Page 14 of Rugger: The Huntress

The keypad of the garage lit when I lifted the cover. Two zeros. Three fives and the automated door cracked open to reveal a black Lexus with out-of-state tags. I rounded the front of the car and lowered my long legs just beside the tire on the driver’s side. My thumb print caused the digital lockbox to chirp. I flattened my hand to receive the key it released.

Leather seats caressed me as I put exit after exit behind me. The autumn night was enchanting. The temperature was perfect. Crisp air made it clear that winter wasn’t very far away. But, the slow winds reminded you that summer had just drawn to a close.

Solar-powered string lights guided me toward the vibrant strip that was only a mile from the expressway. Though ducked off in the suburbs of Clarke,The Hemingway Stripwas a social experiment for almost everyone in the top ten percent at one point of their lives or another.

Privilege oozed from the seams that held the restaurants and bars together. Quietly, I crept through the parking lot in search of the perfect spot. It wasn’t long before I found it. I fought the urge to back into the space and settled for pulling in.

The peanut butter leather I’d warmed underneath me had heated my bottom to the point of discomfort. I lowered the seat’s temperature as I surveyed the area. Before my fingers curled around the handle of the door, I swept the bang from my face. Effortlessly, it blended with the rest of the hair that clustered to make a ponytail with a little encouragement from my palms.

I patted the side of my calf. The strap was still secure. Still tight. I lifted the armrest to retrieve a second handgun.

Two zeros. Three fives.

The secret compartment was exposed, revealing my options. Taking a peek at the bag on the passenger seat, I knew they were slim. The two larger ones were automatically disqualified due totheir size alone. Blindly, I chose one of the smaller ones. The wavering of my attention was the least of my interests.

Romantic, I cringed, watching the couple passing the car with their hands interlocked.

Disgusting. The cigarette between the young girl’s fingers a few feet away was mortifying.

Impress–Hermen Jack and his logic invaded my space, again.

Sitting in the car was no longer an interest of mine, either. The black case that sat on the seat next to the matching bag revealed a pair of sleek black frames.

Oh, baby.

I removed the designer shades and pushed them behind my ears. They darkened everything around me. I secured the compact .22 in the small YSL shoulder bag and pushed open the car door. Immediately, I regretted the swiftness of my movements.

WHAM.

My car door hit the door of the car next to mine.

“Fuck,” I whispered.

The heat from underneath the car was evidence the engine was still running although it was silent. However, I didn’t need clarification. My observation prior to exiting had already assured me of the presence beside me. Tinted windows on both vehicles shielded our identities.

The miscalculated distance between the cars forced a labored breath from my lungs. Discontentment plagued me. This wasn’t the start of the night I was anticipating. Still, I shut my door and stood next to the car, examining the damage to the BMW next to me.

Piece of shit. I huffed, upset they were even still making the road hazards. They aged like milk. So did everything underneath their hood.

With folded arms, I waited for the angered driver to open their door.

Please don’t get popped, I warned in waiting. Too much attitude, too much bass, or too much volume could be the end of their life. I had no intention of putting anyone on the pavement. At least not this early in my night.

Ten seconds elapsed and I was still waiting with folded arms, staring into the pitch black tint that was illegal in every aspect of the word.

Rebellious.

Maybe I won’t. I softened my resolve. Their disregard for the law raised my brows slightly.

Twelve.

Thirteen.

Fourteen.

Fifteen.

I stepped away, headed in the direction ofSlope. I wouldn’t wait another second to reconcile and offer a few hundred dollars to remove the small scratch on the driver’s door.

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