Page 10 of A Stop in Time
The fingers that curl around my wrist threaten to cut off my circulation, but the knife notched between two of my ribs pisses me the fuck off.
Not only did I wake up this morning with unexplained injuries, but I had a hell of a fucking episode at the appointment I just left. And now, I’m an attempted mugger’s target on a motherfucking bus.
Brilliant. I get the award for best day ever. Obviously.
“Don’t make a fuckin’ sound. Just give me your wallet, bitch.”
I meet eyes spearing mine with malevolence that would probably have other people pissing their pants, but not me. It isn’t because I’m not afraid of dying, but because I know death is inevitable.
What I also instinctively know is, my death won’t be at the hands of some asshole too lazy to work for his own fucking cash. The brand-new, pricey pair of sneakers on his feet and his expensive wristwatch tell me all I need to know.
“You heard me, bitch,” he hisses. His breath is so damn rancid it has me rearing back in disgust. “Give it to me.”
Calmly, I stare him in the eyes. “You got a knife, huh?”
His expression grows thunderous, and he presses the knife’s tip harder against my side. “You dumb or somethin’? I said—”
“I know what you said.” My tone is nonchalant. Reaching up slowly, I sweep my hair back from my face. “Do you really think I give a shit about your measly little knife?”
The instant he notices my marred skin, he rears back in horror. Just like clockwork.
I use the distraction to grab his switchblade and place the tip at his throat. He goes ramrod stiff, eyes impossibly wide.
“Not so fun when you get a taste of your own medicine, is it, bitch?”
His eyes practically light me on fire with hatred. “Fuck you,” he grits out.
“No, thanks. Not interested.” I dig the knife’s tip in enough for a trickle of blood to spill down onto the collar of his T-shirt. “Get a fuckin’ job. ’Cause if I see you again, I won’t be so nice about it. Understood?”
His mouth presses into a thin line. “Yeah.”
“Oooh, no. That’s not how a man from the South should answer a lady, now, is it?” I dig the knife into his skin and his nostrils flare, fury rolling off him in thick, oppressive waves.
“Yes, ma’am.”
I don’t get a chance to relish in his begrudgingly polite response, because the blood trickling down his neck has captured my attention.
My vision goes hazy as I’m swept up in a fantasy of tightening my grip on the knife and dragging the sharp blade in a deep curve, from one side of his neck to the other. A river of blood would flow from where I’ve sliced him and—
“Fuck!” The asshole shoves away from me so violently, it has him toppling to his ass on the bus floor. Holding a hand to his neck, he stares at me like I’m the fuckwit who attempted to rob someone at knifepoint.
Mentally shaking off the odd bloodthirsty haze, I make a shooing motion with my free hand. “Get the fuck out of my sight.” He scrambles to his feet while his eyes spear me with hatred. “And get a damn job while you’re at it.”
He stomps to the rear of the bus, and I flip the switchblade closed and pocket it, a little smirk gracing my lips.
At least I got something useful from that little fucker.
8
DANIEL
I’ve tried every fucking possible spelling, yet nothing’s panned out.
Pinney, Pinny, Pinnie. You name it, I’ve searched it out. But whoever or whatever my sister mentioned doesn’t seem to exist.
As if that’s not enough to have me frustrated as fuck, I’m at yet another place going by the name of Freebird and nobody’s heard of anyone named Mac.
“Heard of a Mack truck.” This comes from a trucker who looks like he’s been on the road for an entire century or two, face covered in wrinkles, skin looking paper-thin.