17. Sebastion
SEBASTION
ME: TEACHER
“Take this.” I drag my wallet out of my back pocket and snag my credit card from its slip.
Extending one hand toward Scarlett while I pop the gas cap open with the other, I pull the nozzle from the pump and slip it into the tank.
“Go and grab enough snacks to make you happy for the next six or so hours. Get a soda if you want it, but get water too.”
She accepts my card and looks up at me from beneath long lashes. “You only want water? That’s no fun.”
“The water’s for you. Err on the side of protein bars, not candy bars. And get me a bag of Starburst.”
Her eyes flare wide. “You want Starburst?”
“What? Did I stutter?”
I’m allowed to like candy, too. Fuck.
Choking out an incredulous laugh, she turns and wanders away with a shake of her head. “Starburst for the big guy. Got it.”
“Make it quick. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover, and we already lost an hour to breakfast, since you refused to move your ass till you were done coloring.”
She spins and walks backwards, blind to the cars moving around her.
Oblivious to the truck that skids into a parking spot by the gas station’s electric front doors.
“Actually, since you’re a stickler for details: we lost an hour because of you.
Because you were busy chatting up the waitress.
But it’s okay, Boot. You’re allowed to have a thing for sixty-year-old buxom babes. I’m pretty sure she liked you too.”
“Uh-huh.” I lift my chin toward the gas station. “Shut up. Walk. And watch where you’re going before you fall on your face and cry again.”
Bullseye.
Her eyes narrow to slits, and her smile transforms into a sneer.
She doesn’t like admitting to her tears, and she hates that she wants to be a badass, but every time the world gets a little heavy, she locks up and does none of the badass shit she knows how to do.
Twisting back to the front, her long hair whipping with the wind, she stalks across the concrete and stomps her way inside.
Probably gonna stomp on every bag of Starburst, too.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, buzzing with an incoming call, so I drag it out and ignore all those don’t use your phone near a gas pump warning stickers slapped on every surface.
Catching Mav’s name on the screen, I swipe and bring the device to my ear. “Yeah?”
“You’re headed this way?” His breath comes out on short, sharp pants, which means he probably went for his five-mile run as soon as he woke up.
Before checking his messages. Which is a really weird fuckin’ thing to do, since the extent of my morning exercise is trudging my ass to the coffeepot. “What time should we expect you?”
“Late.” I lean against the side of my truck and watch Scarlett through the gas station’s grimy windows. “Coming in when it’s dark.”
“You still that far away?”
“Nope. But I’m gonna do a few circles, cross back and forth for a bit, bide my time.”
“Why?” His labored breathing slows as suspicion trickles into our call. “Someone following you?”
“Nope.” I keep an eye on the two dudes who climb out of the truck. Because they’re rowdy enough to be stupid, and stupid motherfuckers have a habit of zeroing in on women who look like Scarlett Castro. “I’m bringing someone with me.”
Mav chokes on his spit. He gasps for air and knocks something over on his end of the line. “Come again?”
“That chick,” I grunt. “Our last location was compromised, so we had to bug out, and there’s nowhere else I can put her. Can’t leave her with her folks. Can’t drop her at a hotel and not expect her to run straight back into the street. Dumping her anywhere else would probably get her killed.”
“So you’re…” He wheezes. “You’re gonna…” He hoooooos.
“Fuck me, Bas. You’re watching someone else’s target right now, she pissed someone off enough to need protection, and that someone is powerful enough to run the both of you out of your safe house.
So then you thought, shit, bruh, I might bring her home to meet my mom? ”
“Don’t make it a big deal.” I draw a slow, steady breath and check the pump as the dollars climb. Fuck this economy. “Tell the team. Prepare La Bruja.”
“You know she hates it when you call her that.”
“Yeah, but distracting her with a name might buy me enough time to explain before she annihilates me for bringing this chick to the house.”
“Probably should say our goodbyes now though, right?” He exhales a teasing laugh. “Jesus. It was nice knowing you.”
“Shut the fuck up.” I cast my gaze to the windows and locate Scarlett; her back is to me, her arms laden with bags of chips, and one of those stupid motherfuckers stands in the next aisle, his six-something frame making it easy for him to watch her.
His lips move. Her head shakes.
Releasing the gas nozzle and slamming it back into the pump slot, I fasten my tank cap and slap the cover closed. “We’re only a couple of hours away, but I’m not bringing her in until it’s dark. If I wait long enough, she’ll fall asleep, then I won’t have to worry about her knowing where we are.”
“You wanna take her to town instead? We could put her up in a safe hotel. Or we got some injectables for—”
“I’d prefer not to inject a fuckin’ poison into her neck if I can avoid it.
” My long legs eat up the smooth concrete, my eyes trained dead center on Scarlett’s new boyfriend’s forehead.
Other folks wander outside, climbing into their vehicles, which makes for a few less witnesses to what’s about to happen.
I take a risk and scan the shop and its security cameras.
Just a fast pass of my eyes. A little math.
I work out where they’re monitoring; the counter, mostly, and the side wall where an ATM sits, and where they’re not; the back corner, where a row of stools line the glass and give customers an opportunity to sip their coffee and stare out at a dozen gas pumps.
“Get the house ready.” I order through tight teeth.
“Keep La Bruja out of my hair. We’ll roll in when it’s safe. ”
“You sound homicidal. What are you doing right now?”
“Preparing to commit murder. Catch you in a bit.” I don’t give him a chance to respond. I end our call and stride through the shop doors, slipping my phone into my pocket and freeing up my hands.
Homicide 101, bitch.
Blind to my approach, Scarlett scoots out of her aisle and ducks into the next, only to let out a squeak when the second dude pops up and flashes a taunting grin.
It’s like they’re hunting. They’re playing with their prey.
They’re making a game of this, and intend to collect their beautiful, blue-eyed trophy.
“You won’t stay a minute and talk to us?” The second one tries on his ‘I’m sexy and I know it’ voice, shuffling a foot to the left and barring her exit. So she spins on her heels and discovers they’ve boxed her in.
Is this what it’s like for all beautiful, doe-eyed women? Or is Scarlett special? Can a female not even visit a gas station candy aisle without being accosted by small-dicked fuckwits who think ‘no’ is code for ‘I secretly want you, but you need to nag me for it first’?
“Excuse me?” She raises her voice and attempts a glance toward the front counter. “Can I get some help, please? These men are harassing me.”
I look to the font and find… nothing. If someone mans that counter, he ain’t there right now.
“Please?” Scarlett’s voice trembles with desperation. With fear. She releases her load of snacks and allows the lot to fall to the floor.
I guess she heard about homicide 101, too.
Free those hands, Princess.
Now where’s your knife?
“Go away.” She works hard to harden her voice. To broaden her shoulders and stand her ground. “I said go away!” Snarling, she backs up to escape the dude in front’s advance, only to crash into the guy behind and jump forward again with a cry. “Don’t touch me!”
“You sound like a frigid fuckin’ bitch. We just wanted to say hello.”
“I’m not interested.” She has nowhere to go unless she wants to climb the damn racks and vault over the top.
Which, I guess, I was kinda hoping she would.
For her own mental health, for her own soul, I was hoping she could get through this on her own, but when the fuckface behind her curls a lock of her hair around his finger and brings it up to his nose, she turns deathly still.
She ain’t dealing with shit.
Not today.
Maybe not ever.
Shaking my head, I steamroll the length of the store and grab the hair-sniffing motherfucker around the back of his neck, squeezing hard enough I feel his spine compress.
Picking him up and bringing him back down over my knee, I take satisfaction in the snap-crackle-pop of his vertebrae as he drops to the filthy floor and pisses his pants.
Literally.
Scarlett cries out in terror, spinning and giving the second dude her back—we really need to work on that—so I stalk forward and use his face like a bowling ball.
One finger in each eye-socket, and my thumb under his chin.
I throw him against the wall and enjoy the crunch of his skull colliding with brick.
He collapses to the floor, but I’m not quite done with him yet, so I pick him up again, fist his blood-soaked hair, and smash his face against the wall until his nose shatters, teeth ping against the floor, and a fresh, pungent stench of urine joins the first.
Both men need better diets.
“Sebastion?” Tears soak Scarlett’s eyes and spill onto her cheeks. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”