#bbds

The fact that Mad Dog Convince was somehow still standing and not bare and closed is beyond you. But you know this place won’t stand forever, not if no real change happens. You’re not worried though. You’ll return back to the farm you grew up at and resume your life there.

You’re only here because your grandmother wanted you to get out more. Out of the countryside and try to thrive in the wild city. City life didn’t really interest you, maybe it did for a brief time when you were a kid, but as you got older you lost the appeal in it, more content with the peace of your home. But it was your grandmother’s dying wish, and you’d do anything for her.

The city was overwhelming and noisy. You really didn’t like it, and part of it definitely was because you were terribly homesick and missing your trusty stead. You ended up living in the poorer side of the city in a decrepit little apartment that had roaches, and needless to say you opted out within a month. You weren’t interested in college, nor did you want to be in that much debt for it either. You got a taste of the city and knew you wouldn’t dwell in it for long.

Mad Dog was nestled just slightly outside the city and only a 30 minute walk to the motel you stayed at. Again, you’re not sure why you’re working in this decaying store, Ronnie Joe certainly didn’t deserve you, and you definitely don’t go outta your way to try and save it. It’s not your store to care about.

But perhaps it’s because you know once this store inevitably closes it’ll be the end of the “city chapter” in your life. You’ll take your truck and head right back on home, going about your life and duties, and being a content hermit. Your grandma’s last wish would be fulfilled.

You didn’t bother forming strong attachments either, because you’re conditioned to the solitude. Your one real friend was back at your place keeping an eye on everything for you. Malcolm was enough for you. But you managed to befriend your lousy coworker’s sister. You liked her spunk and she was definitely easy on the eyes, and she took a liking to your no nonsense attitude and your fire. Amelia is her name, very fitting.

“Yo, pretty girl, you got a charger?” Lane asks, his head poking out from the storage room, his ice blue eyes standing out first before his noir hair does.

You give him a dismissive look, returning to country the drawer. “And if I did, why would I give it to ya?”

Footsteps shuffle closer, the storage room door closing with a soft thump. Then comes Lane’s voice. “Aww, I thought we were friends. We’ve practically been hanging out for a month.”

“We have different meanin’s for friends, Lane. Cause you definitely ain’t my friend. Yer a lousy coworker I put up with,” you reply, your voice calm and straight to the point.

But of course Lane outwardly doesn’t express hurt, he’s only amused like a dog engaged in tug of war.

“Playing hard to get still I see,” he sighs, smirking gleefully. “But I’m not completely lousy. I clean sometimes and man the register.”

“After I nag you like a miserable wife,” you reply back, the ink pen singing as you write down the amount in the register.

“I’d love for you to be my wife. I’d be well taken care of for sure,” Lane agreed, leaning against the counter.

“So you admit I’d be miserable being married to you?” your smirk.

“You wouldn’t be miserable in bed with me~,” he winks.

“Dirty dog.”

“Only yours, Babe.”

Although he’s a bum of a coworker, at least he’s amusing sometimes. His nice face keeps him from getting beaten black and blue.

“Alright get outta my face, boy. Go scrub them toilets. It’s yer turn. And if ya don’t I’ll call yer sister up here to have her come embarrass ya.”

At that Lane groans like a whiny brat, dragging his feet to the bathrooms after getting the supplies, you smirking with triumphant.

With nothing else to do you man the front, idle until a customer comes. You only managed to find 4 words in your crossword puzzle when the sliding doors come to life, footsteps walking inside.

“Evenin’,” you greet, not looking up.

“Well aren’t you a pretty little lady~.”

His voice was like nails on a chalkboard and full of no good things. You let out a sigh, rolling your eyes so hard it hurt.

“Thank you. I know.”

The customer makes a sound and mumbles to himself, shuffling down an aisle. You continue on with your puzzle until he returns, setting down some canned goods.

He starts talking again. “Hey, pretty girl, have you heard about the disappearances around here? It’s pretty dangerous working at this time.”

“I heard about ‘em,” you responded nonchalantly.

“Aren’t you scared? Do you have anyone that’ll protect you?” he asks, leaning in slightly, looking a little to eager.

“And why do you need to know that?” you throw back, a pointed brown raised as you look at him with an unimpressed gaze.

“No need to act like that, sweetheart. I’m just a good guy that wants to protect girls like you. Hey, whataya say to giving me your number?”

“Hmm, no.” You put the last item into the plastic bag, muttering out his total and waiting expectantly.

The creep frowns, offended at your blatant rejection. “Listen here you bitch,” he spits. “I’m doing you a favor in trying to protect you! You wanna end up raped and dead in a ditch somewhere!?”

“I suggest you lower yer voice before you regret it,” your threaten, glaring at him with crossed arms, your heartbeat beginning to rise from the tension.

“I’ll teach you some manners you ungrateful—,” he grits, beginning to reach towards you until he feels cold metal kiss his Adam’s apple.

The tip of your revolver digs in just a little more as he swallows,. “W-What..? Y-You..!?”

“Now, either you pay for yer shit and get out, or I’ll put a bullet in ya,” you hiss lowly.

“Are you crazy?!”

“Naw, I just know how to deal with pest like you. Now, you gonna pay or not?”

“What the hell is going on out—?”

The creep is suddenly jerked backwards by the collar of his hood, in the grasp of a looming man in all black, faceless behind a helmet. The biker promptly shoves the creep toward the doors, the man tripping over his own pants and crashing to the floor with a harsh thud. The creep whips his head towards the biker and looks like a trembling chihuahua about seconds away from pissing itself.

“H-Hey man..! Didn’t mean to upset your girl..!”

The biker just stares like a predator, his fists clenched tightly at his sides as his chest rises and falls with barely contained rage.

You scoff at the creep’s change of tone now that a man twice his size has humiliated him. “Get the fuck outta here before I make due with my promise. Be lucky I’m bein’ real generous and haven’t put lead in yer knee.”

“Doesn’t mean I won’t,” Lane mutters, drinking in the sight before him.

The creep runs out, his pants nearly falling off him in his haste. You huff and tuck your revolver into your jeans, putting your shirt over it. You gather the goods and prepare to put them back on the shelves.

“‘Preciate it, Biker Boy,” you say with a tip of your hat before passing him. Lane, like a puppy, follows at your heels, casting a suspicious, icy glare towards the biker.

“I leave for a few minutes and you nearly shot a guy?” he chuckles.

“The night breeds weirdos,” you shrug, getting a chuckle from Lane.

“Yeah, like that helmet boy.”

“Now why are you talkin’ shit when you can’t even scrub a toilet? Ya really ain’t worth a damn yerself, Lane,” you throw back with a barely there bite, but it was full of unrestrained truth. “Besides, you be sayin’ some questionable shit too.”

Lane rubs his neck, smirking as if saying “you aren’t wrong” with a slight blush on his fair skin.

Meanwhile the Biker stands there, his heart hammering away in his chest, his face hot behind the visor. But those softer feelings disappear when he heard Lane’s repulsive voice.

Lane continues yammering away and you just let him, haphazardly listening, but your gaze finally focuses on Biker Boy’s figure just…. Standing there, taking up space.

“Somethin’ we can help ya with or are you just gonna keep standin’ there like some serial killer?” you ask, your voice cutting through Lane’s ramble and shocking Biker Boy.

“I-I’m not a serial killer!” Biker Boy insists. “Sorry I… I just… T-The vending machine…”

“Oh,” you reply. “Yeah, my apologies for that. Works when it wants too…”

“You can’t be serious?” Lane scoffs at you, growing more fussy when you don’t answer him, so he barks loudly. “Hello?? Sunshine, are you being for real right now?”

One dog stands proud, drunk on the prospect of having won what he deems as his. While the other dog bristles with anxiety and anger as his prized possession was stolen from him.