Page 11 of God of War

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“What do you mean there’s nothing you can do? This is your store!”

Rodney’s mouth is twisted in sympathy. I know it’s not his fault, he’s always been decent to me, but still…

“I’m so sorry, Del,” he says, shaking his head. I watch his long silver braid waggle back and forth like the tail on a dog. “I wish there was something I could do.”

“There is. Don’t fire me.”

I’ve been working at the gas station for over a year. It had been my last resort. Nobody in town wanted to hire me and even though polite excuses had been thrown my way — no high school diploma, no job experience, no positions available — I knew Dad had something to do with it.

You’d think being the daughter of the town Sheriff would have been a plus on my resume, but it turns out that when your own father is more than happy to tell everyone what a screw up you are, it kind of tanks your reputation in the job market.

Mrs. O’Neill, who had been browsing the short aisles but really eavesdropping on our conversation, approaches the counter. She eyes me with not an ounce of sympathy. The old bat has heard the rumors — Hell, she probably helped Dad out by spreading a few of her own.

Delaney Jackson is a troublemaker, a shoplifter, a slut. Just like her mother, God Rest Her Soul.

“Fifteen on pump two please, Rod,” she says as she fishes her coin purse from the oversized sack she calls a handbag. “And a paper.”

The front page of the paper is the same story that’s been floating around town for a week or so: Town hero, Sheriff Jackson, busts biker-run drug operation.

In reality, two just-turned-eighteen-year-old prospects from the local biker gang, the Wastelanders, were driving a car with expired registration. They were pulled over and the deputies found a couple bricks of cocaine in the car. Now they’re both facing some huge prison sentence for trafficking. Technically, I guess they were trafficking the drugs, but it seems like overkill, going after two kids just trying to get by.

“Horrible, what’s happening in our town, isn’t it?” tuts Mrs. O’Neill. “Those bikers, they’re just scum. Sheriff Jackson should take out every single one of them.”

Rodney humphs in mild agreement, though I know he doesn’t mind the Wastelanders so much. They’re what keeps his business running — choosing to use his little gas station instead of the newer, more impressive one a few miles away.

Mrs. O’Neill takes her change and heads out, leaving the store empty. Rodney sighs and pops open the cash register again. He starts counting out bills into an envelope.

“You’re a hard worker, always have been, Del. But times are tough and we can’t afford to keep you on.”

“What if I do all the night shifts? That way, you never have to do them. You can be at home, with the kids, and with Stella. Wouldn’t that be great?”

The lines around Rodney’s mouth deepen. “I ain’t putting an eighteen year old girl on the night shift and you know it. It’s not safe.”

“Did my father have anything to do with this?”

“Sheriff Jackson? No, Del. It’s just about money.”

My shoulders sag. “Money. It’s always about money.”

Rodney slides the envelope across the front counter. “Your pay for the last two weeks. I’ve put a little extra in there. That’s all I can do.”

He offers me a small smile. I hesitate, then sigh and take the envelope, sliding it into my backpack. With nothing else to say, I give him a nod and turn to go. It only takes a few steps and I’m at the front door of the tiny little gas station store. This shitty place had been my only livelihood. My only way out.

“Maybe think about using some of that money to get out of town,” says Rodney. “Start fresh.”

I turn around and he’s watching me with this look on his face… Like he maybe knows more than he should. It twists my gut and I have to swallow hard before I answer.

“Good idea,” I reply, pasting on a fake smile. “I’ll think about it.”

I push outside, the buzzer above the door making my head rattle. It’s hot out and my skin warms with the summer sun as I make my way around the corner to where my bike is chained up.

Getting away. Escaping. It’s all I think about.

But I can’t. Not yet. Not until I know Lilly will be safe.

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