to fly. Shifting gears, Justin drives up the ramp and into the back of the empty truck.
I turn around to see the door shutting behind us, which is when a bit of panic sweeps over my body.“Um, do you know that we’re in the truck? Like in the back? And now we’re closed in?”
“Yup.” The fact that he is nonchalant about it only seems to frighten me more. I drop my jaw to ask another question when he slides his hand over to my lap, pulls the glove compartment open, and takes out an envelope. Deciding it would probably be in my best interest to keep my mouth closed, I rest my head on the back of the seat, surprised that there are lights back here.
I watch as Justin pulls out a stack of seaweed green paper that resembles cash that has been washed one too many times. My eyes notice that the faces in the middle of the bills aren’t presidents, however, so much as something that could easily be mistaken for a mermaid. Folding a wad of it up, he slides it in his pocket and the envelope back into the glove compartment.
“You’re nervous.” His voice coos as his head turns to face mine. As there’s no response, he quickly sighs.
“Don’t be.”
“How can you tell me not to be? I’ve been shot at, car chased, almost kidnapped, and robbed within a matter of days.”
“And haven’t I been there every step of the way to protect you? To save you?”
“Well yeah, but—”
“But what, Peyton? If that doesn’t help console your fears, what will? Why do you feel you can’t trust me?” The words sound as if they are sneaking up from a broken place in his heart.
“It’s not that I don’t feel I can’t trust you, it’s…”
“What?” he asks quickly. “What is it, then?”
“Trust is like a vase, Justin. Once you break it, you can fix it, but it’ll never be the same.” The words slip off my tongue slowly. “My father taught me that. So, yeah, you’ve saved my life, but you won’t tell me why my life is at risk. It’s not easy following you around blindly. I want to trust you, but I just don’t know. I just don’t.”
His hand slides over to mine, folding it in tightly, before he nods. “Shakespeare once said, ‘If to do were as easy to know what were good to do, chapels had been churches and poor men’s cottages, princes’ palaces.’”
Suddenly, the truck comes to a halt, and I try to paint a warmer smile on my face. He’s right. If everything in life were easy to do, it wouldn’t really be called living. The truck’s back door slides itself open, and Justin motions for us to get out. Following his move, I exit the car and move down the ramp to enter a warehouse. “My favorite customer,” cackles a small man with no hair on top. Quickly, he waves his stubby, peach colored arms, motioning us in his direction. “Come, come. Come see the amazing things I have got in store for you!”
“We’re coming, Jimmy.” Justin grabs my hand to pull me closer to him.
We follow him down a narrow hallway and into a large showroom, the kind you usually see luxury sports cars displayed in; where model vehicles should be are oversized boats the size of extravagant yachts. Jimmy hits a button on the wall, and wood panel doors flip over to reveal walls and walls of swords, daggers, knives, guns, and every other weapon imaginable, unimaginable, and for that matter, known and unknown to man.
“Wow.” My voice squeaks. “What is this place?”
Ignoring my question, he drags me over to the wall of swords and begins admiring them like pieces of art. “Here’s the problem, Jimmy. These are state of the art.”
“One blow, one blast.” Jimmy jumps in excitement, clapping his hands. “One thrust, one go. These are the best, Justin!”
Justin holds up a hand to help calm Jimmy down before he continues. “But here, trying to conceal these things is a problem. Sure, at home, it’s no big whoop carrying around something this small,” his hand points to something almost as tall as me,
I turn around to see the door shutting behind us, which is when a bit of panic sweeps over my body.“Um, do you know that we’re in the truck? Like in the back? And now we’re closed in?”
“Yup.” The fact that he is nonchalant about it only seems to frighten me more. I drop my jaw to ask another question when he slides his hand over to my lap, pulls the glove compartment open, and takes out an envelope. Deciding it would probably be in my best interest to keep my mouth closed, I rest my head on the back of the seat, surprised that there are lights back here.
I watch as Justin pulls out a stack of seaweed green paper that resembles cash that has been washed one too many times. My eyes notice that the faces in the middle of the bills aren’t presidents, however, so much as something that could easily be mistaken for a mermaid. Folding a wad of it up, he slides it in his pocket and the envelope back into the glove compartment.
“You’re nervous.” His voice coos as his head turns to face mine. As there’s no response, he quickly sighs.
“Don’t be.”
“How can you tell me not to be? I’ve been shot at, car chased, almost kidnapped, and robbed within a matter of days.”
“And haven’t I been there every step of the way to protect you? To save you?”
“Well yeah, but—”
“But what, Peyton? If that doesn’t help console your fears, what will? Why do you feel you can’t trust me?” The words sound as if they are sneaking up from a broken place in his heart.
“It’s not that I don’t feel I can’t trust you, it’s…”
“What?” he asks quickly. “What is it, then?”
“Trust is like a vase, Justin. Once you break it, you can fix it, but it’ll never be the same.” The words slip off my tongue slowly. “My father taught me that. So, yeah, you’ve saved my life, but you won’t tell me why my life is at risk. It’s not easy following you around blindly. I want to trust you, but I just don’t know. I just don’t.”
His hand slides over to mine, folding it in tightly, before he nods. “Shakespeare once said, ‘If to do were as easy to know what were good to do, chapels had been churches and poor men’s cottages, princes’ palaces.’”
Suddenly, the truck comes to a halt, and I try to paint a warmer smile on my face. He’s right. If everything in life were easy to do, it wouldn’t really be called living. The truck’s back door slides itself open, and Justin motions for us to get out. Following his move, I exit the car and move down the ramp to enter a warehouse. “My favorite customer,” cackles a small man with no hair on top. Quickly, he waves his stubby, peach colored arms, motioning us in his direction. “Come, come. Come see the amazing things I have got in store for you!”
“We’re coming, Jimmy.” Justin grabs my hand to pull me closer to him.
We follow him down a narrow hallway and into a large showroom, the kind you usually see luxury sports cars displayed in; where model vehicles should be are oversized boats the size of extravagant yachts. Jimmy hits a button on the wall, and wood panel doors flip over to reveal walls and walls of swords, daggers, knives, guns, and every other weapon imaginable, unimaginable, and for that matter, known and unknown to man.
“Wow.” My voice squeaks. “What is this place?”
Ignoring my question, he drags me over to the wall of swords and begins admiring them like pieces of art. “Here’s the problem, Jimmy. These are state of the art.”
“One blow, one blast.” Jimmy jumps in excitement, clapping his hands. “One thrust, one go. These are the best, Justin!”
Justin holds up a hand to help calm Jimmy down before he continues. “But here, trying to conceal these things is a problem. Sure, at home, it’s no big whoop carrying around something this small,” his hand points to something almost as tall as me,
Similar Books
