Jersey Six(12)

“Three o’clock. Out front. Okay?”

Jersey returned a single, wide-eyed nod.

Ian smiled. “Do you have a last name?”

“Six.”

That made his smile swell another inch up his pleasant face, letting his teeth shine. “Jersey Six…” he reached up and gave the hat a gentle tug “…I’m going to show you the world.”

“What does that mean?”

He let go, taking a step back while maintaining his confident grin. “It means I’m going to show you the world.” Ian took two more steps backward. “The world, Jersey.”





CHAPTER SIX





“Pack your shit.” Jersey grabbed the soap by the sink, a spare roll of toilet paper, and several waters from the fridge.

Chris peeked at her from behind his book as she shoved everything into her bag.

“What did you do? Are we on the run? Did you kill someone? Steal something?”

She paused, huffing out a quick breath. “Jobs. I got us jobs.”

“I see. You’re going to have to elaborate. And nice hat.”

Forgetting that she had Ian’s hat, she pulled it off her head, bringing it to her nose for a few seconds. It smelled good—clean-guy, expensive good.

“Did you seriously just sniff that?” Chris laughed, closing his book and sitting up.

In their month together, Jersey stopped seeing Chris’s scars. All she could see was her new friend. And earlier that day, she felt like Ian saw her—not a homeless woman in need of twenty bucks and a meal. That meant something because she had no idea what he saw since her own reflection looked so foreign to herself. Then again … there wasn’t a mirror in the joint, so Jersey rarely witnessed her own reflection.

Her eyes narrowed. “Someone gave me the hat. I was just making sure it didn’t smell funky.”

“Jers, this place is the epitome of funky smelling. Unless someone pissed on that hat today, it can’t smell worse than the air we breathe daily.”

“Epitome?”

“A perfect example.” Chris never made fun of Jersey’s limited education and vocabulary. Not once. That was why she made them a package deal with Ian.

“The guy who gave me this hat offered to give us both jobs. And we’re being picked up at three.”

“Why are you packing?”

“It’s a traveling job.”

“What’s the job?”

She rolled her eyes and shrugged. “I don’t know. But it involves a place to sleep and food. And it’s legal.”

“Doesn’t feel right. A stranger offering you a job on a whim is a little worrisome. And offering me a job having never met me—seen me.” Chris shook his head. “It’s not right. It has to be some kinky shit.”

“I told you it’s legal.” She zipped the bag, and it crept back open because the zipper was broken.

“There’s a lot of kinky shit that’s legal.”

“Chris …” Jersey frowned. “We share a mat and what amounts to one and a half blankets. We take food and money from strangers, dumpsters, and places that are just too embarrassing to admit. At this point, I’d exchange a little kinky shit for an actual bed and regular, hot meals.”

He sighed and resumed his reading. Jersey ignored the occasional scowls he tossed her way while giving her the silent treatment.

“I’m going to tell George goodbye. Just George. I don’t trust anyone else around here to not screw up this chance for us.”

Another silent scowl.

Jersey smirked.

At three o’clock, Jersey and Chris snuck out of Marley’s, unnoticed. A tall, broad man sporting buzzed, reddish-blond hair held open a door to a black sedan that looked too nice to be in Marley’s neighborhood. For three full seconds, Jersey contemplated the sanity of getting into the car. Ian hadn’t given her the kinky vibe, but Jersey wasn’t an expert on more than boxing and knives.

“Jersey?” the tall man asked.

She nodded, taking the final steps across the littered concrete to the cracked sidewalk curb.

“I’m Shane.” He smiled, even at Chris, without a lingering gaze or second look at her disfigured sidekick.

“This is my friend, Chris.” Jersey hugged her bag to her chest.

“I can put your bag in the trunk.”

“I’ve got it.” What little she had to piece together and call her life or belongings wasn’t going in the trunk. If kinky shit went down, she wanted her bag and the spare knife in it. Chris didn’t have a bag. He had the ripe, soiled clothes on his back and a few toiletries in the pocket of his hoodie.

“Suit yourself.” Shane shrugged.

They slid into the backseat of the car. Another smiling face greeted them from the front passenger seat. Her blinding-white teeth seemed a bit too big for her mouth—in Jersey’s opinion—but her beaming dark eyes, penciled eyebrows, and perfectly glossed lips made the whole poster smile work. She could have been in a commercial for toothpaste or maybe some sort of allergy medication ad.

“Hi! I’m Max. Ian’s assistant. I’ll need you both to fill out these forms. When one of you is done, click next and it will bring up a new form.” She tucked her stick straight, chin-length black and gray hair behind her diamond-studded pierced ear and handed Jersey an electronic tablet.