Heathen (Cerberus MC Las Vegas Chapter #1)

Chapter 5

Heathen

I knew the answer before I even asked the fucking question.

Her eyes widening like she didn't know if I was going to hurt her made my skin crawl.

What is it about me that would make her think I'm capable of hurting innocent people?

Is it my size?

Did I not smile enough?

Is she still so mad at me about the cereal box incident that she thinks I'll retaliate by harming her?

I knew she was alone. I watched the other guy who was working there come out of the back, untying his apron while talking on the phone about some party. The guy didn't go to find her and let her know he was leaving, and that says more about the type of guy he is.

I load up all the damn groceries into the back of the SUV and climb in behind the wheel.

I know she won't feel very safe if I sit here in the parking lot and wait for her to come out, so I drive off, parking across the street in the shadows, and wait to make sure she's okay.

I look like a complete creep when I pull a pair of binoculars from the glove box and focus in on the front of the store.

I can't help but smile when I see her talking to herself with nothing short of a sneer on her face as she refills the empty pumpkin at the register. She offered the candy, but the way she's acting now, it doesn't seem like buying all of it did me any favors.

"You fucking idiot," I mutter when I see her leave the front toward the back, only to emerge a few minutes later pulling a cart loaded down with packs of toilet paper.

She has to restock everything I fucking bought in bulk, and it makes me want to kick Rooster in the ass for demanding on the list every box of fruit snack they have .

In petty retaliation, I don't worry about the two boxes of fudge pops he requested melting in the back.

It's another fifteen minutes before she's back at the front, and I swear I could wring the neck of whoever is responsible for requiring this woman to carry the damn deposit bag out of the store. Why wouldn't they have an armored truck pick that shit up from a time-delayed safe?

I wait, not so patiently, eyeing every car that drives between us, as she climbs into her car. Like every other person who has never been faced with immediate danger, she takes the time to put on her seatbelt and adjust her rearview mirror. She even does something with the radio before putting her car in gear and pulling away. The woman is a flashing beacon for victimization, and I just handed her eleven hundred fucking dollars, sweetening the fucking pot for anyone wanting to cause her any trouble tonight.

Keeping my distance, I follow her until she pulls up at the all-night deposit box, another great place for someone to rob her.

I crack my window, keeping an eye on her and all the surroundings, prepared to get out and hurt anyone who even chances to cause her problems.

"Stupid fucking cash," I hear her mutter on the breeze when the cash bag seems too thick to go into the chute. "Who pays in fucking cash these days?"

The last word is a grunt as the bag falls into the chute.

I don't breathe easy until she drives away from the bank. I run through a long list of things I observed to bargain with why I continue to follow her rather than turn toward my own residence when she gets back out to the main road once again.

She didn't seem like she felt safe. She was quiet and reserved at the store. She didn't offer much, despite the fact that I was more chatty than I can ever remember being.

I didn't see any bruises on her skin, but that doesn't mean there weren't some hiding under her clothes.

As she drives to what is easily a bad part of town, I begin to wonder if my instincts are correct—she may be someone who needs help. She has several of the characteristics of someone we were told to be on the lookout for.

Instead of pulling up outside of a house or an apartment complex, I stop a ways back, watching as she drives by an industrial park, slowing in front of one building in particular.

I make note of the address along with her license plate number when she pulls off, grateful she didn't park and get out. I'm not exactly prepared for the work that might entail if she had.

Her drive takes her through a small rundown neighborhood, but she doesn't stop there either, and she moves on too quickly for me to note the house number that she paused the longest in front of, although it might not mean anything.

The last leg of her journey takes her back toward the grocery store, ending in the short driveway of a small but well-kept house. She parks and doesn't hesitate to rush inside as if this is the most dangerous place she has been to this evening.

I make note of this address as well before driving off because a thousand dollars' worth of ruined food would be much too difficult to explain. I have enough information about her now to give to Rooster in order for him to determine if she might be in danger.

Rooster, being the decent human being that he is, meets me outside when I arrive. He had to have heard the chime inside when the front gate to the property opened.

"Thanks, man," I say when I climb out of the driver's seat and head to the back with him following me.

"Damn," he says when he steps around and sees the pile of toilet paper packs. "You really bought a lot."

"Eleven bathrooms, eleven packs," I mutter, wondering if I should even bring up the woman and the mysterious places she drove past.

We work together to make several trips into the kitchen to get it all unloaded.

"This house is too fucking big," Rooster mutters as he carries in the last load, panting like he just ran a marathon.

"I think it has more to do with your dietary selections than the distance to the driveway, man," I say with a wide smile.

"There's nothing wrong with my food," he mutters.

"Really?" I ask, pulling a pack of the mostly still frozen pizza pockets from one of the bags. "Do you have any idea how much sodium is in one of these things?"

He grabs it from my hand, smiling again. "Leave me alone."

"So," I say after a few minutes of us unloading groceries and figuring out which cabinets to use for which items. "Did you get your system up and running?"

He pauses, pulling in a deep, clearly annoyed breath before responding. "We're hitting a glitch. Did you need something?"

I explained what happened at the grocery store, giving him the license plate number and address I committed to memory.

"Did you ever think she just didn't want to talk to you?" he asks when I've given him everything I know.

I tilt my head a little, considering this. "Possibly, but then why is she going to some seedy-ass place after work?"

He shrugs. "Because it's a free country?"

I grab the loaves of bread from the counter and shove them onto a shelf in the massive pantry before turning back to him.

"She gave me a bad vibe, like something was off with her."

"People have bad days and you knocked over her display and then made fun of it."

"I didn't… Jesus, dude. Really? I didn't make fun of it or her."

"Was she pretty?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"That answers my question and the other one I didn't ask."

"And what question would that be?" I ask as I grab several boxes of different crackers off the counter and make a place for them in the pantry.

"You're butthurt that she didn't just fall at your feet."

"I'm not that egotistical," I mutter.

"How often do you get shot down?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Everything," he answers. "You flirted, she didn't care, and now your feelings are hurt so badly that you're trying to convince yourself that she has to be in danger or under someone's control because that's the only explanation for not flirting back."

"When did you get your psychology degree?" I mutter.

"I double majored in college," he says without missing a beat.

"Wait. Seriously?"

He simply shrugs. "I'll take a look into it when the equipment is up and running, but I think you'll find that there's nothing amiss other than your inflated and injured ego."

He claps me on the back before leaving the room, and I stand there for a long moment, wondering if maybe he was right.

I don't get shot down very often, but I don't think I was flirting with her. I just didn't want her to be mad at me for knocking over that damned display. It wasn't my fault, but it also didn't seem fitting to blame an out-of-control kid either.

I finish putting the rest of the dry and boxed food in the pantry before heading to my room. I just don't have the energy to go out and explore Vegas tonight. First day in town and I'm already too annoyed to have a little fun.