One-3
1253 Words
Wiping my sweaty palms onto my jeans, I’m so relieved when I see the truck. Lucky lies in the bed and sits up excitedly when he sees me.
“C’mon, boy,” I whisper as I open the gate for him, and he jumps down, ready to follow.
Gently opening the unlocked driver’s door, Lucky jumps in, settling on the passenger seat while looking at me unhappily.
“Don’t look at me like that.” I sigh, springing into the driver’s seat. “I have to.” And he drops down low with an unimpressed gruff.
I madly search through Quinn’s hoodie pockets for his truck keys, but they’re not there.
“f**k,” I curse, hunting through them a second time, but still nothing.
Panic seizes my gut, and I flip down the visor, hoping he keeps a spare set here. But he doesn’t. Frantically rummaging through the console and glove compartment, I toss everything onto the floor, but it’s fruitless because I’m still keyless.
“Looking for these?” a deep voice asks by my window as I hear the distinctive sound of keys jingling lightly.
Jumping so high and letting out a startled yelp, I hit my head on the truck roof with a loud, painful thwack. But ignoring the pain, I look over my shoulder at Quinn. He stands outside my window, dangling the keys from his index finger.
“Get out,” he commands.
But I stubbornly reply, “No,” and stupidly lock the door, as he has the keys.
His mouth twitches slightly as he folds his arms over his broad chest. However, he looks menacing out here in the shadowy night, all tousled hair, hard eyes, and dominating stance.
“I can do this all night,” he says, sucking on his lip ring.
“So can I,” I retort, staring back at him, mimicking his pose.
He suddenly lunges for the door, unlocking it quickly, but I read his apparent ploy and relock it just as fast.
He grins, the moonlight reflecting off his perfect white teeth. “You’re going to stay in the truck all night?”
“Sure, why not? You’ll have to go inside eventually, and when you do, I’ll just hot-wire your truck.” I smirk at him smugly.
Quinn chuckles, which infuriates me, and my cheeks heat.
“Do you know how to do that?”
“Did you forget what I used to do for a living?” I snap, sitting up and making a face at him through the window.
Quinn smirks, brushing his hair out of his eyes. “Good point.” He casually strolls toward the back of the truck with his hands dug deep in his pockets.
Looking out the back window, I wonder what he’s up to. When I see him reach into a toolbox, pulling out a screwdriver and Zippo lighter, I know this won’t end well. He flips the screwdriver and begins whistling as he taps the handle on the driver’s window arrogantly while giving me a lopsided grin.
I watch him curiously through the windshield as he jimmies the hood open with the screwdriver. It opens with a loud pop, and as he whistles the tune to “Highway to Hell” by AC/DC, he begins tinkering under the hood.
Even though I can’t see him because the hood is up, obscuring the entire windshield, I know whatever he’s doing under there can’t be good. I try to shuffle up in my seat but give up and slump low, crossing my arms over my chest in a huff.
After a minute, he closes the hood and winks while holding up some wires. “Now you’re not going anywhere.”
“Oh, that’s real clever!” I shout to be heard through the windshield. “You’ve just defaced your truck.”
“Oh well. You can just hot-wire me another,” he replies nonchalantly.
I should have known his mechanical knowledge would beat me at my own game.
“Are you going to get out? Or am I going to have to smoke you out?” he asks, flipping the Zippo lid open.
With no other choice, I unlock the door because we’ve gained an audience. A few guests have come out of their rooms to see what the ruckus is all about. Lucky follows as I storm out of the truck, marching toward our room, and when I barge through the door, I look for something to throw at Quinn.
Quinn locks the door behind him when I throw the Bible at him. It thuds against the door, narrowly missing his stubborn head.
“You should have let me leave.”
“No,” he replies, tossing his useless keys onto the small wooden table.
“Why not?” I exclaim, stalking toward him and shoving him in the chest.
“Because that’s not the way to solve this. You think I’ll just stand by and let you take the blame?”
He knew all along that I planned to go to the police.
I was going to tell them all about my dad and Phil, and what we did back in LA, hoping they would believe me. But deep down, I knew they wouldn’t because Phil was smart. He never left a trail. Unlike me, he paid his taxes and was the perfect American citizen with no rap sheet.
They would pin Hank’s murder on me, so then I would confess and take the blame. But I couldn’t do that if Quinn was with me. He would never allow that, so I had to leave him behind.
“How did you know?” I ask, looking at him guiltily.
“Because I would do the same for you,” he replies, grabbing my upper arms firmly.
However, I shrug out of his hold and take a step back, shocked by his confession.
“So how could you stand in my way?” I ask, trying to understand his reasoning.
“Because I won’t let you throw your life away.”
“But you will yours?”
“My fate is already decided for me,” he replies, turning to look out the window.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Quinn shakes his head stubbornly, turning to face me. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Like hell it doesn’t!” I yell, storming over to him and squaring off with him.
“You know all my secrets,” I say, hands out wide.
“My secrets are the ones better left buried,” he answers, and I can see a hint of regret in his eyes.
“And mine aren’t?”
“That’s different. You never had a choice, whereas I did.”
He is so goddamn stubborn. I open my mouth, ready to argue, but he clamps a hand over my lips.
“You will not run. So help me God, if you try to run, I will tie you to that bed and gag you. We clear?” His eyes search mine, making sure I understand.
The hard set of his strong jawline and his fierce exhalations indicate just how serious he is.
Well, f**k him.
I bite his fingers, and he pulls them away, hissing.
“We’re clear,” I reply, walking into the bathroom and slamming the door shut behind me.
Fisting my hair in frustration, I pace the tiny room. Plan A didn’t work. But lucky for me, I have a plan B.
- Writer
