Page 70 of Flock
Dominic jerks his chin and the guy takes a step back from the car before he pulls away.
“So, you are a drug dealer. Jesus, I should have known.” I don’t know why, but I’m disappointed. I thought better of him, and maybe I shouldn’t have. But why the hell would a graduate of a prestigious school resort to something so fucking dangerous and juvenile? It’s equivalent to a dumb as hell NFL millionaire playing thug games and losing his life in search of street credit. And I waste no time voicing as much.
“You know you have a golden ticket out of here. Jesus, Dominic, I thought you were better than this petty shit.”
He slows at the stop sign, and everyone within a few feet of the car takes a step away, keeping their eyes down. Dominic leans over, his eyes on mine, and his breath hits my skin, as his finger brushes my leg before he opens the glove box. My neck prickles as his silver eyes infiltrate mine and my chest starts to rise and fall quicker. His gaze drops to my lips, and the air crackles thick as I run my tongue along my bottom lip. Adrenaline spikes in my blood when he lingers for a few long seconds before he smirks and pulls back, tossing a piece of paper in my lap. I pick it up and read. It’s a concealed gun permit for one Jean Dominic King.
“Jean, huh? Doesn’t get much more French than that.”
He rips the permit from my hand and locks both the glove box with the gun and permit tucked safely behind it.
“So you have a permit, whatever. Doesn’t change the fact that I want no part of your shady shit.”
He takes a left, and then another, getting us out of the questionable neighborhood. “Did you see an exchange of money?”
“No.”
“Drugs?”
“No.”
“Did I point my fucking gun at anyone?”
“No.”
He tilts his head in my direction, brow arched. “Was a crime of any kind committed?”
“No.”
“Then the only shady one in this car is you.”
“How so?”
“Because it’s your fucking brain working overtime, making assumptions you have no grounds to make.”
“You don’t know me.”
“Government housing and a corner conversation, and you drew the worst conclusions.” He takes off and drives on wordlessly, while I search the previous conversation and come up blank. The guy was obviously trying to give him something. Money or drugs, I’m sure of it. But, who in the hell is Friar?
It’s pointless to ask, even though I know I haven’t offended Dominic—I doubt anything does. He seems impenetrable.
“Why am I with you?”
“You got better things to do? A Kardashian episode to watch?”
“I don’t watch that.”
“One more errand and I’ll get you to your boyfriend.”
“Can you, just for once, be decent to me?”
He ignores me as we pull into a parking lot. I look up to see we’re at a medical center. Dominic circles the valet, leaves the car running, and rounds the front, opening my door. “Get in the back.”
I don’t bother asking questions and climb into the back seat, wishing I could shoot off a hostile text to Sean. But I have no phone because I’m following his damn rules while being forced to entertain his maniac “brother.”
Ten minutes later, Dominic reappears through the sliding glass doors, and he isn’t alone. A woman—whose age is indiscernible due to her weakened physical state—is being ushered over in a wheelchair by a nurse. When they get close enough, I can hear the back and forth.
“Pourquoi tu n’es pas venu me chercher avec ma voiture?” Why didn’t you pick me up in my car?
