Page 11 of Desperate Valentine

Lie. Nobody says no to me.

“Hmm. I find that hard to believe.”

“Whether you believe it or not, it makes no difference to me.” I dodge his gaze and stare directly forward.

Finally after a moment of pure awkward silence, he groans and pulls back onto the road, driving like nothing even happened.

A few minutes later, we pull down an alley between two businesses and park at an angle. Nobody is around and it’s pitch black outside apart from the headlights from the truck.

“Are we robbing somebody?” I laugh.

“Stay in the fucking truck.” There’s a warning tone to his voice, a pitch I can’t quite place. I don’t dare betray that right now. I get the feeling he’s a dangerous man. So why are these nervous butterflies starting to feel like lust?

He steps out and leaves his door partway ajar. I watch him in the mirror as he heads to the back and grabs a chemical sprayer and steps closer to the dumpster.

I can’t see a thing, but I’m assuming he’s cleaning something up and I can only imagine what it might be. I remain seated the whole time with my eyes fixed on Jude.

Well, specifically—the outline of his cock beneath his sweatpants as he slowly walks into the headlights.

Surely I know better than to fall for the cocky serial killer…right?

Wrong.

He puts everything back into the truck and climbs back into the cab, seemingly avoiding eye contact with me entirely.

“So what now?” I ask, noting the scowl on his face.

“Now we drive back to my house and I get some fucking sleep.”

“Sounds like fun,” I chant back, unable to help the sarcasm.

“It is for me. It’s been a long day.”

“Yeah, I was there for the whole thing,” I chuckle, folding my arms over my chest as we turn onto the highway.

“Oh—that wasn’t the hard part of the day. I’m going bankrupt, little lady. My day went to shit long before you came around.”

No wonder this guy is on edge. It all makes sense now.

“Shit—I’m sorry,” I say.

“Shit happens. It’s been a long time coming. I just hoped business would pick up, ya’ know?”

“I get it,” I sigh. “How much do you owe?”

“Roughly… twenty grand, give or take.”

“I could help you, you know.”

Excellent idea, Veronica. Let the man know that you have money tucked away.

Why don’t you just tell him where your parents live so he can rob them too.

“Fuck no. I can’t do loans. It is what it is. I’ll just move onto the next big thing,” he says in a defeated tone.

“It wouldn’t be a loan. You could just consider it payment for what you did for me,” I reassure him.

He shakes his head. “No, Veronica. I’m not taking your trust fund money.”

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