Page 25 of Existential
TWELVE
Dagne
He wants to give me five thousand dollars to walk up to some random house and pass over a slip of paper. Huh. His money, not mine.
I steal a glance over at this curiosity of a man as he empties the barrow out onto a heap of kindling and leaf litter beside an enormous firewood stack. He stripped his vest and T-shirt about halfway through, leaving me with an unhindered view of his fine-as-hell inked arms and shoulders while he worked the rake. The guy is huge—but not that swelled out bodybuilder style—the way you can tell it’s natural, genetics, that he’s always been stocky and broad and always will be.
“When should I leave?”
Hooch’s head lifts from where he’d been bent over sweeping out the barrow. “As soon as you can.” His stone-cold expression gives nothing away.
I pretend the sense of rejection doesn’t sting and give my filthy clothes a glance while I drag in a deep breath. Not as though going around half dirty is anything new for me, but still, I’d hoped to leave with a bag full of clean clothes. The less money I have to waste on a laundromat, the better.
Hooch dusts his hands on the leg of his jeans and ducks his head a little as he approaches. “Everything okay?”
“It’s nothing.”
“Bullshit.” He places a hand on my upper arm, and my gaze drifts to the contact. “I might be a grumpy asshole most of the time, but don’t let that make you think I don’t give a shit.”
Well, this is new.
“I guess it’s that you barely know a thing about me, and—”
“I know enough to judge that you’re honest and upfront, which is what I need. Am I wrong? Should I not trust you?”
“I wasn’t going to say that, but … ugh … this is just …” I shrug his hand off, shaking my head as I look to the sky. “Doing this for you goes against everything my common sense is trying to tell me.”
He nods slowly, seemingly chewing my words over as his jaw flexes. “Forget it then.”
“No—”
“Don’t argue it, Dagne. If it makes you feel uncomfortable, I don’t want you takin’ the job on.” His muscles flex displaying a mouthwatering six-pack as he raises both arms to pull his T-shirt over his head. “I’ll find someone else.”
“Shit,” I mutter under my breath, turning away.
I need this. I need somebody to give me a break and pay my way for a while. He hasn’t even said how he’ll pay me, but my bets are cash—easy, uncomplicated cash. In which case, I can stash a little, skimp on food costs, and have plenty of bills in my back pocket when all is said and done.
“I’ll do it. I need to do it.”
“Smart girl.” His proximity startles me. “Now come indoors and we’ll get one of the old ladies to sort you out with some stuff for the road.”
“You realize I don’t have a car?”
“You realize we have a few spare?” he counters, one eyebrow raised.
Damn it. If he’s supplying the ride, then that means it’ll be a round trip. “I can bus it.”
“Buses don’t go where you’re headed. Besides, I’d be more comfortable knowin’ you’ve got independence.”
Of course—the vehicle’s probably tracked or some shit. What are you getting yourself in for, Dagne?
“Can I ask what the message is? I mean, why it is I’m delivering it by hand?”
“Nope.” His face is impassive as we head toward the massive house.
“Fair enough.” I rake my gaze over the grandeur that this estate would have once been, imagining the kinds of people who would have been guests of the elite who lived here, the types of people who would have hosted them. “This place is something, huh.”
“You like it?”