Page 23 of Crusher

Thriving, not just surviving.

8

SADIE

I’m gonna have to get a second job just to afford food in this economy. Jeez!

I walk across the parking lot of Smiths, piling a small fortune in groceries in the back seat of my truck. There aren’t a lot of cars around, just a few scattered about. That’s why I like to get my shopping done at this time of day, to avoid the mass of people. I can’t count how many times I’ve gotten bruises from older ladies haphazardly wielding their carts while doing their weekly shopping. And Lord knows I’m not interested in running into old classmates from high school, who want to shoot the shit and make small talk in the middle of the aisle.

It’s not that I don’t like people. I just don’t want to talk to them.

I return my cart to the corral and I’m walking back to my vehicle when I hear footsteps trailing behind me. I subtly glance to the side and find two men closing the distance between us. Normally, I wouldn’t think anything of it, except these two brawlers are dressed in dirty jeans, dingy white t-shirts, and black leather cuts with Hell's Outlaws patches on them.

I know who the Outlaws are. They’re a rowdy group of mean drunkards who like to raise hell and tear shit up. They’re nothing like Landon’s club, which may do some illegal things, but they don’t hurt women and children, and they do give back to the community. Even though the Disciples are intimidating as fuck and scare the shit out of most people.

No, these guys aren’t like the Disciples at all, because I know they’d never hurt me. Can’t say the same for the men closing in on me right now. They’re both tall, just over six feet, with scary amounts of muscle and angry expressions on their faces. The one on the right looks the most vicious with a deep, scraggly scar down the side of his cheek, and I’d say it’s a safe bet he’s seen his fair share of bar fights.

I quicken my strides and I’m almost to my truck, when the two Outlaws catch up to me. Every instinct I have tells me I’m in danger, but I hold my ground.

I’m a fighter, not a flier.

I refuse to play the damsel in distress or show weakness, knowing it’ll only make them think they have the upper hand. And maybe they do, since they obviously can overpower me with their size and weight, but I’ll be damned if I give up so easily.

I turn to face them, my chin raised in defiance as I take in their disgruntled stares. “You boys need some help?” I keep my tone light but firm, refusing to let fear get the best of me.

“Matter of fact, we do,” says the one with the scar as he steps forward. “You’re the bitch who got in the way of our business.”

I steel my expression, having no clue what he’s talking about. Then, realization hits me and my stomach drops to my feet. These must be the men who came after Landon the other day. They were dressed in all black with masks covering their faces, but I’m guessing it was them. And now, they have me cornered in an almost-empty parking lot.

I decide to play dumb. “I think you have the wrong girl. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I plaster on a fake smile.

“Don’t try to lie, girlie. We been following you and Crusher. We seen you together.”

Figuring it’s pointless to keep up the charade, I change tactics. “Oh… You mean you’re the two idiots who tried to kill a man in broad daylight?”

“Watch it, bitch,” he snarls.

“Or what?” I taunt. I know it isn’t smart, but I don’t care. I really don’t like being told what to do and I like it even less coming from this guy.

They move in closer, sending a chill down my spine. But I keep my feet firmly planted while I tamp down the fear threatening to rise to the surface.

“You’re a feisty little thing, aren’t you?”

“She has to be if she’s a Disciple whore,” the other man says. His eyes are as black as onyx and the sun catches on his snake-bite lip piercings.

“I’m no one’s whore,” I seethe as I glower at them.

Scarface looks me up and down, his mouth parting in a venomous sneer. “Whore or not, you’re important to Crusher, which makes you a nice asset to steal.”

“You ain’t stealin’ shit!” I snap, clenching my fists at my sides while my shoulders tense up.

Then they reach for me and my fight response takes over. I sink into a balanced stance, throwing my weight behind the first punch. I hit Scarface right in the nose, and he winces at the sharp pain as his eyes water.

“You fucking cunt!” he howls.

I don’t have time to relish the satisfying crunch I heard before the other man lunges out to grab my arms. My shorter height helps me dodge his grasp as I pivot out of his reach and push him away from me.

Scarface is clutching his hopefully broken nose, leaving himself open for me to kick him in the balls. Once I make contact, the air whooshes from his lungs and his knees buckle while he doubles over in pain.

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