Hotshot Read Online Free PDF Page A

made her break out in a cold sweat.
    A member of the Apocalypse gang.
    She knew from the weapon.
    God, how she wished he’d been carrying anything other than a blade. Even a dull butter knife freaked her out to this day with a phobia so strong she avoided them at the dinner table.
    “Stay where you are.” His hand shook, grease under his nails. Did he work in some kind of mechanic shop or garage? “No pressing some secret alarm or anything to bring the cops.”
    Where was the security guard? So far it seemed she was completely alone. She kept searching for clues, anything to give her an advantage in talking to him.
    Anything to take her mind off the memory of the glide of steel across her skin.
    “Your guard guy decided to take a nap in his truck,” he said as if reading her mind. “So let’s step this up before the old fart gets back.”
    “What do you want?” At least her voice didn’t shake. She clutched her tiny backpack closer to her side.
    “I wanted to walk in here without anybody seeing me, but you shot that to hell, bitch. Now open that cabinet where you keep the drugs. And don’t bother telling me you haven’t got a key. I’ve seen you lock it up before.”
    He must be one of the clinic patients. That narrowed the field down to about a thousand.
    Her eyes snagged on the tattoos along the tops of his fingers, tiny rattlesnakes. Recognition flooded through her. She’d treated him last week when he came in wanting drugs for “back pain.” More like he wanted some cash from selling the pills on the street the minute he left.
    Should she let him know she recognized him? Would that seal her very painful death warrant?
    Something prompted her otherwise, a sense from her brief meeting with him that told her he respected strength. And, of course, she did have a protective edge he knew nothing about.
    “You really need to go into another line of work.” She crossed her arms, one hand subtly dipping into her backpack. “All of those tattoos make you too readily identifiable to the police, Kevin .”
    His chin wavered even as his jaw jutted. “If you’re so smart, you shoulda kept your mouth shut.” He tugged down his bandanna to reveal a pale face barely sporting peach fuzz. “What makes you think I won’t kill you now to keep you from IDing me later?”
    She slid her hand out of her backpack and leveled her small but accurate pistol at him. “What makes you think I won’t shoot you first?”
    His eyes went wide. Good. And thank heavens her risk paid off in mentioning his tats, since he’d been distracted long enough for her to find her own weapon without fumbling. She owed her dad a big fat thank-you for giving her the Khar PM9 when she took this job.
    The angry blade steadied in Kevin’s fist. “You’re not gonna use it, ’cause you’re not a killer.”
    “And neither are you.” She hoped.
    “You’re crazy.”
    Like she hadn’t heard that before. “Which makes me a lot more likely to shoot you.” She leveled the barrel. “Just because I’m not a murderer doesn’t mean I won’t blow off your kneecap. Now put that blade on the floor and get out of here.”
    She would call the police on him the second he cleared the door, a much safer option than trying to subdue him herself. She wanted him and his machete out of her face.
    A rumble sounded outside, growing louder. The growl, growl, growl of a motorcycle approaching vibrated the windows. She could have sworn she felt it in her toes.
    Help?
    Please, not backup for Kevin.
    “Fuck,” the teen spat out.
    The front doorknob rattled. Then creaked.
    The hooded teenager twisted and made a break for the back exit, the machete still firmly in his fist. What was wrong with all the locks around here? She bolted them tight, and still people waltzed right in.
    Her heart rate stuttered. She eyed the back exit and the front entrance. She wasn’t trusting that Geoff would come striding in with his Case Western student backpack this time.
    Shay