Page 38 of No Saint
“There is that.” I stopped at my Jeep and unlocked the door.
Cassie climbed into the passenger side, then pulled another stolen wallet from her bag. Her blond brows rose on a wide grin when she fished out a wad of cash. “And I really love it when they were clearly expecting to pay for a hooker.” She fanned a load of twenties. Something in my chest eased at the sight of the cash, although that much would definitely be missed by its former owner. The thought had me hurrying to shove the key into the ignition, but when I turned it, the engine only let out a weak cough. I tried again, and it sputtered.
“Well, that’s not good,” Cassie said.
“No!” I groaned, praying to the car gods to please not do this to me, but the next turn of the key was just as fruitless as the first two. I slammed my palm against the steering wheel, and the horn let out a frail beep. Why was my life one pile of shit after another?
“Oh, this could not be any worse timing,” Cassie mumbled, her attention aimed past me, through my window.
When I followed her gaze, I fully expected to find one of the men we’d stolen from stalking toward us, but it was worse.
“Fuck,” I muttered when I realized the shadow headed toward my dead car was Brent, two bits of bloodied toilet paper sticking out of his nostrils.
“Surely, he’s not…” Cassie said, right before Brent tapped the window. “No, he is that stupid.”
I focused on my blacked-out dashboard, debating whether I could, in fact, pretend he did not exist. Or perhaps open my door really hard into his already bloodied face.
“Come on, Jade,” he said, his voice muffled by the glass. “I just want to help. I’ll look at your car.”
He didn’t know shit about cars. Wolf did, but I refused to ask him for help.
“Or…or I can give you guys a ride home.” His desperation knew no bounds. And that was coming from me.
Cassie leaned across the weathered console, the glow of the neon bar sign tinging her face red. “Are we pretending he’s not there?” she whispered.
“If only,” I sighed, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter.
“I’m sorry, okay.” He leaned closer to the window. “I deserved that punch. Just let me give you a ride home.”
“If you think about it,” Cassie said, “a ride is the least that asshole owes you.”
It killed me, but she was right. Brent was the best and cheapest option. I couldn’t bring myself to waste thirty bucks on a taxi, not even to avoid that skid mark.
I closed my eyes.I am the bigger person,I recited to myself. A total lie.
The window squeaked when I wound it down. I could not take him seriously with the paper sticking out of his nose. “Fine. You can give us a ride,” I said. It annoyed the shit out of me when hope lit up his stupid face. “To be clear, I do not like you. I would happily break your nose again?—”
Cassie leaned across the console. “Loving the toilet paper look, by the way.”
Brent ducked his chin, snatching the tissue from his nose.
I reached for the door. “I am only accepting your ‘help’ because it’s the least you fucking owe me. Are we clear?”
He gave an overly eager nod. Even though I knew this was going to ignite whatever deluded hope he had, I got out of my car. Cassie and I followed him across the parking lot to an old Toyota. The back panel was a different color than the rest. The dented driver’s side door was evidently broken because he opened the passenger side and climbed across the console. I’d belying if I said it wasn’t satisfying seeing him with that utter heap of shit.
He left the door open behind him, but like hell was I sitting in the passenger seat like his girlfriend. I followed Cassie into the back.
“What happened to the Challenger?” I couldn’t help myself.
“It got stolen.” His gaze met mine in the rearview, and I wondered if he suspected my involvement. Considering it happened the dayafterI’d pulled a knife on him, he’d have to be stupid not to think I’d had something to do with it. Although technically, I didn’t…
“Oh, well,” I said, buckling my seatbelt. “Pikestown is rough.”
Brent leaned across the console, shut the passenger door, then cranked the engine, which sounded more like a weed eater. At least his car worked.
He pulled out of the parking spot and put his blinker on to turn left—in the direction of our apartment building.
“Oh, you need to go right,” Cassie told him.
