Redemption (The Protectors 8)

I was glad when Phoenix didn’t try to engage me in conversation as I directed him on which way to go. But as soon as he pulled the car over to the curb and I went for the door, his big hand closed over my wrist. “Levi.”

I flinched at the way he said my name. I knew I wasn’t going to like whatever came next.

“Please, don’t,” I murmured before he could speak again. I kept my eyes downcast as I tried to ignore the warmth radiating out beneath my skin where he was holding on to me. I chanced a glance at where we were connected and marveled at how much bigger his hand was then mine. His fingers easily encircled my wrist. It would take next to nothing for him to snap it if he wanted to.

“Don’t what?”

“Just don’t,” I whispered, hoping it was enough.

To my shock and disappointment, it was. Phoenix released me. “Take care of yourself, Levi.”

I couldn’t even find the strength to respond, so I merely gave him a jerky nod and then nearly fell out of the car in my effort to escape the charged air inside of it. My insides hurt with every step I took away from the SUV and I felt another round of tears threaten to fall.

Goddamn fucking hope.

I was half expecting to find Phoenix waiting for me the next morning as I left work. I tried to tell myself I was glad when I didn’t see him outside the employee entrance, but the fact that I actually went out of my way to walk around to the front of the store just to make sure the big man wasn’t waiting there either contradicted my relief.

It was still dark outside considering it was just a few minutes past five. The fog was heavy, but it wasn’t raining. Most days, I would have just walked home, but with my latest run-in with T on my mind, I decided to play it safe and catch the bus. The man was likely passed out somewhere with one of his women, but I wasn’t going to risk it, especially not after the request he’d made the night before.

I’d been working at Carlisle’s Food Market for almost a year now, but for some reason, T had waited until last night to use my position there to benefit him. He hadn’t ever confronted me at the grocery store before, so I supposed it was possible he hadn’t realized until recently that I worked there, but I couldn’t be sure. It didn’t really matter because now that my employment with the small chain of stores was on his mind, he wasn’t going to let it go.

I’d met Betty Carlisle about two months after I’d gotten out of prison. I’d been job hunting for nearly as long when I’d walked into the store to fill out an application after being turned down by the two dozen other places I’d tried. I’d been half-tempted not to check the yes box for the question that had prevented me from even getting a call from all the previous jobs…the one asking if I’d ever been convicted of a crime. But as desperate as I’d been, I’d been more frightened about getting caught in a lie, though I wasn’t sure why, since it wasn’t like a lie could send me back to prison.

So, I’d stood at the end of the checkout counter on a quiet Sunday afternoon and painstakingly filled out the application, even if there’d been little to fill out since I’d had practically no work experience except for a few months of working as a janitor when I’d been seventeen years old. Ironically, I’d lied on that application because they’d wanted a high school graduate. Luckily, they hadn’t checked to confirm that I’d finished school. And once I’d been arrested for drug possession, the lie hadn’t seemed particularly important in the grand scheme of things.

Once I’d completed the application, I’d handed it to the cashier - an older, graying woman in a pink smock - with absolutely no expectation of receiving a call. But as I’d started to leave, the woman had held a pair of thick glasses up to her eyes so she could read the application and had begun asking me questions.

Blunt ones.

You still doing drugs?

You ever bagged groceries before?

You good at following directions?

You willing to pee in a cup right now?

I’d answered no to the first two questions and yes to the last two. Two minutes later, I’d been following the woman to the employee bathroom where she’d handed me the cup from a small, at-home drug testing kit she’d snagged from the shelf near the pharmacy section of the store. As we’d waited the required ten minutes for the test to process, she’d launched into a speech about how she believed in giving people second chances since she’d been given her own when she was a teenager. There’d been no hesitation as she’d told me all about her struggles with alcohol when she’d been around my age and that it had nearly destroyed her life. Until a certain someone had forced her to sober up.