Page 2 of Stolen By the Hit Man
Posters have been popping up all over the compound and in the public square, warning women to stay away from the “Wylie Gang.”
They’re accused of kidnapping, breaking and entering, and theft. They prey on sister-wives because we’re alone a lot. And I’m the most vulnerable because Braydon visits me the least, and I have no children.
I swallow, nervous that maybe this strange Tom Hardy-looking man is with the Wylie Gang.
I look up into this stranger’s eyes and wonder what he wants with a lost-looking person like me.
“You okay?” the man asks.
Most certainly, I’m not okay.
I nod.
He nods back.
“You got a cat?”
“No. Just waiting for my husband.”
Something nags at me when I say “my husband” out loud. Like it doesn’t have the ring of truth.
I wish the marriage wasn't the truth. But I saw my signature.
The slight eyebrow raise, followed by the “Sorry to hear that,” makes sweat pour down my thighs.
He’s sorry? Sorry that I’m married or sorry that I’m waiting?
I blink slowly and study his face. He doesn’t look like any of the men in the posters warning about the Wylie Gang.
I have to focus on something other than the way those blue eyes and thick eyebrows make my neck feel all goose-pimply.
He gestures toward the door with his thumb. “That his silver King Ranch pickup outside?”
I nod.
“Your man makes good money,” he says.
My lips part at the forwardness of this statement. If only he knew my husband is behind on truck payments. People in town have been gradually declining to do business with people associated with Kinship. The church is bleeding money. That’s the latest gossip among the sister-wives.
And, that’s one of the reasons Braydon had to go to town today: he’s trying to kiss ass and look for a job.
“I wouldn’t know,” I say to the stranger. “And I don’t carry cash, if that’s what you’re after."
The strange man’s forehead wrinkles in concern. Heat surges all over my body, and the sweat is starting to pool inside my underclothes. I’m just out here sinning and dripping all over the place.
God will forgive me. The underwear stuff is unintentional sinning, which isn’t good, but not as bad as having an affair, no matter how stupid and mean my husband is.
“It’s not. Just wondering what someone as sweet as you is doing with a lowlife like that.”
I need to put this man in his place, but everything he said is so true, I’m shaken and speechless.
“I…um…”
He sees my shoulders jump when Braydon’s voice echoes through the store. “You take care, now, Vern, and I’ll be waiting to hear about the assistant manager job!”
The strange man closes in and speaks quickly. “Listen. I know you’re not safe with that guy. You want to get out of here?”
The man asks this scandalous question with the deep voice of someone who has lived a hard life, though he doesn’t seem that old. The sound of it reverberates down my spine and hits every pleasure nerve on its way down.
