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Chapter 4 (Lou-Lou)
The gravel crunches under my cowboy boots in the parking lot as I make the walk out to my car after my shift.
An unusually cool breeze wafts through the air and the unmistakable feeling of dread washes over me.
He's dead, I remind myself as DeLuca flashes before my eyes.
He can't get to me anymore. He can't hurt me. No one can.
All my monsters are gone.
My heart beats like a hammer and my breath comes out in short, uneven bursts.
Images of DeLuca's gun tearing me open as I scream for dear life, and large hands touching a little girl in the middle of the night against her will make my skin crawl and I fight the urge to puke.
It's just a panic attack, I tell myself. It will be over soon.
I hate that they always come on so unexpectedly and during the most inopportune times.
One moment—I'm writing notes in class or serving a new table a round of drinks at work—and the next, I'm one big puddle of a disaster.
No wonder I haven't made a single friend in this godforsaken hick town. Everyone looks at me like I'm crazy, and god only knows what they whisper behind my back because they're all too afraid to say it to my face.
Momma keeps urging me to go to therapy, but I know there's no point.
There's no therapist or medication in the world that can cure a lifetime of sick and brutal acts, or take back what I've lost.
There's nothing that can cure the shame.
There's nothing that can fix what's broken beyond all repair.
I snap my eyes shut and try and force myself to think about something else, anything else, in order to get this horrible episode over with faster.
Il mio piccolo superstite.
I steady myself and take a deep breath as the sound of his voice and the feel of his touch soothe me.
It's always him who takes it all away. Every single time.
But not without a price—because in its wake—currents of grief, anger, and heartbreak in its purest form crash to the surface.
The hollow muscle in my chest beats a painful rhythm and I find myself wishing the damn thing would just get it over with and kill me already.
Put me out of my misery for once and for all.
“Rough night?”
The gun in my purse is already out and pointed in the direction of the masculine voice quicker than I can open my eyes.
And when I do...I find Atticus out of all people staring back at me.
For a moment, I'm rendered speechless as I watch him walk ahead of me.
He folds his arms across his chest and leans against my car. “A Beretta 92'. Interesting choice.”
I ignore the twinge in my heart and the urge to point out that it's not my gun but Ricardo's.
Instead I put my finger on the trigger and narrow my eyes. “What are you doing?”
I could excuse his behavior during our first meeting. He was interested and did the typical male bullshit.
But now?
Now my radar is up. Hell, this is borderline stalking.
He gives me a lazy smile and bites down on the toothpick in his mouth. “Not being a patron at the Show 'n Tail.”
“I never called you,” I remind him curtly.
“I didn't give you my number,” he counters, his smile growing bigger.
I look him right in the eyes, my finger never leaving the trigger. “Why are you stalking me?”
He looks offended, and for a moment, I find myself feeling bad. But then I remember that he's the one showing up una
For a brief second, I contemplate calling Ricardo, but I quickly dismiss the idea entirely.
I can handle this all on my own.
I've killed a notorious mob boss. Putting some hillbilly in his place will be a piece of cake.
“Some people would call it courting, Sindile,” he says, pulling a rose out of his pocket.
“Yeah, well, those people aren't me.” I gesture to the flower. “And roses are overrated.”
He nods at the gun in my hand. “Clearly I misjudged what kinds of things impress you.” He chuckles. “But then again, ladies do dig the bad boys.”
“This one doesn't,” I murmur and his eyes widen. “Not any more, anyway.”
He rubs his chin, appearing to be deep in thought. “I guess that would explain some things.”
“I don't understand what you want, Atticus.” I lower the gun and tuck it back into my purse. “There are plenty of nice girls in town who I'm sure would be thrilled to have your undivided attention. Why me?”
He shrugs and takes the toothpick out of his mouth. “You intrigue me.”
“You don't know me.”
“Which is precisely why you intrigue me, Sindile.”
“How do you know I'm not already taken?”
He takes a step forward and pins me with a stare. “Well, if you were? I'd say your boyfriend's doing a real shitty job at protecting you...seeing as you feel the need to point your gun at everything that moves.” He takes another step. “I'd also say he's the biggest idiot in the world for letting you work at a place like this.”
“Maybe he doesn't control me.”
“Maybe he should.”
For a split-second, I feel my cheeks heat. And although it's nowhere near as potent as the level of attraction I felt for Ricardo...the fact that I can feel it again period...is interesting.
Maybe I'm not so dead inside after all.
“I won't go on a date with you,” I blurt out, both my body and brain on the defense. “I don't have time to date anyone and I'm not looking for a boyfriend.”
Disappointment crosses over his features as I stick my key in the car door. “How do you know you're not looking for something if you don't give it a chance?”
“How do you know you don't like the taste of radishes if you don't give them a chance?”
His eyes crinkle and he shakes his head. “What?”
I bite my lip, attempting to hide my embarrassment at my weird analogy. “It was just an example. I hate radishes, so I figured I'd use those.”
He nods and opens my car door for me. “For the record, I happen to love radishes.”
I slide into my seat and start the car. “I'm sorry, Atticus, but my answer is still no.”
He regards me with another nod. “I understand.” He closes my car door. “Can I at least have another conversation with you in the parking lot after your shift sometime this week?”
“I—” I pull on my bottom lip, unsure of how to answer. I'd be lying if I said I didn't somewhat enjoy our exchange.
It's nice talking to someone other than Momma and horny men at my job all the time.
“You're not saying no,” Atticus notes.
“I'm not saying yes, either.”
He grins as I start backing out of the parking lot. “But you're not saying no,” he calls out right before I drive off.