The Very Bad Fairgoods - Their Ruthless Bad Boys

by Theodora Taylor

  Mason’s shirt is back on, but his muscles still visibly ripple as he makes his way around the barn. He presses a large white tile into place, the veins in his forearms popping so hard, they’re easily visible from her vantage point in the kitchen. It’s been unseasonably cool out. Most days, the temperature doesn’t go higher than fifty degrees. But the weather hasn’t had any effect on Mason’s productivity. He seems to be in a perpetual state of hot and sweaty, constantly swiping his meaty forearms across his forehead. Sometimes June feels like she’s watching one of those ads featuring a sexy but thirsty construction worker, the kind designed to sell a brand of refreshing beverage.

  Enough, June. Make dinner! She needs to focus on prepping the lasagna for Jordan. With her newfound resolve, and a stubborn refusal to think about the man hard at work in the barn, she opens the fridge—only to swear out loud. She’s out of ricotta.

  Okay, spaghetti it is, she thinks, going over to the pantry to dig out the necessary ingredients. But before she can reach the box of dried pasta, her phone vibrates in her back pocket. She tugs it out and curses again when she sees who it is.

  “Hi, Mr. Patel,” she says, because Jordan has told her more than once that normal people “don’t get” silent hellos.

  “Hello, June. I’m outside the store, about to head home. And I notice your bike is still here.”

  “Yes, I know. Remember, it’s broken,” she responds, taking a few minutes to briefly explain the situation again. Even though her supervisor should be well aware of what happened, because he made her fill out all that paperwork so she could borrow the store bike.

  Mr. Patel clears his throat. “Yes, yes…of course. But perhaps you do not know about our employee parking lot policy? All employees are expected to remove their vehicles—bikes included—from the store parking lot by the end of the day. Any vehicles left overnight without good reason will either be towed at the owner’s expense, or otherwise impounded. I’m calling to ask you to please pick up your bike before closing hours. I would hate for you to lose your main form of transportation.”

  “Wait, what? But…you know who the bike belongs to. Can’t you just leave it or store it in the breakroom and I’ll get it tomorrow?”

  “I’m afraid not, June. If we make an exception for you, then we risk every employee thinking it’s acceptable to store their vehicles here overnight. And we simply can’t bend the “no overnight parking” rule because doing so would turn our parking lot into a potential security risk for the store and increase the company’s liability.”

  Mr. Patel says this as if the prospect of leaving her bike in the store until tomorrow morning is on par with someone waltzing in and releasing a jar of live cockroaches in the grocery section.

  “Please, Mr. Patel,” she tries again. “I don’t even know how I’m going to fix the bike, let alone move it. There’s a problem with the chain. And I’m in the middle of getting dinner ready for…for my son. I just need a little more time. Please.”

  “I am sorry, June. I really am,” Mr. Patel says in the overly empathetic tone people adopt right before they say something that proves they don’t really give a shit about you or your situation at all. “But rules are rules. And with Holt Calson popping in for surprise visits at a number of our stores, I simply can’t be too careful.”

  “But—”

  “Move it or we will have to move it for you. See you soon, June.”

  The line goes dead before she can protest again.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She turns to see Mason standing on the other side of the screen door. Sweaty and impossibly big and…cue those damn flapping ravens, which she really doesn’t need right now.

  But Mason clearly does not get the memo. He pushes the door open, and walks into the kitchen, sending her ravens even further into overdrive.

  “Saw you there at the window from the barn. You looked upset. Is everything okay?”

  June knows she needs to figure out what to do about her bike. Instead, she’s kicking herself for making Mason put his shirt back on. Because now the fabric is sticking to his sweaty torso like a second skin…defining every single muscle. Every. Single. One.

  “Earth to June. You still haven’t answered my question.”

  She raises her eyes from his chest. And she’s pretty sure she must have a dazed expression on her face. Because now he looks worried, and his voice has taken on a more urgent tone when he asks for the third time, “June, what’s going on?”

  “It’s my boss,” she blurts out, resolutely ignoring the flapping wings. They seem to be getting more and more frantic every day. “He says I have to pick up my bike before the store closes tonight, even though he knows why I can’t. He says,” June drops her gaze to the floor to hide her growing frustration, “if I don’t get it tonight, it’ll be gone by tomorrow. Apparently, it’s a company policy.”

  She’s about to go into detail about the policy, when she sees the way he’s looking at her, with anger blazing in his eyes.

  “Wait a sec. You mean to tell me you’re really not going to ask me for help?” he asks. “Again?”

  June blinks. Because the truth is, it hadn’t even occurred to her to ask.

  And she thinks he must understand, because instead of staying angry with her, he simply shakes his head and says in a resigned tone, “Okay. Well, let me take a quick shower, and then I’ll meet you at the truck.”

  Mason leaves the kitchen and heads to the back bathroom. He fixed her shower weeks ago—yet another thing he’d done without her having to ask.

  This is…nice, she realizes. Nice to have someone around to help out. Especially someone who doesn’t seem to expect anything in return. But it’s becoming harder and harder for June not to get used to this. To not like it. Or like him.

  Her warm fuzzy feelings stick around all the way down US-62E, back to Cal-Mart. Only to increase dramatically when Mason takes one look at her bike in the parking lot and says, “Oh, it’s just the chain. I can fix that. Got the tools back at the house.”

  He can fix it! the ravens twitter adoringly in her ear. He can probably fix anything. ANYTHING!

  As she slowly wheels the loaner bike back into the store, June reminds the ravens who Mason is, reminds them about his missing vest…and what it represents. Then she resolutely turns her attention to the task at hand. She makes a quick detour through the grocery department to grab a tub of ricotta—might as well try for that lasagna after all. Then she heads over to the night manager to return the loaner bike. June is relieved she doesn’t have to deal with Mr. Patel. The night manager is much more laid back and happily married. He takes the bike with a smile, and tells her to just take the ricotta. No need to pay. “It’s on the house!” he says to her with a wink.

  People can be kind. This thought suddenly occurs to June for the first time in years. Which explains why she’s just about in the best mood she’s been in for a long time as she walks back through the grocery section towards the main exit.

  Which makes it doubly ironic when an unpleasantly familiar kissy sound erupts behind her.

  June really doesn’t know what she hates more: the way he uses the sound to summon her like a dog, or her Pavlovian response when she hears it: she literally stops in her tracks and turns towards him like a puppet on a string.

  And there he is…just a few feet away. Honestly, whenever June used to worry about the possibility of him finding her, she never in a million years imagined it would be in the frozen foods aisle of a Cal-Mart. It would almost be funny if…well, if it just wasn’t. Like at all.

  Razo is dressed in his usual classy attire: a black wife-beater, baggy cargo pants, and a loose flannel shirt that all but shouts, “I’m carrying!” He’s flanked by not one, but two Hijos, just in case his routine shopping trip turns ugly and requires backup. June might have rolled her eyes at his ridiculousness if he didn’t completely terrify her.

  The three men come to a stop in front of her, and coincidentally, the grocery department
rapidly empties of all customers. Some primal flight or fight instinct, encouraging them to do the former.

  June glances around and sees no other store employees nearby. Having worked the late shift a few times, she knows the floor staff coverage is reduced by two-thirds in the evening, which means a good fifteen to twenty minutes might pass before someone wanders over and thinks to call security.

  Not that it matters. Even another minute is too long to spend with Razo.

  She moves to get past him, but he darts in front of her, blocking her way.

  “Hey, mija! I been missing you,” he says with a friendly smile. God, how she hates that smile. She’d fallen for it at first. Actually thought he was friendly, generous, even if the offer to share his bed came less than twenty-fours after he’d invited her and Jordan in from the streets. “That’s no way to treat your man. Come in for this hug.”

  To her utter horror, he reaches out and pulls her close. His pungent scent of stale marijuana smoke and sweat makes her want to gag. “Looking good, mija,” he murmurs in her ear. “You gettin’ an ass again. I like that. It was sagging toward the end there.”

  Because you were starving me, she thinks back at him. But June’s not interested in arguing. She only wants to get as far away from him as possible. She quickly pulls out of the hug, and attempts to leave again.

  But he holds her there, hands cupped tightly around her shoulders.

  “Still not talkin’, huh?” he asks, with that same friendly smile. The phony mask he wears outside the Cul.

  But then his friendly smile is replaced with a look of surprise. Like he’s just now noticing the Cal-Mart uniform she still hasn’t changed out of.

  “I heard he got you working here. I had to come see it for myself, mija. I can’t believe it. I mean, I knew he was into that slave shit. But I didn’t know he put you out in the fucking field for reals. Day-um!!!”

  Right on cue, the men with him snicker like he’s the funniest small-time gang leader on the planet.

  “But I guess that figures,” says Razo, schooling his face back into a sympathetic look. “He probably need all the money he can get now he ain’t affiliated no more—what, you didn’t hear about that?” he asks, when he sees real confusion on her face.

  Then he nearly falls down laughing. He addresses the men by his side. “Oh shit! He got her turnt out—workin’ at Cal-Mart, and she got no idea!”

  There’s another fake pitying look. Classic Razo. So sincere, so cutting. The cholo version of a mean girl.

  June detests him in that moment. Hates the way he makes her feel. Like she’s some piece of shit beneath his Timberlands.

  “Okay, okay, no more jokes. Here’s the deal,” he says, like he’s doing her a solid by breaking it to her. “Word on the street is that SFK fuck turned traitor on his whole crew. I heard he snitched them out like a straight bee-yotch to the Feds. Then the whole board, except for him and his cousin, got disappeared. There’s a rumor going round he and his cuz shot them up and buried them where nobody’d find them.”

  He stops. Blinking as if a new idea has suddenly occurred to him. “Maybe you should come back home with me. I been missin’ you, and I’ve come up in the world, you know. Used them guns of his to end this 2nd Streeters beef you got me into, and now I’m running all of Summerdale. I should do you a favor and rescue you from that asshole.”

  A chill runs up her spine at the thought of going back to Razo, of ever being under his thumb again. She won’t do it. June pushes words out of her mouth, “I don’t need rescuing,” she tells him, practically spitting the short sentence in his face.

  “You sure ‘bout that?” Razo’s friendly smile appears to be on the verge of laughter, and his head is bent in such a way that anyone passing might think he’s flirting with her.

  But they would be wrong. She’s not some naive seventeen-year-old any more, and she can practically feel the evil radiating off of this fake-as-hell asshole.

  June opens her mouth, feeling the strength of her new life surging through her. She’s stronger than she’s felt in years. Strong enough to tell Razo she is 100% positive she’d rather stay with Mason than ever, ever go back to him. No matter who Mason is, or what he’s done.

  But before she can get the words out, a voice behind her growls, “What the fuck is going on here?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Mason—” she starts when she sees him standing at the entrance to the aisle, next to the frozen pizza and corndog section. His expression is beyond pissed off.

  She quickly steps away from Razo. But Mason is already moving toward them. Then he’s getting between Razo and her. “Why are you here? Why are you even talking to her? What the fuck do you not understand about the terms of our deal?”

  “Mason…” she tries again, because this is her place of business. Only for Mason’s voice to bark, sharp as a punch, “Stay right the fuck where you are, June.”

  “Hey, hey! No need to get swole, man,” Razo says with his easygoing smile. “Me and June was just talking. You know, catching up.”

  A pause. Then Mason takes another towards Razo, coming in so close that the toes of his motorcycle boots touch the rounded tips of the smaller man’s Timberlands. “You do not talk to her. You do not look at her. She’s mine now. Do I make myself clear?”

  Razo’s smile stays, but his eyes narrow and shift to his crew. The ones who stand by, watching him get schooled by a white biker, in front of his ex-woman.

  Having firsthand knowledge of Razo’s extremely sensitive embarrassment button, June is terrified, but not at all surprised by his next move. There’s a non-subtle shift of his hand, and Razo uses it to pull the bottom edge of his black tank top up just enough so his other hand can come to rest on the gat tucked neatly inside his waistband.

  Fear nearly blanks June’s mind. But Mason doesn’t even flinch

  “Think I give a shit about your little gun?” he asks, towering over Razo. He tosses a

  dismissive glance at the two Hijos. “Or these panties you brought with you? Hear me now, Razo. If I see you anywhere near June ever again, I’m going to end you right where you stand. Understand, this is me being respectful…giving you fair warning. Next time, all you’ll get is dead.”

  For the first time ever, June sees real fear in Razo’s eyes. His inner mean girl has fled. And his gun seems about as threatening as a water pistol in the face of Mason’s zero fucks.

  Again, Razo glances over at his crew. Which is funny. Because he brought them for back up, but now they’re a liability. Razo probably expected Mason to back down after he flashed his gun, but the huge man called his bluff instead. And now there are two witnesses who saw Mason humiliate Razo in the frozen food aisle of a Cal-Mart. It’s an untenable position. If he backs down, the rest of his gang will find out as soon as he returns to the Cul. If he pulls his gun, then he’ll do time since there are security cameras everywhere in Cal-Mart.

  Razo is a lot of things, but stupid isn’t one of them. He already served time back before he met her. And as much as he brags about his stint in prison, she knows he has zero interest in going back. Not to mention, it’s kind of hard to become a cartel leader if you’re rotting away in an Arkansas jail. June can practically see his slimy mind turning the problem over. Trying to figure out the best way to get out of this situation without losing face or going to jail.

  “Hey! There a problem here?”

  Ed, one of the store security guards, appears at the end of the aisle, where Mason stood just a few minutes ago. He’s clasping his taser and looks like he’s ready for anything.

  Saved by a security guard.

  And just like that, the fake smile boomerangs back on Razo’s face. “No, no problem here,” he says in an overly friendly tone.

  His beady eyes shift back to Mason and in a much lower voice he says: “You know what? I already got your bike…and your guns. That’s all I need…for now.”

  Razo jerks his chin up in a sort of nod towards June, then leav
es with his two men.

  She watches him go, relief filling her lungs with long-delayed oxygen. June hadn’t even realized she was holding her breath until now.

  “Thanks, Ed,” she gasps.

  “Sure thing, June,” he answers. “You okay? I swear we get more thugs like that in here every day. They should let us start carrying real guns while we’re on duty.” He frowns at June. “What are you doing here anyway? I don’t think you’re on the shift list for tonight.”

  She holds up the small tub of ricotta by way of explanation.

  “Oh, I see.” Then his eyes go from her to Mason, who’s still standing in the exact same place as before. Face stony, eyes tracking Razo and his boys as far as they can before the trio disappears from sight. June knows he’s livid. With them. With her.

  “You okay?” Ed asks June, head tipping toward the towering guy in front of her.

  June nods.

  But Ed doesn’t look like he believes her. Even without his leather vest, Mason still has that biker air about him. Still reads dangerous no matter how often he shaves these days. “Are you sure—?” Ed starts to ask again, only to get cut off by Mason.

  “Hey…maybe instead of standing there flapping your jaws, you ought to follow those three out to the parking lot. Make sure they ain’t harassing other customers outside.”

  It’s a dismissal. And also a reprieve. Ed seems relieved he won’t have to deal with Mason on top of everything else. “Yeah, okay,” he says to Mason. “June…”

  With a tip of his security cap, he walks off.

  Leaving her alone with Mason.

  As if sensing the danger has passed, customers begin to slowly return. June sees them out the corner of her eye, but in spite of the growing number of people around her, she still feels very isolated with Mason.

  At first he stands there, watching the scene unfold outside the store’s sliding glass doors. June’s too short to see over the shelves but she assumes Razo and his crew are on their bikes and about to head off into the setting sun. She wonders if Razo’s riding the bike that used to belong to Mason. The one he traded for her.