She’s super nice, but I always get the feeling she’s not a woman that you want to tick off.
I cross the room cautiously, and she smiles.
“Just come here. I’m not gonna bite you.”
I mentally kick myself. I hate showing weakness, and especially in front of her.
“Ma’am, I’m sorry for being late and leaving you in a lurch. You have to write me up now, don’t you?”
I’m groveling, I know, but I need this job.
“Do you expect me not to?”
My muscles tense. “No, ma’am.”
Her brow wrinkles at my response, the same way it does every time I call her that.
Standing in front of her, it strikes me how tall she is. She’s a head taller than my five-foot frame, but right now, she seems a lot taller. Maybe she’s wearing heels.
Dee’s dark gaze goes to my hands. I’m wringing them. I clasp my hands behind my back.
“Did you get your ID yet?” she asks.
I shake my head, keeping my face neutral and forcing myself not to press her about writing me up.
“I’ll need your Social Security number for my records. I’ll take you to get it tomorrow.”
Oh, no. How am I supposed to get out of this one? Having to go into a government building where they’ll ask questions I can’t answer is bad enough. But there’s no way I can get out of her finding out I’m using a fake name or who I am if she’s with me.
Since there’s no excuse I can give that would make sense, I decide to figure it out later. I’m about to thank her, but a noise from outside the office window catches my attention and I glance down at the street.
There’s a van parked across the street from the next store over. The light from a street lamp turns the big vehicle’s paint bone white.
My heart leaps into my throat.
My father’s van.
Except it can’t be.
Vegas is over half a day away from the Colony. With its nightclubs, casinos and red light districts, downtown in Sin City is the last place anyone who knows me would think I’d live. This busy, crowded city is as far a cry from the rural, quiet country living I’m used to as it’s possible to get.
There’s no way my dad or anyone from the Colony would find me here. Not to mention, there are a million white vans like that. Still, I can’t help imagining Dad—or worse, Pastor Seth—marching in here and dragging me off. Back to the life I risked everything to get out of.
The thought of Seth’s hands on me makes me shudder. If he’s out there with my father…
My breathing quickens.
“Stephanie? Are you with us?”
Dee’s voice filters through my brain, but I can’t take my eyes off that van.
From here, with the glare of the street light on the windows, I can’t tell if there’s anyone sitting in it, much less if it’s someone from His Holy Peace. From this distance, I can’t see the license plate.
A woman hurries across the street and gets into the van. She’s dressed in a miniskirt and flip-flops. I almost laugh with relief.
Women aren’t allowed out of the Colony, and even if they were, none of them would be wearing anything like that unless they wanted to end up in isolation for a month.
Or worse.
“Steph,” Dee says loudly.
I shake myself and focus on her, fidgeting. “Sorry. The ID. Thank you, ma’am.”
Her gaze fixates on my hands, she glances outside where I was just looking, and then knits her brows at me. “You okay? You look like you just saw a ghost.”
I lick my lips. “I’m fine. I was just distracted.”
Distracted? That’s an understatement.
She watches me for a minute, and the calculation in her eyes makes me squirm. She’s trying to figure me out. Piecing my odd behavior together with everything else about me that doesn’t add up.
The fact that I don’t have the kind of ID that most people on the outside can’t function without. The fact that I didn’t know the difference between a screwdriver and Bloody Mary before she hired me. The fact that I keep jumping at shadows. And that I was homeless when she found me.
None of those things would likely raise red flags on their own, but every time I mess up like this, I can’t help feeling as if she can see all my secrets written across my forehead.
I don’t belong here.
I’m not one of you.
I’m on the run.
“Well, as long as you’re okay. All right, scoot. Get changed and give Monica a hand before she sends out a search party. I gotta go. Don’t want to show up late for Diesel’s birthday party.”
The concern for me makes me smile as much as the name. That’s another cool thing about her. She knows guys with interesting names like Diesel and Arson and Scar. It’s neat.
“Ma’am?”
Dee takes her denim jacket, which has more patches on it than denim, off the back of her chair and swings it on. “Yeah, kid?”
“Are you going to write me up?”
“Nah. I need the bodies and you’re a good worker. But don’t be late again, all right?” She flicks her pink-streaked hair out from under the jacket’s collar and joins me at the door.
Affection for her wells up and my throat tightens. She’s given me way too much. I’d hug her, but something tells me Dee is not a huggy person. “Thank you, ma’am.”
She snorts. “Stop doing that. You’ll make me feel old. Call me Dee, or I will fire your ass.”
I grin, all the fears and doubts of the evening slipping away. “Okay…Dee.”
“Much better.” She pats her pockets. “Where the hell are my fucking keys? Oh, not again.”
I’m struck by the sudden memory of something that happened a few days ago. Dee had left her keys in her car and had smashed the driver’s side window in with a baseball bat. No, this is really not a woman whose bad side you want to get on.
“Ah. Here they are.” She pulls her keys out and shakes her head. “I swear, if my head wasn’t attached to my shoulders, I’d forget it. All right, I better get going. If I’m late, Snake’ll have my ass.”
Snake is her husband. I can’t imagine what a guy with a name like that would look like. I’m picturing a man with a lizard face, and the image almost makes me laugh.
Dee leaves, and a few minutes later, dressed in my uniform, I make my way out to the front room.
I hate this uniform. The black skirt is so short it barely covers my backside. The crimson shirt with its plunging neckline is so thin you can see my nipples through it. The black heels, which Monica calls pumps, make me feel like I’m walking on stilts.
Oh, and then there’s the choker collar around my neck. It’s a strip of leather with silver studs and a loop hanging off the front. I feel like I’m wearing a dog collar.
Considering that the height of women’s fashion in the Colony was bare feet, bonnets and drab, shapeless dresses, I’m not exactly used to wearing clothes like this. If my parents saw me now, they’d disown me. If the elders saw me, I’d get five lashes across my back.
I shiver.
“Dee read you the riot act?” Monica asks when I reach the counter. She rushes around like a dervish, mixing customer’s drinks.
“No, I still have a job. Thank heavens.” Waiting for my first orders of the night, I try to pull my skirt down. Especially when a man sitting on a stool next to me eyes me up and down with a smirk.