Wild Lion Black Ops Mates 1 1st Edition Ruby Knoxx Online PDF
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WILD LION
Ruby Knoxx
I couldn’t believe it. This was supposed to be the job that got
me back on top. Everyone said that a factory job was where it was
at, that was what you wanted to get. With no high school diploma,
and certainly no college degree, it was my best bet to some form of
descent life.
I had been so thrilled when I got the job working in food
manufacturing, especially since the starting wage was twenty bucks
an hour. The things I would be able to do with that kind of income! I
could buy a car that worked better, get a better apartment, and even
help out my parents.
All of which I did.
In fact, I had saved for six months and then blown through all
of it. I upgraded my car to one that had air conditioning (that was
my one condition, otherwise I didn’t care so long as it had four years
and turned on), got a one-bedroom apartment instead of the studio
I had been living in, and then the remainder of my savings went to
my parents. It wasn’t a great apartment—in fact, by most standards
it was down-right dingy. But it at least had its own bedroom, which
for some reason mattered to me. It was a small upgrade that made
me feel like I was moving up in the world.
While I didn’t regret the apartment, I definitely regretted
handing over the rest of my well-saved money to my parents, who
had their own problems. Mostly involving drugs. Who was I kidding?
Their problems completely involved drugs.
I had known better, too. I had absolutely known better than
to give them money. As soon as I got a job, I had known that there
would come a time, sooner rather than later, that they would be
calling me and asking for money. So I had prepared myself. I
practiced what I would say to them, how I would say it, and told
myself repeatedly that I would stand my ground.
When the time came, I just couldn’t help it. Mom and Dad
had their sob story perfected. And as their only responsible kid, I
needed to help them out, didn’t I? I hated myself for even thinking
it. That was one of the arguments they used, that my brother hadn’t
been able to get his life sorted out between dipping in and out of jail
for stupid things and paying child support to two different women
for three different kids. As the responsible daughter, I should be
willing and able to help them out. After all, they were just trying to
better themselves so they could be better to me, they told me.
Like a idiot, I fell for it. Since then, I had beaten myself up
over it.
At least I would be able to save up more money with this job.
At least I was making enough to regularly put money aside.
That was what I thought right up until two months later,
when I was one of the fifty who got an email terminating their
contract with the factory.
I closed my locker after emptying its contents into a paper
bag the company had handed out to exiting staff. I knew the layoffs
were coming, and I had heard that the people who were newest
were likely going to be the first to go. But I thought that after eight
months of working there, I’d be safer. I had seen countless temp
workers come and go. Some of them were hired, even. And that was
just in my department.
I had even upped my game at work, trying to figure out how
to go above and beyond so that I would get overlooked. Apparently
my game just wasn’t good enough.
I marched out into the late afternoon sun and went to my car.
The company was good in that it provided cover from the sun in the
parking lot, so my little Taurus wouldn’t be too sweltering when I got
in. I threw my bag of stuff in the trunk and got in.
I had been so cocky, too. I had been so sure that I wasn’t
going to get laid off that I hadn’t even bothered saving up anything
else. I had been too focused on slowly getting stuff to make my
apartment feel more like my home and getting a new wardrobe that
I had desperately needed.
I would have had two paychecks this month before rent was
due, which would have easily covered rent. Except now I had
worked only half of a paycheck’s worth of days, and the second one
wasn’t going to come at all. What was I going to do?
I pulled onto the northbound I5, into the stop-and-go traffic,
slapping both of my hands on the steering wheel in frustration. The
worst part about this job was the traffic as everyone tried to get out
of the city during rush hour. I usually went the long way, avoiding all
of this, but my head had been so preoccupied with what I was going
to do, that I hadn’t even thought about it. Still, it could have been
worse. It could have been two days later, on a Friday, when
everyone was getting out of the city for the weekend on top of just
trying to go home.
I waved to the silver car behind me who let me merge onto
the freeway before I squeezed into the next lane over. I cranked the
AC on before fumbling with CDs to get some music on. I was going
to need something that I could yell to. Bif Naked, maybe? Heart?
Adele? I settled instead on Lana Del Rey and leaned my head back
on the headrest as my feet worked the peddles.
I hated traffic so much.
I wondered what the chances were that my parents actually
had used the money I gave them on rehab. I hadn’t heard from
them since I handed it over. A long history of them being full of crap
gave me enough reason to question them. The amount of times
they’d promised they would get help and never even so much as got
the name of a place was astounding. But after my dad’s arrest which
had landed him a couple of days in jail for public intoxication, they
swore they were turning a new leaf.
And like a mug, I believed them.
Now that I’d been laid off, the strong possibility that they had
lied to me was looking like a possible lifesaver. They might still have
some of the money I gave them, and I might be able to get it back
off them.
Fat chance, I thought to myself. That was two months ago.
That money is long gone.
I sighed and turned the volume up as “Million Dollar Man”
started to play. I loved that song. I let my own singing voice
accompany Lana’s soulful tune, letting myself get entangled in the
lyrics as my car moved forward.
And stopped with a hard jolt.
My mouth dropped open as I realized what I’d done.
“Damnit,” I said, watching the doors of the car I’d just rear-
ended open up. Just what I needed: jack my insurance up.
I didn’t know what was worse, the fact that I just rammed my
piece of crap Taurus with AC into the back of a very expensive
looking black Mercedes, or that the men getting out of it were the
most beautiful men I had ever seen. And I had to show them what
an embarrassment I was.
The driver took off his sunglasses, and I literally lost my
ability to breathe. He wore a white button-up shirt and black slacks,
like the rest of the guys he was with, but his face was clean-shaven,
showing a square jawline, and a dimple at the end of his chin. His
blond hair was slicked back, and his eyes would have matched the
ocean if he were stood next to it.
What I would have done to see him on the sands of Venice
beach with his shirt off. He was certainly a Million Dollar Man, Lana
had that right.
I killed the engine and grabbed my wallet with my insurance
info in it out of my purse.
The men were already looking at where our bumpers had
met.
I opened my mouth to tell them how sorry I was but closed it.
I couldn’t. Wasn’t that what Dad always told me? If I was in a
wreck, never admit fault?
“Are you alright?” the driver asked me.
I blinked, surprised. While his buddies examined the damage,
his focus was entirely on me.
“I’m fine,” I said. “Are you? Are you okay?”
He chuckled. “We’re fine. This traffic doesn’t make for good
driving conditions, does it?”
I swallowed, resisting shaking my head. I wondered if he was
trying to trap me into saying something he could use against me.
I knew there was a way I should be handling this. Should I be
trying to put blame on them? Was that how this was supposed to
go? I had no idea. I’d never so much as scraped against a curb
before, never mind hit another car.
Despite the heat, I felt chills running through me as the driver
continued to look at me, a sparkling smile on his perfect face. Was
this funny to him? To watch me squirm as I tried to figure out what
to do? Could this day get any worse?
“The bumper’s definitely dented,” one of the other guys said.
“We were parked,” said the other.
“It’s alright, guys,” the driver said. “I’ll handle this.”
I opened my wallet, running my thumb along all the cards in
it before I got to my insurance card. I slipped it out of its slot and
offered it to the driver. “Here,” I said. “This is my information if you
want to make a claim on this. I’m really sorry.”
Damnit! I said it. It was so instinctual. How do people get into
that kind of situation and not apologize?
“It’s alright,” the driver said. “You don’t need to give me that.”
“I don’t have any cash,” I said. “I don’t have any other way to
pay for the damage.”
“You don’t need to worry about it,” he said. “I can take care
of it.”
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