Page 5 of Heathen

When he pulls his hand away, a long list flutters into my hands.

"Seriously?" I ask, holding up the massive list and finding it difficult to read the chicken scratch handwriting on it.

"How did I get elected for this shit?" I hold the thing by the corner, as if it's more offensive than any old innocuous grocery list should be.

"Because you opted to take a nap on the flight rather than participating in creating the list. That means everyone's requests are on there but yours," he says with a quick and easy smile. "Also, don't forget enough toilet paper for all eleven bathrooms."

He walks away, leaving me standing alone in the middle of the room.

I had a lot of ideas about how my first night in Vegas was going to go, and grocery shopping didn't even register as one of the choices.

Instead of arguing the point, I decide to be the best team player, knowing that once I complete this trip, the other four will have to do one before it rolls around to my turn. Maybe by then, we'll have even more Cerberus guys here, making my next turn even further away than as it stands right now.

I grab a set of keys from the wall, walking through the vestibule toward the detached garage. Half a dozen identical SUVs are in the garage to the left, while all of our motorcycles are to the right. As much as I'd like to feel the mid-fall wind in my hair tonight, riding a motorcycle and expecting to make it home with enough groceries to feed a small nation just isn't practical.

After opening the garage with the remote inside the vehicle, I pull up the navigation screen. Typing in "grocery store," my options are rather limited as far as nearby stores are concerned. We've been urged to keep our routine stuff as close to home as possible because we never know where our jobs will take us in the city and nearby places. I tap the tiny icon forThe Main Street Grocery Store, wondering why it's named that since it's on Gorman Avenue.

The drive is easy, mostly right turns from the long driveway of the villa, and it only takes me ten minutes with traffic to pull into the parking lot.

I sit outside for a moment, looking up at the flickering sign and wondering how long it's been since the store has seen any maintenance. The massive sheet-metal awning is extremely faded from the sun, but a second glance inside the store gives me a little hope. It seems clean and organized, so I turn off the SUV and climb out rather than heading to the other option that's another fifteen minutes away and closer to the tourist area of town.

A bell above the door alerts whoever might be working that I've entered, but a quick look around doesn't produce an employee or another customer.

Grabbing a shopping cart, I have to praise whoever runs this place because it glides smoothly across the floor rather than having one wheel that rattles the entire time, never touching the floor, like I expected it to.

Unlike the outside of the store, the inside is fairly decent. It's outdated, but, taking a harder look, I can see that it's been well taken care of. That gives me a little more hope that I won't be buying rotten meat or contaminated vegetables, although I know more than most that looks can be deceiving.

I start on the left-hand side of the store and work the list I was given, adding all the things I like to eat as I progress up and down the aisles. I can't recall another time in my life when I've been in a store this long and haven't come into contact with another person. It's nice to hear nothing other than the movement of my cart and the low instrumental music playing over the intercom system.

The serenity only lasts until I make it to the baking aisle. It isn't thirty seconds after the bell chimes above the front door asit did for me that I hear a kid running through the aisle with a frustrated mother calling his name.

"You're gonna be in trouble, Sammy," I say when I see the flash of him at the end of the aisle after putting several bags of marshmallows of all things into the shopping cart. By the time I make it to the end of the aisle and turn, little fucking Sammy is hauling ass past me again. I take a step back in order to avoid him running into me, only to bump into a stack of cereal boxes.

I already feel like an idiot for knocking over the boxes, but I'm left feeling like an even bigger asshole when I see a very pretty woman standing on the other side of the display glaring at me.

"He—" I say, pointing toward the kid but, of course, Sammy is long gone, running to another part of the store to wreak havoc.

"Oh God!" a woman exclaims when she rounds the corner and sees the mess. "Did Sammy do this?"

"He did not," the employee says, her eyes narrowing on me once again before she turns her attention to the woman.

"That kid is going to be the death of me," the mother mutters before taking off like a shot to run after her wayward child.

"Or me," I mutter under my breath as I crouch and pick up some of the cereal boxes at my feet.

I do my best to reposition them, anticipating how she might've had them, but I can tell by the twitch in the corner of her left eye that she isn't very impressed with my efforts.

Although she doesn't say anything as I work, she doesn't hesitate to reposition all the boxes I stacked up.

"Sorry for that," I say, knowing that blaming a child, although he's the one ultimately responsible, won't get me very far.

She doesn't respond, not that I really expect her to. The woman looks like she has had the longest, most frustrating day in her life, and here I am making it harder for her.

I leave her to her work because it's very clear that my help is only a hindrance, and she's still stacking cereal boxes even after I go down the next aisle and come back up another.

In all of the chaos, I forgot to grab the granola bars on the list, and of course that takes me right back by her.

The display looks impressive when I inch closer to her.

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