Chapter 1
The only reason all eyes were on TV was because the reporter on the evening local news was pretty. It wasn’t because they were listening to her report about the mass-slaughter on one side of the country or the deaths from an outbreak in a little town not far from them. It was all just because she was pretty.
Shiny blonde hair. Sparkling blue eyes. Skin so clear, it was basically calling for a man’s touch.
One man, Keaton, who sat in the corner didn’t pay attention. He was more focused on finishing his meal, demanding seconds from the server. His appetite was as expansive as a truck’s fuel capacity after all.
“Let me see your ID,” the server said. Keaton turned to the server talking to a young brunette in a hoodie leaning by the counter.
“I didn’t bring any. But I’m old enough to be here!” the girl in question said.
“Sorry kid, but we’ve heard all sorts of excuses. Not our first rodeo. You either show identification or you go somewhere else.”
“I’m ordering food, not beer.”
“No can do.”
The girl pulled her hoodie over her head and left the premises. The crowd started cheering as if they watched a quarterback make a grand touchdown. When Keaton looked up, the reporter was wiping the yolk from the side of her head as angry teenagers rallied behind her, throwing eggs and shouting obscenities.
“Kids these days get more and more aggressive.” The server served him seconds. “Mysticorps sure knows how to manufacture drugs instead of medicine.”
Keaton looked up at him with a curious gaze, saying nothing as he devoured his second serving.
“Eh, rumors are rumors. Forget I said anything.”
As soon as he finished his meal, he left a couple of bills to pay for it and he walked out the door. The cheers faded behind him when he closed the doors and strutted to his pickup truck loaded with wooden boxes of sugar. He drove down the road to deliver it to a small store. Keaton signed the papers and uncovered his cargo. Except that there was a hooded figure between the boxes. He examined it further and realized it was the same girl from earlier. He grabbed a branch and poked her.
Keaton pulled the covers over the hooded figure, seeing a curled form of a young woman. She hissed as the sun shone on her face.
“Get out, find somewhere else to settle on,” Keaton pushed her out of the truck to proceed with unloading the cargo.
“I’m not a hobo,” the girl said.
“I wasn’t asking.”
He laid the boxes down the entrance and went back to the truck. Carrying four boxes at a time, the girl followed him as he walked. “You’re Keaton, right? Lewis Keaton? The guy who can get everything done if paid the right price?”
“Kid, I deliver sugarcanes, refined brown and white sugar.” Keaton set the boxes next to the first batch. “If you’re asking for a ride home, I’m sorry, I’m not a cab driver.”
The manager of the store clapped his hands together, stealing both their attention. “On time as always, Freddie, thank you.” He pulled a folded cheque from his jacket pocket, handing it to Keaton. “Until our next transaction.”
“Freddie, really?” the girl repeated with a mocking tone.
“Your daughter is really cheeky. You should bring her again next time. She and Allison might get along.”
“She’s not–” Keaton shook his head.
“Have a good day. I’ll see you next month.” The manager signaled at his men to move the delivery to their stock room.
The two walked back to the truck, silence hung in the air until the girl opened her mouth. “You’re still going with Freddie?” Keaton didn’t reply to her and hopped in the truck. “Okay wait!” She blocked the truck’s path, spreading arms on both sides. “I have a proposition for you. I’m looking for a mercenary to escort me to Dr. Winslow and I’ll pay you for it.”
“If you have the money, then pay for the proper transport to take you there,” he said but the girl didn't move. Keaton honked at her. “I don’t have all day to deliver the rest of my cargo.”
The girl reached for her inner jacket pocket, showing him a thick white envelope. “I told you, I can pay you.”
Keaton quickly turned back if anyone was looking. Thankfully the workers at the store were busy. He got out of the truck, yanking her arm with the money. “Are you out of your mind? You don’t just wave around money like that,” he hissed, holding back from raising his voice.
“Will you escort me?”
Something didn’t feel right but Keaton couldn’t pinpoint what it was. Were they being watched? Was the girl being followed? He ordered her to get in the truck and she gladly did, putting on her seatbelt as if they were prepping for a road trip.
When he drove far from the store, his instincts stopped urging him to run, as if they had escaped the threat that lingered. “Listen kid, I don’t do escort jobs. I kill people. You’re trying to hire the wrong person.”
“But–”
He pulled over. The girl looked around her, they were back in the city. “Go home. Return that money to your parents and stop chasing mercenaries. We’re not good people. If it was someone else, you could be dead by now.”
The girl sighed, unbuckling her seatbelt. “If you change your mind…” she placed a token on the dashboard and hopped off the truck, her head low, hands in her pockets and not turning back.
Keaton drove to his next delivery location. He wasn’t feeling bad, he wasn’t feeling one bit of a hero either. He would kill a man or a woman in a heartbeat, but kids were not in his list of OK targets. He most certainly wouldn’t accept money from them. He parked the truck near the curb, the house was near the docks, seagulls perched on the roof and the sound of the ocean waves was very calming.
He hasn’t taken any jobs for the past couple of months. Keaton was surprised that he’d been living off on legal money that long. There was no need to wake up early or exhaust himself driving around the city if he took Olivia’s offer. One life, half a million dollars.
Someone knocked on the window, snapping him out of the thought of accepting that offer.
“Hey, good morning,” a blonde woman greeted.
Keaton rolled down the window, forcing a small friendly smile, something he was horrible at, but wanted to make the effort to feel human. To laugh or smile, to feel pain, to feel love.
“Good morning, Lily,” he greeted back.
“I told you that you didn’t have to drop by every two weeks, I think my dad can handle drinking coffee without sugar if he does run out before your next delivery.”
“I was in the area and I had a canceled order, so…” He shrugged.
“Alright, bring it in.”
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