Page 60 of Satan's Spawn
“Hang…the fuck…up.” I try my hardest to keep my cool, but the more he ignores me the more I feel like finding Bill and plucking each of his teeth out with a pair of pliers.
“Well, that’s a beauty. You lookin’ to sell it?”
“I am,” my dad confirms, and nausea stirs in my gut. This guy really has gone insane, enough for me to know not to try and call another one of his bluffs.
“Fuck! Fine!” I bark out as I listen to Bill seeking more information about the car’s condition. “I won’t get any more complaints.”
There’s the click of a phone going back on its holder, effectively cutting off the guy before he even gets to finish his question.
“Not a single one, Crayton. Do you understand?”
When I say nothing, he repeats, “Do you understand?”
“Yes.” I growl.
“Atta-boy, that’s the spirit.” His voice turns chipper again. “You’ll have your car back in no time.” I hear shuffling of papers before he adds, “Now let me get going because I have a board meeting in ten.”
And I have a mechanic to pay a visit to.
13
BEX
“Seriously?!” I shout through the door, trying to pull it open. “This again?”
“Alexis sends her regards.” A catty female voice says on the other side of the bathroom door, then the sound of clicking heels descend down the hall, leaving me locked in one of the bathrooms for the second time this week.
I give it one more shot to pull it open, but whatever Alexis’ minion wrenched through the handle on the other side makes it impossible to open.
I thought at least an entire period would go by before she retaliated for those looks her preciousCraywas giving me in English.
This is what I get for not waiting twenty minutes for the bell to ring to pee…andleaving my cell phone inside my bag in the classroom when I go to do it.
Slamming my fists against the door for what feels like ten minutes, I shout for anyone who may hear me.
It’s as useless as trying to open it.
The bathrooms by the locker rooms are secluded from the rest of the building, and all the noise from the gymnasium is drowning out my screaming for someone to help me.
I guess this is why they’re a popular spot for sexcapades.
Nevertheless, I give it one final try, and get nothing but the screeching of sneakers and yelling from the gymnasium.
Wheeling around, I press my back against the door and slump to the floor, already contemplating a valid explanation to my history teacher.
Period cramps it is.
If it doesn’t justify the absence, it’ll at least make Mr. Gibson uncomfortable enough to drop the subject.
The sound of something metal sliding on the other side of the door has me springing to my feet, flutters of hope erupting in my belly as I turn and wait for it to open.
Hope turns to dread when it does, because the last person in the world I’d want to find me in here like this is standing in the doorway.
It’s Crayton dressed in all black jeans and t-shirt. Holding a crowbar.
A freaking crowbar.
Real original jerkoffs.
