Page 5 of Filthy Hot

I’m not best friends with Sal, but he’s been a Pineville institution for longer than I’ve been alive. If anyone is trying to fuck him over, I need to know about it, and I will, without a doubt, defend this man until I burn the whole goddamn city down for him.

“Just in general,” he says. It’s a lie, but I can tell he doesn’t want to say anything more, at least not yet, or maybe not to me. He could be embarrassed, or maybe it’s just not mine to know yet.

Jerking my chin upward, I clear my throat before I speak. “I have to run it by Atomic, but let me know what you’re thinking. I’ll talk to him when I get back today. Then we’ll contact you.”

Sal dips his chin and takes out a notebook from under the bar. He’s prepared. I watch as he rips a piece of paper out of the book and slides it over to me.

“Everything I’m asking for is outlined there. You let me know, yeah?”

Piston makes his way toward us and asks if I’m ready to go. “I’ll be in contact, Sal,” I say with a wave.

Turning my back to him, I walk out of the bar with Piston, folding the paper that Sal gave me and shoving it into my cut pocket without even reading it. Right now isn’t the time. Sal obviously didn’t want to discuss much in person, so there’s no reason for me to stop and read the note yet.

But I can’t fucking wait to get back to the clubhouse and find out exactly what the fuck is going on with Sal and his bar.

I never imagined that we would have an interest in gambling and strip clubs, but since the Corpus group is doing just that, maybe this is the direction we’re supposed to be taking. I have to admit it would be nice to be a bit more diversified here locally. However, any type of retail is time-consuming.

KYLE

Xavier is in my rearview,and I drive straight out of Louisiana and toward Texas. I don’t know why, but Texas seems safer.

Logically speaking, I know it’s the same. I like Louisiana, it’s my home, but I can’t be there anymore. He’s found me twice in that state. I tried going to Arkansas, and he found me there, too, so I went back to Louisiana, and he found me again.

Glancing down at my car’s fuel gauge, I hiss at the sight. Half a tank. In this old beater, it’s not going to take me far at all. Hopefully, I’ll get over the border and won’t be stuck somewhere along the interstate. If I get stranded on the side of the highway, I already know what my fate will be, and it starts with an X.

Being stranded on a deserted country road has a much larger appeal than the busy interstate, where I know he’ll be looking for me.

Reaching for the radio knob, I do a seek and try to find an FM station that is decent. I need something to distract me.

Once I land on top hits, I turn it up. There’s a Justin Bieber song playing, and I let out an exhale. My shoulders relax, my heart resumes beating in a normal rhythm, and not for the first time, I hope, pray, and beg whoever is listening to let this be the last time I have to run.

I’m thirty years old. I should have a stable job, a career even. I should be married with a baby. I should have done all my stupid youth things, like partying too hard, barhopping with girlfriends, and whatever else girls in their twenties do.

But I haven’t done any of it.

Instead, I was living in fear for my life, working as many hours as possible at whatever job I could find to either payXavier’s and my bills or, when I was running, working for cash to pay my own bills. I’ve never just breathed easy. I’ve never lived.

Tears well in my eyes. They roll down my cheeks because I want that. So much.

Taking the exit off the interstate, I let out another heavy breath. I know this exit will take me through some backwoods to Texas. Veering onto the off-ramp, I let my car guide me. The cement and asphalt jungle of the interstate disappears behind me, and I’m surrounded by tall pine trees and curving roads.

A sense of calmness washes over me as I move through one small town after another. There isn’t much out here aside from some gas stations and Dollar Generals.

It’s so peaceful.

Cranking my window down, I allow the fresh air to flow into the car. This is perfect. I don’t know why I had picked somewhere bustling and big like Shreveport.

Maybe I thought I would get lost in the crowd, but he found me easily, much too easily. Perhaps smaller is better. Maybe I can stay hidden for longer in a teeny-tiny, obscure place. I doubt he would ever look anywhere like that for me.

Except, finding work may be my only issue. It’s not like I’m a skilled worker. I’ve only ever done waitressing, bartending, and, for a short stint, stripping. It wasn’t for me. I could not figure out how to work the pole. I ended up falling more than I did dancing.

I’m about forty minutes into my drive when the car starts to slow down on its own. I flick my gaze down to my fuel gauge, and my heart stops in my chest. Turning the wheel so I can pull over to the side of the road, I coast until I can coast no more.

My car is completely out of gas. Sucked bone dry. Shifting it intoPark, I sit in the front seat and stare out the windshield, letting out a heavy sigh. My gaze moves around. There is a green sign a few feet from me.

Pineville.

Pop. 3,120.

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