“I’m not a fucking cop.”
“Then what you want?” Why was he doing this? Why wasn’t he taking me into his room and fucking me so I could take his money and go?
He didn’t answer. He just stared at me so hard I wished I could melt into the floor and disappear.
I couldn’t take this. If he wasn’t going to buy what I was selling, I needed to move on. Find someone else. I needed to make some quick money so I could buy myself some time before they deported me, and I didn’t know how long I would have. The administrators at school had told me I had fifteen days, but that wasn’t long, and three of those days had already passed. I needed money, and I needed it now, and I clearly wasn’t getting it from this Razor.
I tried to duck under his arm, but he reached down and took me by the elbow, stopping my progress.
“What you want?” I repeated, aggravated and embarrassed, and wanting nothing more than to get the hell out of there.
“I want you to come into my room and tell me why you’re doing this.”
I rolled my eyes. “No time for this. I need—”
“I’ll pay you for your time,” he interrupted. “Come on.” He dug out the key card for his room and swiped it over the lock to his door. It beeped, and he turned the handle, gently nudging me until I preceded him inside despite my better judgment.
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[Tulsa Thunderbirds 01.0] Bury the Hatchet Page 27