The Sweetest Oblivion (Made, #1)

by Danielle Lori

ignored the question and looked around the dump. “Nice place you got here. You own it?” The clerk glanced at the gas can in my hand. “Yeah.” “Must be your livelihood, I imagine.” His expression turned stiff. “I don’t know what you want, but I’m not interested.” “Can’t afford new floors, nor to replace your sign out front. I’m sure all income is going straight home. Wife . . . kids, maybe.” I undid the cap, and then sloshed some gasoline on the dirty laminate. The clerk dropped his pen, taking a step back. “What the fuck are you doing?” “The girl that just came in here?” I gave my head a shake. “Wrong girl, David.” Gas splashed a shelf of postcards. “I’m calling the cops.” The clerk’s voice shook. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed he didn’t reach for the phone. I glanced at the man to see he was focused on my forearm—on the ace of spades tattooed on the inside. An amused breath escaped me. “I swear, this lack of anonymity ruins all my fucking fun. Should’ve never gotten the tat.” “I didn’t know,” the clerk blurted. “I didn’t fucking know who she was!” “I wanted your hand,” I said, walking down aisles, sloshing gasoline on shelves, cooler doors, the rack of porn mags. “But that’s a fucking mess, really. Don’t have the right knife on me to do a good job.” The clerk stood, frozen and sweating. “You got insurance, David?” He swallowed. “Of course.”