Page 8 of Braving the Valley

He fucks up the line, but that's also not surprising given his pupils look like saucers and he's sweating even more than I am in this heat. Thick beads dot his forehead and stain his white dress shirt as he goes to the first stall, completely oblivious to us, and kicks it in with the heel of his boot. It's empty, all of them are, but he hasn't figured it out yet as he goes to the next stall, kicks that one in too, but this time grumbles something.

The final stall is, as I predicted, as empty as the other two, and he curses loudly, spitting some version between fuck and shit that sounds likefickit. He whirls around, unsteady on his feet, and nearly face-plants. Hell, maybe he got into the illegal stuff this time or broke into the dispensary and got his clubby fingers on something strong. Neither one would surprise me at this point.

Many have tried to break into the dispensary over the years, me included, but that's nearly impossible because it's the one place in this building that is locked up tighter than Fort Knox. It's a challenge, and a fun challenge at that, with all sorts of goodies that you get if you win.

As he steadies his lumbering feet, he locks eyes with my Firefly, and it's like I'm not even there, like his brain has already decided that I must be a figment of his imagination or something.

I've known about his proclivity for assaulting unsuspecting girls, but it's a weird thing to see in person. It's a good thing Saint's girl skedaddled when she saw me because if he was looking at Willow the way he's looking at my Firefly right now, they'd have to bring a shovel to scrape him off the floor after Saint got finished with him. I have a bit more self-control . . . atiny, thread-like bit that he is currently whittling down to nothing.

Of course, it fucking snaps when he takes a step forward and says, "Mine."

Then two things happen very fast. He lurches forward, and I let go of my Firefly and snatch my lighter from my pocket. He's a big motherfucker, and it takes a lot of force, but he is not expecting the figment of his imagination to start acting up as I shove him against the wall, flicking the roll on the lighter, and hold the beautiful flame up to his face.

Look at it, Gabe.

Look. At. It.

NO!

"Get the fuck out of here, Oliver," I tell him, "unless you want to see what happens when I burn your dick off."

Maybe it's the smoke tickling his nostrils or the heat so close to blistering his skin, but he actually goes still for a moment while he stares at the flame. I get it. It's hard not to stare, but I still don't think he sees me, so I yank him by his lapels and throw him the fuck out of the bathroom sending him skidding across the tile and into the hallway. He nearly hits a guard on his exit, who rolls his eyes, takes one look at his sweaty disgusting self, and tells him he's going to the hole.

I shut the door behind him, and my Firefly blinks at me, one hand still planted on the subway tile as she pales to a delicious color of death. Her eyes pinch, and her nose scrunches in pain.

Interesting.

"Thanks, I guess," she murmurs with a swallow before blinking rapidly, "but you can go back to Hell now, Satan."

"What's your name?" I ask her.

I'd really like to pin her to the wall and wrench it out of her, but she wraps one hand around her middle and winces again.

The fuck? Was she stabbed or something before I got here?

I'm pretty sure that right now the wall behind her is the only reason she isn't on the floor yet. She doesn't answer me. Hell, I'm not even sure she hears me as I step forward, closer to her.

Her breath shakes along with the rest of her.

"Five grams, seventy . . . seventy . . ."

What is she talking about?

"Ten grams, one hundred fifty . . . no, one hundred forty . . ."

Her gaze shutters a moment before her eyes pop back open. I watch them roll inside her head.

What?

"Uh oh," she says with a swallow. She closes her eyes and takes a slow, shaky breath.

What the fuck?

Her eyes pop open, and they roll again before they find me once more.

"Hey, creeper," she tells me, her voice wavering on what she probably thinks is an insult.

I take it as a compliment.