Chapter 12 Date Night With Belle

69 5 9

Dahl—Saturday, 6:04 PM

Belle eyes me with an amused grin. Mud's covering me from steel-toes to my crop top and I'm soaked. She must still be on the clock because she's decked out in skirty black hotness like she's going to blow up a funeral. It's not the thirst-trap fashion I was expecting and the suit hanging in the passenger side window is a bad omen for my evening off.

"Why you lookin' like a smoke show, Belle?"

"It's tear gas, Dahl. Da fuck happened to you?" She's clicking pics on her phone, aiming at the heavy equipment.

"Bad trip."

"How many tide pods did you idiots eat?" She snaps a pic centered on the logo pressed onto the truck.

"Two or three puffs, messed me up."

She's walks like a parkour runner on a wire, weight on her toes and not her stiletto heels. Her eyes scan to avoid the muddier spots with arms spread out.

I spread my arms too, imagining I look like a swamp monster, "If you want a hug, Ms. Devereaux, you just have to ask..."

"You looking to satisfy some secretary fantasy in the back of the truck, baby g? I must pass on your offer of five minutes of ennui." She's scampers like a fleeing duck. "Stand next to the logo, vite! We have a meeting."

"You're not going to take a pic of me like this are you?"

"Oui, it's gonna say, 'We get carried away sometimes' and the yuppies are gonna say —haaa, haaa, haaa."

"Fine. Get my good side."

"I'm not magic."

'Yes, you are.' The thought's like malware. I instant-replay the moment, hoping I didn't say it out loud.

She adjusts my position near the logo with a swipe of her fingers and clicks the pic. The phone lowers from her face.

Her eyes are on me—icy, "You, really are high aren't you?"

"Why? What am I doing wrong?" I have no idea.

"Let's get some food in you. I'll drive the first half."

"Don't drive crazy."

"No worries, bébé. You're driving after though, I'm exhausted."

"Yeah, no worries, Angelle."

Opening the passenger side door swings out the plastic-wrapped suit. A massive water bottle next to shiny shoes on the floor mat solves my next problem. Belle hops in on her side and swings her legs onto passenger seat. I try not to perv in on her cleavage as she leans over the console to pluck a coin.

"C'mon! Strip!" She nails me with a loonie as hard as she can, maybe she hasn't been skipping arm day after all.

I turn to give her my backside, because this weather is cold. I'm not trying to flex—but I'm not letting her see me shrunken. I rush but try to act like I'm not. I've got the suit on, going commando.

Belle maximizes an image on her phone, "You didn't face me Dahl so I had to snap some pics in the rear mirror to see what you're packing."

"So? Hot or not?"

She makes a pinching gesture with her finger and thumb.

"That's because you scared it, Belle."

"I'll save these for later."

It's bait. I know it.


"Yes. That's way if Nightmare's little scheme fails I can use them to pimp you out and make bank."

Gangster ApostleWhere stories live. Discover now