade which will be useless against a gun so really… I need to get the gun. Or I could just let them take the money and leave, but then where’s the fun in that?
“No sudden movements, just hand over the wallet and we’ll be done here.”
I pull my helmet back on, having taken it off in the bathroom to breathe for a moment, and flip down the visor.
Then I clear my throat, raise my hands and utter in a polite, Southern accent, “Can I just meander on by? I ain’t seen nothin’ here but I’m tired and lookin’ to get back to my motel.”
“It’s the girl,” the third trucker whispers and all eyes come to me as I walk down the side aisle towards them, hands up, fingers splayed either side of my shoulders. He has what looks like a dead beaver on his head.
I mentally name them for ease, this one is Beaver, his buddy is Butthead and the guy with the gun is Grease or Trucker… whichever.
Nok looks at me, his eyes widening in question. He flickers them back to the bathroom, communicating with me to go back. I’m surprised by this, to be honest. He’s the last person I expected to tell me to get the hell out of Dodge.
“Sure, you can squeeze on by,” the trucker with the gun says with a grin. “Did not realize you’re a Texan girl yourself. If I’m right in sayin’?”
“You are. But I’m just passin’ through.”
“Long way away to pass through.”
I shrug, lowering my hands and flipping up my visor so as to meet his eyes. “I pass through a lot of places.”
He shows his yellowing teeth. “Well, why don’t you hang with us three gents for a while? We’ll show you a nice time local, buy you dinner, coupla drinks.”
The fact he called himself a “gent” is almost laughable.
I glance at Nok ignoring the stiffness of his jaw and fury in his eyes. “Don’t he need to give you money for that?”
“Nah, I just don’t like my good American dollar in the hands of a prairie nigger.”
I grit my teeth at that insult and smile like I agree with him which I absolutely don’t. “Right? Fuck them. Throw them over the wall with the rest of those brownies.”
“Knew it,” Nok mutters and Joseph sneers at me too. Neither of them knows what I’m doing, that’s how convincing I’m being. Or at least I hope I’m being convincing.
Trucker’s friends laugh so hard at that, giving me opportunity to sidle closer. “Actually, it’d be nice hanging with some Southern men, drinkin’ beer and eating wings. I’ve had a cravin’ for some chicken wings in I don’t know how long.” I’m close enough now to do what I need to do, I put my hand on his chest. My heart is a blur in my chest. I can hardly breathe. “Give him the money he asked for and we’ll be on our way.”
Joseph pulls the wallet from Nok’s pocket who is glaring at the man so hard his eyes are bloodshot. He’s mad. Really fucking mad.
“You’ll pay for this,” Nok says to me, his eyes on mine.
I grin at him. “Only person payin’ here is you, darlin’.”
Trucker’s friends laugh again and watch as Joseph pays for the fuel and then starts to hand over the wallet. I snatch it from between them making them all look at me, confusion marring each of their very different faces.
I flip it open with one hand while backing out of reach. “Whoa, there’s gotta be at least eight hundred bucks in here.”
“That’s mine, kitten,” Trucker breathes, his tone warning. He doesn’t trust me or my intentions anymore.
I shove it into my jacket where it gets trapped between my breasts and the tight protective material. “Nope, pretty sure it’s mine now.”
