The Girl Who Would Be King(108)

I know.

I know that I am a little bit pretty which makes men smile and not worry about me so much, and although I am tall for a girl, I am still only six feet, which is smaller than he is, so he doesn’t worry about me. He just yells at me. Tells me to sit my ASS down. He emphasizes ASS like he really likes to say it. I shake my head. He yells at me some more. Sit my crazy bitch ASS down.

He drops the old woman and she falls to the floor in a pile of fragile bones – alive and kicking, full of life, out of the way. I’m close now. I don’t know what will happen if he shoots me. What happens to rocks when they get shot? I don’t actually know, but surely other people on this train might be hurt if he fires, even if it bounces off me like some kind of impenetrable trampoline. So when he turns to check his back, to see if he is being set up, I feel my right fist clench. It feels strong. Powerful. I know I’m strong. I don’t think anybody has ever told me, it’s just something I know. There’s power there. I can feel it running though my veins, through my arm, into my chest where the burning began. He turns back to me and sees my eyes. For one moment I think he knows what’s going to happen, but it’s too quick for him to feel bad about it. My fist comes straight at his face and his neck makes a sharp snapping sound as he falls back onto the train floor.

My name is Bonnie Braverman.



•

While the henchmen build a loft apartment for Liz and I in the existing warehouse space, I take her shopping. She’s been stuck in her abduction clothes for weeks now and I hope that this will both curb her overall grouchiness and solidify the bond we’ve been forming. Of course, for the trip out she has to be dressed in an oversized Lakers t-shirt and shorts that don’t fit either. I also make her wear a baseball cap I lifted off of one of the henchmen and an old pair of my chucks, so she’s none to pleased about that. According to Liz, rayon has not touched her skin in twenty years. Yawn. She can be such a freaking snob.

I’m taking her to the Glendale Galleria because it’s big and crazy and despite being less than fifteen miles from Beverly Hills, it couldn’t feel farther from it if it tried, and I know Liz will feel this too. If I’m honest, this is my final test for her. We’re on the verge of making a big play for L.A. and I need to know she’s fully with me. If today goes well, nothing can stop us.

It doesn’t start well.

“I don’t want to fly there,” she says crossing her arms, looking ridiculous, but nicely incognito in the ill-fitting clothes.

“C’mon Liz,” I roll my eyes. “It’s by far the fastest way to travel.”

“I don’t like it and you know it,” she says, her foot tapping, her arms still crossed. “If this is supposed to be my ‘big day out’ then I don’t see why I have to fly,” she says. I roll my eyes again, even harder.

“FINE!” I go back inside the warehouse. The two henchmen that look exactly the same are the first ones I see. “Hey! Heckle, Jeckle, get over here,” I shout, gesturing for them to come to me. They look at each other and then behind them, hoping that I’m not pointing at them and then put their heads down and shuffle over. “Bring the town car around to the back gate, you’re going to be taking her highness and me to the Glendale Galleria,” I say. They scuttle off and I shout after them as an afterthought. “No guns! I don’t need us getting pulled over today!” They literally drop their weapons on a table and run from the room. I return to Liz who’s standing by the warehouse door.

“Happy now?” I bow to her.

“Hmmph. It’s a start,” she says.

“You know, Liz,” I say. “You are just unpleasable.”

“That’s not a word,” she says, lifting up her chin so she can look at me from under the baseball cap.

“Whatever,” I say dismissing her with a wave of my hand. The henchmen come around the corner in the black town car and Heckle jumps out to open the door for us. Apparently, Jeckle is the superior driver.

“Thank you, Davis,” Liz says as she steps into the car, somehow still dainty and graceful even in a gaudy oversized Lakers t-shirt and chucks. I get in behind her.

“Who the hell is Davis?” I ask as we settle back against the leather. Liz points at Heckle in the front seat.

“He is.”

“That’s Heckle,” I say.

“I don’t know why you won’t just learn their real names,” she sighs. “It’s not very respectful.

“Are you kidding me? There’s hundreds of them, I can’t remember all those names.”