Page 68 of The Convict

She looks incredulous. “No?”

“No.”

“Well, you need to figure something out. You need to bring money in or leave.” She pulls her jacket around her slim shoulders. “I’ll be gone a week. By the time I get back, I expect a different answer.”

In other words, she’s telling me to change my mind and get on the money train. That’s not something I’m willing to do.

Not waiting for me to answer, she breezes out the door. I plop on the couch, my head in my hands. Where did it all go wrong? I was hoping I would at least have a place to stay until I figured out what to do. Now I have a week. There’s no way I can get on board with what she wants and no way she’ll let me stay if I don’t.

Looking at the wall clock—since I refuse to turn my phone on—I see that it’s barely nine in the morning. What the fuck is a member of the MC doing here this early? Don’t they have something else to do?

I think about grabbing the blanket and lying around for a while longer, but I know if I’m to be out of this house, I need to start looking for somewhere else to go. I have enough saved to put down a deposit on something small. I can work for another year, save, and move somewhere further than Missouri. Maybe Texas or something. Where no one knows me.

Walking to the kitchen, I open the fridge to grab a bite to eat before I head out to pound the pavement but find it bare. As well as the cupboards. I groan, knowing I’ll have to get food if I plan to eat for the next few days.

Spotting the Save-A-Bunch paper on the table, I smile sadly as I look at it. Planting myself at the table, I cut the coupons out, swiping at tears when I think about the last time I cut these coupons, how drastically my life changed.

Shaking those thoughts away, I grab my jacket and head out, wanting to get the shopping done early. Luckily, the news vans are no longer blocking me in and I can leave quickly.

My car was brought back a few weeks ago, after it was released from impound as evidence. I didn’t think I would get it back at all.

There aren’t many cars on the road and I take that time to clear my mind and just be for a few minutes. Until I hear the rumble of a chopper behind me.

I sigh, figuring my break wouldn’t last that long.

Looking in my rearview mirror, all I can make out about the biker is his brown skin. He’s a bit lighter than Zeke and a lot slimmer but doesn’t look any less dangerous.

With two hands on the steering wheel, I try to gather my thoughts while listening to the roar of his bike. One of the two cop cars pass me and I think he’ll turn around and check on me and the biker, but he keeps driving.

No help there.

I arrive at the store a few moments later, pulling my car right by the door beside the handicapped spot. I don’t want to have any mishaps like last time.

With my heart thudding in my chest, I get out of the car and walk quickly into the store. Once inside, I exhale softly, grab a cart, and start my shopping, coupons clutched tightly. It doesn’t take me long to get the things I need and place them in my cart. A few shoppers stare at me, giving me a wide berth as I walk down the aisles. Some people even stop and stare, watching me like I’m some kind of zoo exhibit.

Damn Rax for doing this to me.

When I’m done with my shopping, I head to the register. Mrs. Jasper sits up straight on her stool and looks at me with sympathetic eyes and a sad smile. God, I hate this look people have started giving me.

I don’t return her smile, just slide her my groceries. She starts to ring me up and I hope she’ll keep her mouth shut.

No such luck.

“Ya know,” she’s in a low voice. “I prayed for you every night you were gone. I’m glad God listened to my prayers and brought you back home.”

Snapping my head up, I ask in disbelief, “You … you prayed?”

Mrs. Jasper nods her head, looking grave. “I hated to think that I may have been the last person to see you alive.” She covers her mouth like she’s going to cry and my eyes damn near pop out of my head. “I ain’t want nothin’ to happen to you. You ain’t deserve that.”

Blowing out an incredulous breath, I say, “I didn’t deserve you treating me like shit before I was abducted, but you didn’t have a problem with that,” I say with a straight face. Mrs. Jasper gasps like I’ve offended her with the truth. “You’ve been looking down on me for years and something bad happens and you pray?” I throw the coupons down, making her jump.

I know I’m causing a scene, but I’m pissed. How can she even part her lips to say she prayed for me, when she’s never been anything but nasty to me?

“Well, I—” she stammers, but I cut her off.

“Well, what? Didn’t want the world to know what kind of bitch you were to me? Is that why you testified?” She opens her mouth to speak again, but taking a page from my mother’s book, I slash a hand through the air to stop her from talking. “Let me tell you something, Vivian,” I sneer her name, “The news cameras are gone. You don’t need to pray for me anymore, got that? Tell your pastor to take me off his fucking prayer list and you can all go to hell!”

She looks scandalized and for good reason. Around here, even if you don’t like the elder, you don’t use their first name, ever. They’re Mr. or Mrs. regardless of the shit they put you through. Fuck that shit today.

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