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I gasp, putting one hand over my chest and holding the other out in front of me, palm up. “Please. You can take my car. You can have all my money.” I reach into my back pocket and pull my wallet out, placing it on the console between us. “You can have whatever you want. Just please, let me go.”
He reaches over and I jump, thinking he’s going to hit me, but he’s only putting the key in the ignition. “Start the fucking car and drive. I don’t like to repeat myself.”
His voice has taken on a deeper growl and against my better judgement, my body blooms while I’m scared out of my mind. Now is not the time for me to think he’s hot when he will probably kill me.
Nodding, I start the engine. He looks over at the dash and clicks his tongue. “You need to fill up your tank. Do you have a debit or credit card?”
“Y-yes. In my wallet. The b-b-blue one.”
He rifles through my wallet and pulls it out. “Pull into this gas station and fuel up. Don’t get cute and signal anyone or I’ll kill you and them. Understand?”
Agreeing like a bobble head, I pull into the gas station. Fred, the gas station owner, is often late and works the store on his own. Today is one of those days. The pumps are active, but the store is locked up tight, so I can’t signal to anyone, even if I wasn’t threatened. I whimper, knowing he could have been my only chance for anyone to see me.
Mrs. Jasper won’t tell anyone she saw me, even if it does mean my death. She is one of the true bible thumpers that think “my kind” are going to hell. I’m sure she wouldn’t care if my body showed up three states away, missing my head.
After I fuel up, I slide back into the car, fighting back tears. “Where to, Mister?”
He scoffs. “Don’t call me mister. I’m not that old, kid. Just get on the freeway and drive. I’ll tell you where to go.”
Following his orders, I drive to the freeway and hop on. I really hope that by the end of this, I’ll still be alive.
Chapter 4
Rax
The kid’s hands are bone white on the steering wheel, his eyes are glassy, but no tears fall. He’s tough, I’ll give him that. Or stupid. I haven’t figured out which.
I tell him to take the highway north to St. Louis. It wouldn’t be smart for me to go straight to Tennessee in this car. Before we left, I saw the kid looking towards the store and when I looked out of the corner of my eye, I saw the camera mounted on the roof of the store. I cursed inwardly, chiding myself on not clocking that before, but the truck was smoking like crazy and I didn’t want to risk a cop pulling me over, trying to help.
When I pulled into the grocery store parking lot, I was dismayed that there was only one other decent car in the parking lot. It was early, as I only took a short nap at a rest stop before I got back on the road to make my way east. But this shit box Trenton owned started to crap out on me, as well as run out of gas. I’m surprised I got as far away from the prison as I did.
Seeing the kid come out of the store, I knew he was my mark. He looked too innocent, too naive. Newsflash, kid: it’s not always a good thing to have hospitality.
He was also too good looking for me to let go. That thought popped into my head without conscious thought and I had to shake my head a few times to clear it.
I was surprised when he said he’s a mechanic. He looks too … soft, with his long hair that’s dyed green at the ends, clean shaven face, and hints of makeup. Some of the guys in prison used DIY makeup, made from colored pencils and water, but the stuff this man had on wasn’t that messy shit. Who the fuck wears make up at eight in the morning when they don’t have to work? I don’t like to admit that my eyes were drawn to his and how the makeup made them pop.
Fuck, I’ve been locked up way too long.
He didn’t suspect me of being the predator that I am, so the gun in his back was a complete surprise to him, if his whimpering is anything to go by. I’m not sorry. His car looks new and I need something that will get me back to my family.
“Will you kill me?” my mark whispers, voice cracking.
Looking over at him, I think about his question. I have no trouble killing, don’t really give a fuck about taking a life, but I don’t do it for the fuck of it. There has to be a reason. Prez telling me to take care of someone was reason enough.
Since I took him, the kid hasn’t caused trouble and has done exactly what I told him. So, there’s no reason for me to end his life.
He’s safe as long as he continues to do what the fuck I say.
“Nah. You’re good for now,” I tell him and he lets out a long breath, a tear trailing down his face.
“I’m Finn. Short for Finnegan. Finnegan Coombs. I’m not a junior, though my dad’s name was Finnegan too. Different middle name. Neither of my grandfather’s was named Finnegan. I’m not sure why they named me that. It’s not a great name, though Finn is cool. I don’t hate my name, it’s just really old fashioned. I’m twenty-four. Like I said, I’m a mechanic. I—”
“Finn,” I say and he starts, but glances over at me quickly. “I don’t give a fuck about your life story. Stop talking.”
I see it takes great effort for him to swallow, his throat bobbing a few times before he manages it. “Why are you doing this?” he whispers.
“You don’t need that information. All you need to do is what I tell you and I’ll let you go when I’m done. As long as you don’t try anything stupid.” I tap the gun on the center console so he knows what will happen if he does.
