Page 3 of Ruthless Raiders

Derek glances up, unbothered. He’s only three years older than me, give or take, and lives five trailers down from mine in Mason Park. He’s got the build of a guy who could have played linebacker or maybe enlisted—buzzcut, square jaw, and that too-tight shirt that hints at military discipline. But he’s never seen combat unless you count the two years he spent in juvie for a fight that turned bad.

People see the tattoos, the scowl, the low growl of his voice and assume he’s a walking warning sign. But Derek? He’s the biggest softie I know. Gruff, yeah—but solid. Loyal. And in a town that’s built to swallow people like us whole, he’s the only person other than Willow who really gets me.

“Jaz, I am not cleaning up your mess again!” He grumps, tapping the edges of the receipt against the counter.

I shrug, swiping a paper bag off of the counter. “Chill, I told her we’re closed. That’s not a mess—it’s closure.”

Right then, the sharpbang-bang-bangof the drive-thru window echoes through the restaurant, followed by a furious shriek: “I will not be ignored!”

I shoot Derek a look and smirk. “Okay, maybe she’s not quite ready for closure.”

He groans, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Jasmine...”

“What?” I grin, grabbing a fry from the warmer. “You know she’ll leave eventually. Or combust. Either way, not our problem. We areclosed.”

“You are the bane of my existence,” he huffs, dragging his large frame over to the window lazily as if his size would scare the woman off before he would have to deal with her.

“You love me!” I sing, grabbing a paper bag and stuffing it with two cheeseburgers and a shit ton of fries.

“No stealing!” he barks without turning around.

“This isn’t stealing. All this goes in the trash anyway. I’m just helping the environment. Think of me as the human garbage disposal.” I shrug, hopping over the counter and heading for the front doors.

“Also, you got clean-up, right?”

“Jasmine—”

“Thanks, bye!” I sing over my shoulder, slipping out the front door.

The thick, humid air slams into my chest the second I step outside. I almost shrink into the doorframe, debating whether it’s even worth walking through air that feels like soup.

I dig into my pocket, pulling out my cracked phone and the now slightly-squashed bag of stolen food. I balance both awkwardly as I make my way through the parking lot, the streetlamps buzzing overhead like drunk flies. I tap Willow’s name before I can talk myself out of it—like muscle memory.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

Then that too-familiar ring and the sound that always hits too hard: Willow’s voice, bright and sing-song:

“Hey, you’ve reached Willow! Can’t chat now, but will chat later! Leave a message.”

I freeze for a second, thumb hovering over the screen. I shouldn’t. But my mouth opens anyway.

“Hey, Will,” I say, my voice too small at first. I clear my throat, walking slower now. “So today sucked. Shocker, right?”

I step off the curb and start hopping over the railroad tracks, the pavement radiating heat even at night.

“I had some lady try to fight me over pancakes at ten o’clock at night. Screamed like I insulted her entire bloodline. Like lady, make the pancakes at home. Ours suck anyway!” I laugh, but it’s thin. Hollow. My chest tightens as I make it to the sidewalk, the buzzing of insects filling in the silence.

“I keep thinking you’ll answer one of these days,” I say softly. “You’ll pick up and ask if I made it home safe. You’ll call me an idiot for walking alone again. You’ll roll your eyes, and I’ll pretend not to care that you worry about me.”

The voicemail timer is ticking. I know it’s almost up. I can feel the words pressing behind my teeth.

“I don’t care if you’re mad, or if you left for some reason I’m too stupid to get... I just?—.”

Click.