Page 33 of Badges
Or how she’d take them off.
This is not for the faint of heart. I’m tempted to call Ford again and ask if he can meet me here with April.
“Finding everything okay?” A bored woman with a vest and an ID badge asks me as she steps past to hang up some clothes.
“Um, yea. Trying to find a few outfits for—” What the hell do I call Elena?
She’s not my friend.
“—um, someone.” I finish weakly.
The woman squints, knitting her brows. “Just some random person? That’s very…generous.” With a side shift, she adds space between us.
Shit.
“No, sorry. There’s a, well, homeless lady that put out a wishlist.” I hold up the folded note, giving her my best hopeless expression. “I’m just trying to figure it out, and it isn’t exactly my wheelhouse.”
Her affect smoothes. “Oh, that’s very nice of you. Do you want some help?
“You’d be my hero.” I feel as if I’m going to collapse.
Within moments, she’s piled my arms with all sorts of clothes. Moving quickly, I don’t even have time to register each garment before it’s buried.
“This lady young or old?” she quips over her shoulder, debating between two different shirts.
“Young. Twenty-two.” I know that for a fact.
It’s burned in my brain, standing in neon relief every time I think about her in any way other than a prisoner.
With my answer, she decides on the one with the word “angel” printed on it in pastels.
I almost laugh out loud at the irony.
My helper checks the piece of paper again, whisking through the store and spends a moment staring at a rack of—
Oh no.
A plastic hanger with three pairs of scanty panties land against my chin. Then another props against my mustache.
Fucking hell.
“I think we’re done,” I growl. I can’t handle it any more.
Wrestling the wad of outfits into a ball, I do my best to cover the lingerie items.
This is torture. I’m paying for what I did to Maria, and Quinn.
That little pink thong is going to live forever rent free in my head, wondering each day if Elena’s wearing it.
Or nothing.
God damn. Shifting the load, I carry it lower to cover the stiff bulge of my groin.
As the young guy at the register rings me up, my phone dings.
Ford: April said she’d help.
Me: Thanks, but I got it.
