Page 3 of When Wrecked Meets Ruined
One hundred eighty dollars short.
Fuck my life.
I pulled the hood of my sweatshirt over my head, grabbed the crowbar, and weaved through the rotting corpses of rundown beaters. I stopped next to the 1950s Chevy Impala that must have been cool in another lifetime.
This car had been here for as long as I could remember. Rusted out and broken down. The body crumpled like an accordion.
When I was a kid, I used to sit behind the wheel and pretend it was my getaway car. I’d close my eyes and imagine the wind in my hair and the sun on my face as I left this town, thislife, in my rearview mirror.
Goose bumps raised the hairs on my arms. I held my breath and listened. Footsteps sounded behind me, getting closer.
I spun around and raised the crowbar, poised to strike. I couldn’t see his face clearly. The hood of his sweatshirt covered his head. But he was big. Broad shoulders. Tall. I wouldn’t stand a chance against him. “Come any closer, and I’ll skewer your balls and throw them on the barbecue.”
He laughed, a low rumbling sound that was both boyish and disarming. The asshole waslaughingat me.
Eyeing me curiously, he took a swig from the bottle in his hand, and then his lips tugged into a smile as if he found this whole situation amusing. He stepped closer, blatantly disobeying my order to keep his distance. My gaze lowered to the baseball bat in his hand.
Fight or flight. I’d done enough running for one night, so I held my ground. But it wasn’t an invitation to mess with me. “I mean it. Try me, asshole,” I warned. “You should see the last guy. He can’t even walk.”
“Ouch. Don’t hurt me,” he said in a falsetto voice, pretending to cower behind his arm. Smart-ass. “So…” He lowered his arm and glanced around. “Where did you bury the bodies?
“I haven’t killed anyone. Yet,” I added. I lowered my weapon but kept a firm grip, just in case.
He studied my face in the light of the full moon and nodded slowly like he’d figured something out. “Thought that was you. You’re in my English class. Algebra too.” He moved closer and pushed back his hood so I could see his face. High cheekbones. Longish light brown hair, messy and disheveled that touched his collar. Full lips and a flash of white teeth when he smiled.
Cocky. Arrogant. Gorgeous. Not that I’d noticed.
“In fact, you sit right in front of me in Algebra.”
How could I forget? He used the back of my seat as a footrest. “Lucky me,” I deadpanned.
“Most girls would think so.”
“I’m not most girls.”
“Yeah, I got that. Most girls don’t stab a guy ten minutes after meeting them. But, for your sake, let’s hope I don’t die of lead poisoning. I wouldn’t want my death on your conscience.”
“My conscience would be clean. That’s the price you pay for trying to steal my pencil.”
“I didn’t realize it was so valuable that you’d kill for it.”
Four days ago, he’d swaggered into class and threw me a wink on his way to the empty seat behind me. I guess he expected me to swoon. I didn’t, but plenty of other girls did.
By lunchtime, everyone was talking about him. Nobody knew his story, but that never stopped anyone from gossiping and spreading rumors. It was high school, after all.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
Instead of answering, he offered me the bottle. “It’ll take the edge off.”
I took a step back, eyeing the bottle like I would a poisonous snake. “I’m good.”
“If you say so.” He chugged the whiskey like it was water, but I couldn’t tell if he was drunk or not. “If you’re looking for scrap metal, it’s all been stripped clean.” He tapped his baseball bat against the roof of the Impala. The car was just a shell, without tires, an engine, or windows but I loved that car. “Shame. It could have been a cool ride. But yeah, there’s nothing of value here.”
He’d probably been that kid who stripped cars and sold the parts. “If there’s nothing of value, why areyouhere?”
“I’m not here to salvage anything.”
I didn’t even know him, but that didn’t surprise me. He seemed more likely to mess things up than to salvage them.
