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Trucker’s friend Beaver barks, “Her accent is gone. She fucking played you.”
“Give me the wallet, I ain’t playin’ back.”
“What you gonna do?” I taunt, laughing when he steps towards me. “Shoot me?”
He glances at me with wild brown eyes, then at Nok and then back again. “That’s exactly what I’m gonna do.”
When he reaches for his gun and finds the holster empty, I pull it from around my back, then point it at his chest and smirk. “Looking for this?” So fucking cliché but I am so fucking proud of myself. I feel extremely powerful right now.
Everybody falls silent again and this time I’m in charge.
“Sweetie, do you even know how to use that gun?”
I drop the clip, check the chamber, estimate there to be at least six bullets in total, replace the clip, click off the safety, and my smirk becomes an evil grin. “Do y’all know how to run from a bullet?”
“Holy shit,” Joseph hisses, his tone awed.
Nokosi has a brow raised, but he also has his hands raised, so do the truckers when I slowly point the gun at them one by one, letting it drift back and forth like the gentle waves on an ocean shore.
“The rest of you got any weapons?” I ask, keeping them pinned to the counter. If they separate, I don’t much fancy my chances of winning, even with the gun.
They shake their heads.
“Check them,” I tell Nok.
“Don’t you fucking touch me, you buffalo jockey.”
“I can’t see any,” Joseph states, leaning around them. “I’m not getting close enough to find out for sure.”
I raise the gun higher, pointing it at Greasy’s face and take a step closer.
“Good,” I answer and relax my shoulders. “Now… hand over your money.”
Greasy laughs, throwing his head back with it.
I pull the trigger, and everybody yells and ducks, sounding panicked. My ears ring for a second but the space isn’t compact so it’s not too bad. My head feels a bit hollow from it and my hand aches but nothing enough to make me flinch.
“What the fuck? You crazy bitch!” Butthead yells and now they all have their hands up as dust flutters and swirls around us from the hole in the ceiling.
“This is a gas station!” the cashier shrieks, sounding seven pitches higher than before as he hides under the counter. “Are you trying to kill us all?”
I shrug. “Always said I’d go out with a bang, may as well be this kinda bang. Quick, painless, hopefully.” I wink at Nok, dipping my head back so he can see it. “But then again, I like a bit of pain from time to time.”
Nok’s eyes flare, I saw it, I fucking felt it between my thighs.
I quickly look away and stare down Greasy instead, feeling wave after exhilarating wave of adrenaline pulse through my body.
“Now hand over your fucking money,” I bellow at them, pointing the trigger at his head now.
The truckers behind him scramble for their wallets. I look at Nok. “Take every penny they have. Snap their cards.”
He smirks, his brow still raised in that alluring way, but he does it. Quickly too.
“You’re going to regret this, bitch.”
“Just get the fucking gun, Bill, she doesn’t have it in her to shoot anyone!” one of the truckers hisses. I point the gun at his face and pull the trigger without hesitation.
It clicks a hollow sound and he shrieks like a child and drops to his knees with his hands over his face.
“Silly me,” I sigh, dramatizing my tone, “I forgot to crank it after my last shot.” I look at Nok and Joseph. “Isn’t that lucky?”
Nok’s lips thin to a white line, he’s fighting back his laughter and almost failing.
“Now now, stop crying.” I check the chamber and point the gun at them again, keeping my finger off the trigger just in case I accidentally pull it. It’s tempting. “You have the money?”
Nok nods and holds up a roll of cash.
I unzip my protective jacket pocket and motion for him to put it inside. He does so and I try to inhale deeply to catch his scent, but my helmet is all I can smell. Shame. He always smells good. I could smell him in class today too. So earthy and manly and masculine. Ugh. I almost feel bad for doing what I’m doing to him.
When he zips me up, I look at the truckers again. “Get in the bathroom.”
They surprisingly comply, two of them grabbing the one that’s on the floor and drag him to the back of the store, over the white tiles that could use a clean.
“Phones,” I demand and Nok takes those too as Joseph stays as a lookout.
“Thank you kindly, my good native sir,” I jest, putting my thick Southern accent back on.
He laughs under his breath and can’t wipe his smile. I think I’ve impressed him.
