Blue Colla Make Ya Holla by Aimie Grey, Cat Mason, Chelsea Camaron, Laramie Briscoe, Carian Cole, Seraphina Donavan, Bijou Hunter, Stella Hunter, Christina Tomes Page B
Authors: Aimie Grey, Cat Mason, Chelsea Camaron, Laramie Briscoe, Carian Cole, Seraphina Donavan, Bijou Hunter, Stella Hunter, Christina Tomes
Ads: Link
my mind. I am dirty, sweaty, tired, and hungry. I am not in the mood for company.
“Can I help you with something?” I ask as I approach. She stares up at me blankly. Maybe I should have started with a hello, but I didn’t. I am not one for apologies either so moving on. She doesn’t answer only continues to stare.
“You a mute?”
She shakes her head no as she looks around as if something is going to jump out and get her.
“You on drugs? You high? You lost? You drunk? Are you just plain fuckin’ nuts?”
She stands finally. Walking to me she rolls her shoulders back as if she is trying to gather some sort of courage. She looks around nervously again as if someone is watching her.
“I’m your payment.” The words come out barely above a whisper.
My head pounds. She is my what?
My question must show in my face as she repeats herself with her voice a little stronger. “I’m your payment from Professor.” She looks over my shoulder nervously.
“You are sadly mistaken. He owes me cash. Don’t take this wrong, sweets, but you are a far cry from cash.”
She tears up as she continues to glance behind me. Her hands are shaking as she tries to keep her emotions under control.
“Please,” she whispers, “please can we go inside?”
Without another word, I unlock my door. She steps inside as a car pulls around the corner and drives away. She exhales loudly and it is then I realize someone was watching her to see if I accepted.
Well, I don’t fucking accept.
Chapter Four
LoraLeigh
‡
I got inside. I got inside. Step one to end my misery is a success. When Hitman approached, I froze. Doesn’t matter now, I am inside and I can’t help but exhale when I hear Joel pull away.
“Sit,” Hitman instructs from behind me.
Slowly I make my way inside his home and over to his couch. The living room screams bachelor with nothing more than a brown couch, brown recliner, and an overly large television. He has a plain wooden coffee table littered with remotes. The entertainment system is stocked with multiple gaming systems but void of any pictures.
In fact, the entire space is void of anything personal, I noticed, as I walked through the entryway and got a brief glance at the kitchen.
Sitting down, I start to think over what will happen next. How can I get through until he leaves me alone long enough to end it all?
“Who brought you here? Where are you from?” He starts to fire out questions at me. “Wait, let’s start with what is your name?”
“Annie,” I reply firmly.
He watches me in a way no one has before. His eyes tell me he doesn’t believe me.
“Annie, I’m Heath. I would say nice to meet you, but I’m rather lost for words at the moment. I’m not sure it’s nice to meet you. I’m a lot of things, but a liar isn’t one of them.”
He runs his fingers through his hair in frustration. “Look sweets, I’m not trying to be a dick, but I want the money, not a girl.”
He is going to send me back. Pete’s dead if I go back. I am dead if Pete is dead. Heath gets up and leaves the room. I am alone. I am not bound. I could run. Where do I go? I have no money, no car, and I don’t even have proof of a name.
The kitchen calls to me in my desperate frame of mind. I can hear Heath in the other room talking on the phone. He is telling someone he didn’t get the money. There is a knife set on his bar. All stainless steel, very shiny, very clean, very sharp, and very much what I need.
The bite of the blade as it pierces the first layer of my epidermis is almost heavenly. The red of my blood seeps out and runs down the blade, down my small wrist, and onto his off-white laminate countertop. One line didn’t work last time, it takes too long to drain. I don’t have time. I pick up the blade, biting my lip in pain, and run another diagonal line parallel to the first. This one cuts across the scar of my last attempt.
I watch as my blood spreads across the countertop. I remove the blade and
“Can I help you with something?” I ask as I approach. She stares up at me blankly. Maybe I should have started with a hello, but I didn’t. I am not one for apologies either so moving on. She doesn’t answer only continues to stare.
“You a mute?”
She shakes her head no as she looks around as if something is going to jump out and get her.
“You on drugs? You high? You lost? You drunk? Are you just plain fuckin’ nuts?”
She stands finally. Walking to me she rolls her shoulders back as if she is trying to gather some sort of courage. She looks around nervously again as if someone is watching her.
“I’m your payment.” The words come out barely above a whisper.
My head pounds. She is my what?
My question must show in my face as she repeats herself with her voice a little stronger. “I’m your payment from Professor.” She looks over my shoulder nervously.
“You are sadly mistaken. He owes me cash. Don’t take this wrong, sweets, but you are a far cry from cash.”
She tears up as she continues to glance behind me. Her hands are shaking as she tries to keep her emotions under control.
“Please,” she whispers, “please can we go inside?”
Without another word, I unlock my door. She steps inside as a car pulls around the corner and drives away. She exhales loudly and it is then I realize someone was watching her to see if I accepted.
Well, I don’t fucking accept.
Chapter Four
LoraLeigh
‡
I got inside. I got inside. Step one to end my misery is a success. When Hitman approached, I froze. Doesn’t matter now, I am inside and I can’t help but exhale when I hear Joel pull away.
“Sit,” Hitman instructs from behind me.
Slowly I make my way inside his home and over to his couch. The living room screams bachelor with nothing more than a brown couch, brown recliner, and an overly large television. He has a plain wooden coffee table littered with remotes. The entertainment system is stocked with multiple gaming systems but void of any pictures.
In fact, the entire space is void of anything personal, I noticed, as I walked through the entryway and got a brief glance at the kitchen.
Sitting down, I start to think over what will happen next. How can I get through until he leaves me alone long enough to end it all?
“Who brought you here? Where are you from?” He starts to fire out questions at me. “Wait, let’s start with what is your name?”
“Annie,” I reply firmly.
He watches me in a way no one has before. His eyes tell me he doesn’t believe me.
“Annie, I’m Heath. I would say nice to meet you, but I’m rather lost for words at the moment. I’m not sure it’s nice to meet you. I’m a lot of things, but a liar isn’t one of them.”
He runs his fingers through his hair in frustration. “Look sweets, I’m not trying to be a dick, but I want the money, not a girl.”
He is going to send me back. Pete’s dead if I go back. I am dead if Pete is dead. Heath gets up and leaves the room. I am alone. I am not bound. I could run. Where do I go? I have no money, no car, and I don’t even have proof of a name.
The kitchen calls to me in my desperate frame of mind. I can hear Heath in the other room talking on the phone. He is telling someone he didn’t get the money. There is a knife set on his bar. All stainless steel, very shiny, very clean, very sharp, and very much what I need.
The bite of the blade as it pierces the first layer of my epidermis is almost heavenly. The red of my blood seeps out and runs down the blade, down my small wrist, and onto his off-white laminate countertop. One line didn’t work last time, it takes too long to drain. I don’t have time. I pick up the blade, biting my lip in pain, and run another diagonal line parallel to the first. This one cuts across the scar of my last attempt.
I watch as my blood spreads across the countertop. I remove the blade and
Similar Books
