Paul finished pumping his gas and disappeared inside the shop to pay. Cash. Always cash.
When he stepped outside again, the trunk of his car stood open. His eyes calmly swept the area. There. Huddled in the arms of a trucker. He smirked and made a beeline for the girl. The trucker stepped between them.
“Hold it right there, buddy,” the hulking man said.
Paul pulled the gun tucked in his belt and put a bullet between the trucker’s eyes at point blank range.
“His death is on you,” he told her as he shoved her back into the trunk.
Paul is not a good man. Or maybe there is more to his story with this particular girl. Perhaps he is only doing what is necessary. Only time will tell I suppose.
Written for Friday Fictioneers.
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