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It gets hard
It comes and goes
It’s not good if it’s short
…
I’m typing another when muffled voices lift my eyes.
Three guys, they’re stumbling across the parking lot. I glance at the back door of The Pelican. It’s still closed. My target hasn’t moved.
Putting my eyes back down, the phone in my hand is a prop now while I pretend to be a distracted patron, not an undercover detective.
“Hey, pretty lady. You shouldn’t be out here alone.”
My periphery clocks pink shorts first. I lift my glare, only to find this dick weed growing on the other side of my window. A woven belt with sailboats on it. Blue polo shirt. Red drunk face.
Oh, what I want to say, but I can’t blow my cover.
“Just waiting on my boyfriend. He’ll be out any second.”
“I’ll keep you company until then.” He reaches for my door handle.
This fucker. It’s locked. And now… I’m pissed.
“You better leave,” I snarl. “Now.”
The guy behind him? He leans across the hood of my car, peeping into the front windshield and jeering, “Nah. You need some company.”
No, I need to press the gas pedal and turn you into roadkill.
The third guy, he’s just laughing, like this is their thing—harassing women for sport.
It takes everything I have to put my nose back down. To ignore them while I text Penny for backup. Because one more move and these guys are gonna need a medic.
“Come on, gorgeous. We’ll treat you nice. Better than that boyfriend.”
The sick shit unzips his fly, pulls his limp boyhood from his pink pants, and rubs it on my windshield. The other two laugh, staggering drunk, while this one taunts, “Come on. Roll down your window and suck on my anaconda.”
It’s barely a snail. And I’m barely holding it back.
“Girl, you’re too hot not to fuck with,” he mocks and…
Red. Blood.
It drops a veil over my mind, and I snap. My restraint gone. I grab the door handle, kicking it open so hard that it slams the guy in his pathetic dick, knocking him down.
“And you’re too stupid not to beat the shit out of.”
I stand up over his sprawl on the ground.
The second guy, he steps over his drunk friend. “Stupid bitch!”
He takes a swing with his right, but I grab his wrist, pulling him toward me, my other hand striking the back of his neck and wrapping around it to shove his face into my kneecap. Once. Twice. Three times.
Fuck yes, it feels so good before I shove him down to the pavement too.
“You next?” I ask Chuckles, the third one who’s barely standing with his eyes wide.
