That Girl (That Girl, #1)(6)

“Fine, *,” I mumble.

“What did you call me?” Junior asks, grabbing the neck of my shirt and jerking it toward him.

Nose to nose, I reply, “Asshole. I called you an *, *.”

I’m not scared of this slime ball, and I have all my scars to prove it. I’ll do his dirty work this one time, but I’m sure as hell going to let him know how I feel about it. Junior’s grip tightens, cutting off my air.

“Try to say it again,” he snarls.

“Ass…”

I feel him being ripped away from me just as quickly as he’d attacked. Catching my breath, I look up to see the giant.

“You don’t f*cking touch ladies. Especially the one who’s getting you out of hot water. Touch her again and I’ll bury your sleazy ass, Junior.”

He throws Junior to the ground with ease, grabs the black bag, and turns to room twenty-eight.

“I’ll call you when the deal is done,” he says to Junior.

He then stops and turns to me. Twenty feet away, the man still scares the ever-loving hell out of me.

“It might help if you plug in your T.V.,” he says, then turns and walks into his room.

Junior doesn’t make eye contact; instead he just crawls off to his car. My guess wasn’t too far off. Drugs. Turning to go back into my room, I notice the f*cking plug for the T.V. lying on the floor. I can’t believe I didn’t think to plug the * in. Might as well give it a shot to take my mind off the night ahead. Plugging in the T.V., I cross my fingers on both hands and my legs, then hobble over to the power button. Closing my eyes and hoping like hell, I push it.

“Tonight’s news. Authorities are closer to catching the kingpin of the Hempner drug ring. Chief Cook is asking citizens to watch out for any suspicious activity.”

I begin a victory dance at the success of the T.V. Pretty darn proud of myself for getting it to work – with a little help, of course – but I’d like to think eventually I would’ve figured out the cord. On about my second hip swing, the words of the announcer slam me in the gut.

“Motherf*cker,” I shout.

Junior has put me smack dab in the middle of a colossal clusterf*ck. A young stranger carrying a massive black bag to the pool, leaving it, and returning to her dive of a hotel room definitely qualifies as suspicious activity.

“Hey,” a booming voice sounds, and knocking begins again at my door. “Let me in. It’s me. Room twenty-eight.”

Are you f*cking kidding me? Now the giant wants to hang out.

“Just a second,” I answer.

Grabbing the knife Old Man gave me, I slide it down my back pocket before I open the door.

“Hey.”

“I want to order pizza and watch some television until this shit goes down. Got a phone, but no T.V. I’m hanging here until then.”

“By all means,” I grumble, opening my door the rest of the way.

The hulk steps into my room. “What do you like on your pizza?”

“Anything but pineapple,” I mumble as I make my way to my bed.

I slide the knife from my back pocket and place it under my pillow, then curl up, resting my back on the headboard with one hand on the knife and both eyes on the giant.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he snarls.

I only nod at him. I’ve seen his type, been around them, hell, even had them in my house while growing up. He’s an all brawn and very little brainpower guy. His type is very dangerous. I’ve seen them blow in seconds, crashing an entire party and setting a house on fire. That was when I was ten. The minutes drag by as we wait for the pizza.

My alleged bodyguard must not be as comfortable with silence as I am, because he tries to start a conversation. “You’ve got some scars, uh?”

“Yeah.”

He makes another lame attempt. “What’s your story, Tiffany?”

“I ain’t got one,” I spit out with a little more force.

“All scars and pretty faces like yours have a story to tell. Guess you’re too chicken shit to share,” he says.

“Guess so.”

Another knock on the door startles me, causing me to jump straight up. The sharp blade of the knife cuts the edge of my finger. I hold the pain in, and it bleeds on the pillow. Disguising pain comes naturally to me. Mom and her boyfriends loved spanking harder, burning longer, or torturing me more if I ever showed one ounce of pain.

“I’ll be gone in an hour.”

“Here’s to hoping,” I say.

“I can almost bet your smart mouth got you them scars,” he replies before opening the door.

The delivery guy hands over two large pizzas, and the giant slips him a tiny package. No cash is ever exchanged before he turns and leaves. First sign this has all gone too far. Whatever Junior is into is bad – very, very bad. Now it’s a must to get out of this town, which is almost crushing because I love it here. The route to the store and my work is very manageable and profitable, but now it all makes sense as to why Junior can pay me so well.

I still only have one grocery sack to pack. The only items I’ve added are the salt and pepper shakers and necklace. One bag. That’s all that makes me happy. To up and leave a place like this with no one asking questions is truly the life I want. I just hope once I finally take up residence in the town I pick forever, it can always stay that way. My final town will actually be a city. One I can blend into and change jobs and names with no question.