Ride the Lightning - Aimee Nicole Walker Page 0,1

Ling was behind the counter and smiled softly when their gazes collided. Maybe he’d overreacted to the car out front and someone was just passing through and didn’t know better than to take their damn car keys with them.

No, his gut said he was right. Like the approaching storm, Jonah could smell trouble brewing. No one was acting suspicious as he scanned the customers. The patrons met Jonah’s perusal with stares of their own, ranging from curiosity to fear and even disgust. He was used to it, even if the reasons had changed over the years.

He’d always stood out—pun intended—due to his height. He started kindergarten as the tallest kid in his class, a title he retained until he joined the military after graduation. The years in between garnered attention for his awkwardness, a nerdy brain, and his inability to use his size to achieve glory for the various sports teams, their coaches, or Oscar. He tried. God, had he tried.

These days, it wasn’t his broad six-five frame that drew everyone’s eye. It was the silver scar slashing diagonally across his face from above his right eyebrow to the left corner of his mouth. Some people seemed uncomfortable and broke eye contact. Others reacted to the scar with fascination and saw him as a challenge. He’d gotten laid many times by playing up the bad boy image.

Jonah caught sight of himself on the television screen showing the live security camera feed and nearly winced. Jesus, St. John. A lock of black hair had fallen across his forehead, nearly covering one of his oddly colored eyes. Obsidian, his granny had called them. The scowl on Jonah’s face made him look much older than thirty-five. Forcing himself to unclench his jaw and relax his shoulders, Jonah took his time perusing the aisles. One by one, the customers bought their items and exited the store, and yet, the car with the running motor remained parked out front.

“Hello, Jonah,” Mrs. Ling called out as he approached the counter.

“Hello, Mrs. Ling,” he replied, studying her for any signs of duress. “I’m here for my stash.”

Every Monday, without fail, he picked up the ten bags of Caramel Bugles—never more, never less—the Lings set aside for him. It would be a perfect opportunity for Mrs. Ling to signal something was wrong by pretending not to know what he was talking about.

“Of course,” she said.

After she ducked into the back room, Jonah walked through the market looking for spots where the asshole could be hiding. In the far corner, back by the beer coolers, he spotted a door with a sign marking it as employee use only. Jonah kept his tread light while approaching, not knowing what could be waiting for him on the other side. A knife? A gun?

Jonah yanked open the door. The young skinny white guy yelped loudly and tried to duck when Jonah reached inside to grasp his hoodie, but Jonah was faster. He dragged the guy out of the closet, then lifted him up until the tips of his toes were barely touching the ground.

“What the fuck are you doing hiding in the broom closet?” he asked angrily.

“I-I.” Skinny White Guy emitted a high-pitched squeak, then his head fell forward, breaking eye contact. A strong ammonia smell made Jonah crinkle his nose. He looked down and saw the puddle of piss pooling at SWG’s feet. The goddamned punk had pissed a river down his leg. Jonah took a quick step back to keep his shoes out of it but didn’t let go of the weasel.

“Were you going to rob Mrs. Ling?” Jonah asked.

“No,” SWG said quickly, shaking his head frantically. “I wasn’t.”

“Get your hands up and keep them there.”

The kid immediately obeyed. Jonah reached inside the hoodie pocket and pulled out a small caliber handgun.

“What the fuck were you going to do with this?”

“It’s not loaded,” the guy said.

“And that makes it okay?” Jonah asked, giving the kid a good shake. “You were going to put that gun in Mrs. Ling’s face and demand money?”

“I wasn’t going to hurt her,” he said, struggling in Jonah’s embrace.

“Jonah, what’s going on?” Mrs. Ling asked from the front of the store.

“Call nine-one-one. This little bastard was about to rob you.”

“The gun isn’t loaded,” the guy repeated.

“People can’t tell that when they stare down the barrel, you little fuck face.”

The kid started to panic when he heard Mrs. Ling call 911, twisting and trying to break free. He stepped to the right and his foot landed in