Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 78732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
With one hand pushing one cart and the other dragging one behind him, he leaves the store.
A quick glance at the clock says it's two minutes past closing, and I don't hesitate to rush behind him and lock the front door just as it falls shut behind him.
The gun in my purse in the back of the store does me no good here, but at the same time, the glass separating me from the outside world makes me feel a little better. Despite the rush to get home, I still have a few more tasks to complete before I can leave for the night.
Chapter 5
Heathen
I knew the answer before I even asked the fucking question.
Her eyes widening like she didn't know if I was going to hurt her made my skin crawl.
What is it about me that would make her think I'm capable of hurting innocent people?
Is it my size?
Did I not smile enough?
Is she still so mad at me about the cereal box incident that she thinks I'll retaliate by harming her?
I knew she was alone. I watched the other guy who was working there come out of the back, untying his apron while talking on the phone about some party. The guy didn't go to find her and let her know he was leaving, and that says more about the type of guy he is.
I load up all the damn groceries into the back of the SUV and climb in behind the wheel.
I know she won't feel very safe if I sit here in the parking lot and wait for her to come out, so I drive off, parking across the street in the shadows, and wait to make sure she's okay.
I look like a complete creep when I pull a pair of binoculars from the glove box and focus in on the front of the store.
I can't help but smile when I see her talking to herself with nothing short of a sneer on her face as she refills the empty pumpkin at the register. She offered the candy, but the way she's acting now, it doesn't seem like buying all of it did me any favors.
"You fucking idiot," I mutter when I see her leave the front toward the back, only to emerge a few minutes later pulling a cart loaded down with packs of toilet paper.
She has to restock everything I fucking bought in bulk, and it makes me want to kick Rooster in the ass for demanding on the list every box of fruit snack they have.
In petty retaliation, I don't worry about the two boxes of fudge pops he requested melting in the back.
It's another fifteen minutes before she's back at the front, and I swear I could wring the neck of whoever is responsible for requiring this woman to carry the damn deposit bag out of the store. Why wouldn't they have an armored truck pick that shit up from a time-delayed safe?
I wait, not so patiently, eyeing every car that drives between us, as she climbs into her car. Like every other person who has never been faced with immediate danger, she takes the time to put on her seatbelt and adjust her rearview mirror. She even does something with the radio before putting her car in gear and pulling away. The woman is a flashing beacon for victimization, and I just handed her eleven hundred fucking dollars, sweetening the fucking pot for anyone wanting to cause her any trouble tonight.
Keeping my distance, I follow her until she pulls up at the all-night deposit box, another great place for someone to rob her.
I crack my window, keeping an eye on her and all the surroundings, prepared to get out and hurt anyone who even chances to cause her problems.
"Stupid fucking cash," I hear her mutter on the breeze when the cash bag seems too thick to go into the chute. "Who pays in fucking cash these days?"
The last word is a grunt as the bag falls into the chute.
I don't breathe easy until she drives away from the bank. I run through a long list of things I observed to bargain with why I continue to follow her rather than turn toward my own residence when she gets back out to the main road once again.
She didn't seem like she felt safe. She was quiet and reserved at the store. She didn't offer much, despite the fact that I was more chatty than I can ever remember being.
I didn't see any bruises on her skin, but that doesn't mean there weren't some hiding under her clothes.
As she drives to what is easily a bad part of town, I begin to wonder if my instincts are correct—she may be someone who needs help. She has several of the characteristics of someone we were told to be on the lookout for.