That Girl (That Girl, #1)(7)
As soon as this deal goes down, I’m gone, running like hell to the next town. I’ll wait for the Greyhound there. We will see how many miles I can cover with six hundred eighty-two dollars.
“Whatcha want to watch, princess?” the giant inquires as he busts into the pizza.
“I don’t care,” I mumble.
He gestures at the open box. “Want to eat?”
“Sure,” I reply.
“Well, you’ll have to get your ass up and come get some,” he growls.
Walking over to him, I notice both pizzas are loaded with Canadian bacon, green pepper, and pineapple. So glad he was so concerned with what kind I like. Pizza is pizza at this point, and definitely beats cereal with no milk.
Grabbing a slice, I bee-line it straight for my bed. Back to the knife and my safe spot. I’ll enjoy this one piece of pizza, picking off all the pineapple, of course, plan my escape, do the delivery, and leave in the middle of the night.
“One more time. What do you want to watch?”
Saying the first thing that comes to mind, I suggest a channel sure to annoy him. It was always my favorite. Jazzy and I got hooked on the corniest of shows, but watched all four hours of it. The giant only shrugs, powers on the T.V., and finds Lifetime.
One hour till drop-off turns into three, and the giant and I are knee deep into a movie. Pizza’s gone, tissues are out, and my hand is still on the knife. A shrilling sound fills the air, causing me to jump again, and also slicing a fresh piece of skin.
“I’ll send her,” are the only words he says into the phone.
“You’re up,” he says, snapping his flip phone shut. “Grab the bag and get your ass moving. I’ll watch from this window. Anything goes down that’s not supposed to, I’ve got your back,” he says coolly, opening the front of his vest and revealing two pistols.
“Okay,” I whisper, feeling the pizza churn in my belly.
The heaping stack of pineapple I’ve picked of my slices falls to the floor as I pull back my blankets. I stand and put on the face I wore so many times as a child. The face that doesn’t care and knows there’s no hope for the future. So, does it really matter if you die now or tomorrow? Game face on.
“Walk to the sidewalk across from the office and drop the bag,” he instructs.
“But Junior said the pool.”
“I say the office, and I’m motherf*cking in charge,” he bellows, flashing his pistols to me.
“Got it,” I breathe.
“Now, go.”
“Let me throw on my flip flops and grab this bag to make it look like I’m going to the trash.”
I mentally praise myself for never using a dresser and always living out of a bag. Look how easy it makes things.
He gestures impatiently. “What f*cking ever. Move now.”
I sling the plastic bag over my shoulder and grab the black one. It’s a heavy f*cker. Everything inside me wants to turn and look at the closest thing I’ve ever had to a home. It was fun pilfering from other rooms to build this one. In my very short time here, I’ve proven to myself I can build something for myself. It takes all my willpower to look forward and walk out the door. I hear the giant answer his phone again and wish I could steal that paradise chair. It was one hell of a find.
The parking lot is dark, and all the rooms are very quiet. As expected, the construction group is probably still at the bar. Nobody is around. I waltz over to the office where the giant said to go. Something’s not right. I know Junior wouldn’t give me the wrong instructions. It’s then I see the first pair of headlights pull into the parking lot. I quicken my step to drop the bag off, and as expected, the car stops at the pool area. A second car pulls in and goes straight for the office. I’m seconds away from the drop spot before they come to a complete stop. A flash of light startles me, and I await the sound of gunfire, but none comes. The second car swoops the bag from my hands before I have a chance to drop it. Another flash of light with no sound fills the dark air, and I run. Run as fast as I’ve ever run.
Goodbye, Tiffany
Chapter 4
892 Miles Gone
“Happy Birthday, Michelle,” says one of the other waitresses.
“Thanks,” I reply.
“Are you sure you don’t want to go out tonight?” she asks.
“Thanks so much, but I have an extra shift at my other job. I’ll eat a cupcake for you guys, though. Thanks again.”
It’s always hard lying to a group of people you work with, especially when you care for them. This group of gals I wait tables with is amazing. They are more like a team of moms to me. Never any pressure to go out and party like a college-aged person should be doing. It’s almost like they adore my hard working nature. They always supply me with lots of excellent smut books and homemade casseroles.
Buying a microwave at a secondhand store has been my best purchase ever. I’ve come to love hot food like no other on this journey. After fleeing Junior and his mess, I thought for sure I’d be picked up any day for being a part of their drug ring. Some nights, I wonder what the weird flash was, and the only thing I can think of is a camera and my face being captured with that black bag. My only saving grace is I’m basically untraceable to society.
Over the five months here, I’ve ventured on new routes, which cause severe panic and anxiety attacks, but I force my way through it every day. I now have three routes which I follow, and in a very pathetic way it’s one of my biggest accomplishments.