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A gun?
Tension ripples through my body, my hands wandering toward Wilder. When my fingertips brush the chains on his vest, I grip on tightly, hoping goatee guy doesn’t notice my trepidation.
Wilder laughs, not the lighthearted laugh he used in the car, but a deeper, darker laugh that conveys a warning. “Flash that thing around all you want and order us to chat. You don’t scare me, man.” He steps forward, forcing me to move with him. “What I really want to know is why the hell you dipshits were chasing us down? You know who we work for, right?”
Goatee guys jaw ticks. “You think I give a shit who you work for?” He matches Wilder’s step, his shadow falling over us. “We came here because our boss wants to talk to you. We’re supposed to bring you in.”
Wilder rolls his eyes and moves back, guiding me along with him. “You know that’s never going to happen. We’re not stupid enough to wander into your territory and I think you know that. And I’m starting to wonder if the flat tire wasn’t an accident.” When Goatee Guy grins, Wilder tugs on my shoulder and steers me behind him, so I can no longer see Goatee Guy. “What’d you use to shoot it out with? Or did you slit them in the parking lot? My bet is the latter. That you set this up so we’d get a flat out in the middle of fucking nowhere. But why? To chat? Because that’d be really stupid on your part, and I’m pretty sure your boss would agree with me.”
Goatee Guy laughs again, but the noise carries a nervous edge. “You think my boss cares if we chat with a couple of bitch runners? A couple of bitch runners who work for his competition?”
“We’re not bitch runners and you know that,” Wilder says. “So either say what the hell you want to say right here, or get back in your car and get the hell out of here before I decide to make you pay for messing up our car.”
They grow quiet as they stare each other down, the soft lull of the river moving over the rocks filling up the silence. Jackson and the two other guys are arguing, but I can’t make out everything being said. From what I can tell, though, they’re arguing about the same thing Goatee Guy and Wilder are. They keep throwing around the word chat a lot too, and I’m starting to believe it might mean something different in the drug world.
“Fine, we’ll go with you,” Jackson announces abruptly, throwing his hands up in the air.
Wilder’s head whips in his direction. “What?”
Jackson’s eyes flick in Wilder’s direction before he looks back at the two guys in front of him. The look exchanged doesn’t mean anything to me, but makes Wilder unstiffen.
“Fine, we’ll go with you,” Wilder agrees, stuffing a hand into the back pocket of his jeans.
I detect a series of beeps and wonder if he’s dialing someone on his phone. That brings me a speck of comfort, but not much.
Goatee guy’s lips curl into a sneer. “Guess you’re his little bitch runner.” He nods his head in Jackson’s direction.
Wilder opens and flexes his hand while sucking in a slow breath. Then he counts down from five underneath his breath. Once he reaches one, he calms down a bit.
“Let’s just go,” Wilder says. “The sooner we get this over with the better.”
“We’ll go when I say we go.” Goatee Guy crosses his arms and keeps his feet planted to the dirt.
Wilder rolls his eyes and mutters, “I so don’t have the patience for power tripping, steroid juiced up morons right now.”
Goatee Guy glares at Wilder, cracking his knuckles. “What’d you say to me?”
Wilder clears his throat and I expect him to lie, but instead he says, ““I said I so don’t have the patience for power tripping, steroid juiced up morons right now.”
Goatee Guy spouts out a bunch of words in a language I’ve never heard before, before lunging at Wilder. But he slams to halt when Hoodie Guys yells, “That’s enough!”
Everyone freezes. Then Hoodie Guy turns toward the SUV, snapping his fingers.
“Get in the car now,” he demands then rounds to the passenger side of the SUV.
Gritting his teeth, Goatee Guy reels around and storms back to the SUV. The other man follows, climbing in the driver’s seat while Jackson strides over to us.
“Maybe we should leave Zhara here,” he whispers to Wilder. “She’d be safer and we could text one of the guys to come get her.”
Wilder glances at me with wariness in his eyes. “I don’t know… Is it safe to leave her alone out here? There’s nothing around. Besides, she’s going to have to get used to this.”
Jackson scratches at the back of his neck. “Yeah, but this is one of the most extreme situations possible, and she hasn’t even been to the pit yet.”
They both look at me with confliction. I don’t know what to say or if they even want me to say anything at all, but I feel as conflicted as they look. On the one hand, staying in the car until someone picks me up doesn’t sound too bad. But on the other hand, taking the easy way out isn’t the way to become good at something. If I want to do well at this undercover thing—which, I’m still undecided if I do—then I’m going to have to woman up and learn, right?
But do I really want to get into the car with three drug lords and their guns and drive to who knows where to do who knows what?
Well, when I put it that way…
“The girl comes too,” Hoodie Guy barks, making the decision for me.
Wilder shakes his head, seeming pissed off.
“Calm down,” Jackson mutters. “If you lose your temper, you could end up blowing the whole operation.”
“Oh yeah, how do you figure?” Wilder asks, popping his knuckles. “Because, the way I see it, our boss might be glad we took out three guys that work for his enemy.”
“Or he’ll get pissed off at us for causing friction and kick us out of the circle. And then the last six months of work will be a waste,” Jackson narrows his eyes at Wilder. “So, keep your temper under control and your snarky comments to a minimum.”
“Fine. Whatever.” Wilder takes my hand and pulls me with him as he strides toward the SUV.
Jackson follows us, keeping close to our heels. When we reach the front end of the SUV, he places a hand on my lower back. Between that and Wilder holding my hand, I almost feel safe.
But then Goatee Guy opens the door to the backseat and motions for us to get in. “And the girl can sit on my lap.”
And just like that, my comfort flies away to the greying sky.
A Strange, Unfamiliar Ride
“No fucking way.” Wilder’s response to Goatee Guy’s demand is firm, his grip on my hand tightening.
“It wasn’t a request.” Goatee Guy stands beside the open door with a smirk on his face. “She’s going to sit on my lap as collateral.”
Wilder shakes his head. “Collateral for what? You’re not giving us anything other than a headache and a demonstration on sheer stupidity.”
Goatee Guy’s eyes flare with fury and he steps forward, his fists curling. “How dare you talk to me like that! You will respect me, just like the girl will sit on my lap. That way, we can make sure no one’s going to try something stupid, like jump out of the car or something.” His lips pull to that stupid smirk again as he stares at me, making me feel about as irritated as Wilder, which is a new, unchartered territory for me—normally, I try to stay calm and play mediator. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll give you a good ride. Way better than I’m sure either of these two bitch runners could give you.”
I have to bite down on my tongue to keep my jaw from dropping, but I can’t stop the warmth from flooding to my cheeks. Fortunately, the sunlight has reached an all time low for the day, so there’s a good chance he can’t see the blush spreading across my face. But I know I can’t hide behind the darkness completely. I have to say something. I just don’t have a clue what.
“Yeah, no thank you.” Okay, so my response may have been a little too polite, but the smile on Wilder’s face must mean I did something right… I think.
Goatee Guy’s lip twitches. “You d
on’t even know what a real man is.” Then he grabs his crotch.
Surprisingly, I don’t blush, but mostly because I’m too disgusted.
Goatee Guy smirks, tightening his hold on his crotch area. I don’t know what point he’s trying to prove other than he likes to squeeze his… man thingy… really, really hard.
So gross. I don’t even care if that makes me sound like too good of a girl.
“Who are you trying to impress?” Wilder questions, arching his brow at Goatee Guy. “Us or your hand? Because it’s really hard to tell.”
Goatee guy spouts out words in a different language before releasing himself and storming toward Wilder.
“The girl can sit wherever she likes,” Hoodie Guy interrupts, sticking his head out the window. “Just get in the damn car.”
