Angela didn’t count the money he’d handed her. She knew that with as few hours as Barry had her working it wouldn’t be much. She nodded as she stuffed the bills in the front right pocket of her shorts along with her tips. They didn’t amount to much, either, and she’d paid for the drinks she gave Owen out of them. They were usually respectable, but with business being slow her tips had slowed down as well.
On her way to the door Barry called her name. She turned back.
“Be sure to wear some of those shorts next time you come back in to work. I think they were the only thing that kept that last guy buying drinks. They may have been the only thing that kept me in the black tonight.”
And kept Owen from slipping away.
Angela smiled back. “Sure thing, Barry. Can do.”
THREE
In the late hour the rain and drizzle had trailed off, leaving behind a potent quality to the air saturated with the sharp smell of rain, pine trees, and dirt. It was a primal aroma, the scent worn by Mother Earth herself, absent mankind’s touch. The elemental fragrance was a refreshing contrast to the unsavory collection of man-made smells in the bar.
With the rain ended, fog had crept into the valley to nap for the night. It was the thick, intimate kind of fog, the kind that reminded Angela of the feeling she got when someone stood too close, invading her personal space. She wished she could push it back away from her. The oppressive quality of it served to put her nerves further on edge.
Although she could smell the pines and balsam firs, the trees across the road were invisible beyond the soft gray wall of fog. She could barely see the silent road. This time of night there were few if any cars. Anyone out this late would be up in town either carousing, working night shifts, or going home from partying.
Her pickup stood all alone in the parking lot, like a phantom in the mist. Barry’s car was always parked around in back.
Owen was standing beside her truck.
She had known he would be there.
In gray primer, the older, regular-cab Chevy pickup didn’t look like much. But looks were deceiving. The lowered truck had an LS3 crate engine, Wilwood brakes, and a lot of suspension mods.
A tattoo artist she knew had all the work done by a reputable shop. His intention had been to paint it something wild to advertise his tattoo shop, but he lost interest in it when he fell for a panel truck that he thought would better serve his purpose. After doing the tattoo across her throat, he sold the pickup to Angela for a good price because, as he’d said, she was the only one he knew who was “badass enough to drive such a bitchin’ truck.”
He offered to have the truck painted for her, but Angela wanted to keep it in primer gray. She liked the lack of color. The flat gray matched her feelings about life. Dyeing her hair vivid colors, along with her piercings and tattoos, was her way of concealing her colorless existence within.
It was rare for her emotions to flash to life, to rise up from those inner, dark depths. But, unexpectedly, they had this night. This was one of those exceptional times when everything sizzled with meaning. Every sound was sharper, every sight more vivid, every nuance more significant, every word laced with danger. This was a night when life itself hung in the balance.
Owen unfolded his arms and with a knuckle rapped the square magnetic sign stuck on the truck’s gray-primer door. “ ‘Angela’s Messenger Service, Give your package wings.’ I figure this had to be you.”
“Good guess, genius.”
Even as she kept her voice from sounding interested, her nerves felt electric. Everything around her seemed to crackle. She stared into his dark eyes, letting the wickedness she saw there wash over her.
It had been too long.
“What’s with the messenger service?”
Since her name meant “messenger from God,” Angela thought it appropriate that her courier service be called Angela’s Messenger Service. She liked the play on words.
“There’s not a lot of work around here. I like being a courier and it fills in the dead spots when I’m not tending bar.”
“So, you’re a drug dealer,” he said with a knowing smirk.
Angela’s brow drew down. “That’s about the last thing in the world I’d ever do.”
He dismissed her denial with a shrug of one shoulder. “If you say so.”
“I do,” she said.
He stepped aside for her to unlock the door, swaying on his feet a little.
“Good night, Owen.”
“Okay, fine, so you don’t deal drugs. That narrows it down. Escort service … suck some cock to fill in the dead spots when you’re not earning a buck tending bar?”
She shot him a dark look. “I said, good night.”
“I was thinking that you could give me a lift.” He shrugged again but this time he added a stupid grin. “It was easier walking down the hill than it will be walking back up.”
“The walk will do you good.”
He wasn’t about to be discouraged. “Think of me as a package to deliver. Besides, I’ve seen the kind of girls up at the motel. I bet you’ve spent enough time on your back in the rooms up there.”
She let it go without taking the bait. His smile wasn’t sincere, it was a calculating provocation.
She could see the contempt in his eyes. Women were all the same to Owen. They were all whores and that was all they were good for. She didn’t know what had brought him to that attitude in life and she didn’t really care. All that mattered to her was that his hardened convictions governed his thoughts and those thoughts resulted in deeds.
“Come on, give me a ride?”
Angela straightened after unlocking the door. “I said no.”
She knew quite well by what flashed in his eyes that Owen didn’t like the word “no.” Not one bit.
He abruptly grabbed her by her upper arm, spun her around, slammed her up against the truck, and gritted his teeth. “Said I’d like a ride.”
There he was. There, at last, was the real Owen showing himself.
His breath stank of corn chips soaked in alcohol. His powerful fingers felt like they might crush the bone in her arm.
With the heel of a hand to his chest she shoved him back. “I told you, I don’t date normal guys.”
He slammed her up against the truck again and forced a hard kiss against her mouth. She noted his preference. She let him have his way for a moment lest he get more violent right then and there, before she had found out what she wanted to know.
“I’m a lot more than you think,” he said, breathlessly, as he pulled back. “I’m the kind of guy you get all wet for.”
“Bullshit.”
Angela watched his face as he considered yet another snub. The alcohol was confusing his thinking, but it was also loosening his inhibitions and as a result, she knew, it would loosen his tongue.
“It’s true,” he argued. “I’m not some average guy like you think.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, Owen. I don’t think you’re average. I think you’re a pussy.”
Anger flashed in his bloodshot eyes. His brow drew tight. He swayed on his feet a little as he glared at her, considering. He finally broke the gaze to glance around to see if they were alone.
“Give me a ride and I’ll tell you about it.”
She appraised his dark eyes for a moment, enduring what she saw in them, letting it wash through her like gasoline sloshing over glowing embers.
She had a gun, but it was in the compartment under the center armrest of her truck.
Finally, Angela let out a heavy breath.
“All right, Owen. I suppose I can at least give you a ride. It’s not like you’re dangerous or anything. It would be kind of exciting if you were, but you aren’t.”
His expression briefly turned murderous before he went around to wait on the passenger side for her to get in, reach across, and unlock the door. Finally granted entrance, he quickly climbed up into the truck.
Once settled in the driver’s seat, Angela twisted the key and the engine rumbled to life. The windows glittered with trembling droplets of water. She turned on the wipers to clear the windshield.
“All you’re getting out of me is a ride.” She looked over at him. “Got it?”
“Sure,” he said, grinning with a world of dark intent. “That’s all I’m after—nothing else.”
Angela didn’t believe a word of it.
FOUR