Jersey Six - Jewel E Ann Page 0,9

Before he could recover, she pummeled him until he landed face down on the mat.

Ten seconds lapsed.

Jersey kicked his foot. “Dead?”

Judd grumbled.

Nope. Alive.

She sighed. “Chris is going to find me a worthy opponent. Your size just makes you slow. It means when you fall, it takes longer for you to get up. And I don’t want to kill you, so it’s not as much fun.”

Judd lifted his bloodied face, stretching the cords of muscle in his thick neck. “Ya wanna kill someone?”

Jersey turned her back to him, tugging off her gloves. “I want revenge.”

CHAPTER FIVE

“Where are you going?” Chris looked up from his book.

Jersey had to give him credit. He read absolutely anything he could get his hands on. “Self-help book?” She squinted at the title, not able to see it very well.

Chris flopped back on the mat, using Jersey’s blanket—their blanket—as a pillow. “Yeah. It’s missing the first few chapters.” He tilted it to show her the mangled book. “But they put all the valuable stuff at the end anyway. Figured since we’re going to be on the street soon, we might as well figure out something now.”

“We?” Jersey released her hair from its ponytail. “Does this mean you’re looking to help me?”

He shrugged, keeping his gaze on the book, hiding most of his face. “Maybe. Or at least I’ll let you borrow the book when I’m done.”

“I hate reading.” She scraped a handful of change from the bottom of her bag and shoved it into the front pouch of her hoodie.

“Aw, that just means you haven’t found the right book.”

“No.” She sauntered away from him. “Just means I hate reading.”

“You didn’t say where you’re going!” Chris called.

“Out.” Jersey pushed open the front door, squinting against the midday sun but welcoming the hum of cars and buses instead of the bitching. Ever since George posted the closing announcement for the gym, whining, bitching, and idle threats filled the stagnant gym atmosphere as if it was her fault wealthy developers decided to invade their part of town.

With nowhere to go and no means to get there even if she did, Jersey made her usual stroll around the block to clear her head and absorb some sun, even if it was freezing outside. The coins in her pocket meant she’d get a meal that day. The Underdog hot dog stand managed to stay open year-round, a fixture in that part of Newark for over a decade. While the demolition in Jersey’s neighborhood brought a boost in business with hungry construction workers, she wondered if the rundown food truck would last once the trash got taken out.

Pulling her hood up, she hugged her body and shivered as winter showed its potential, biting her exposed skin and rattling her bones as she waited in line.

“Just one,” she mumbled while digging the change out of her pocket.

“Drink?” The new guy manning the stand asked as he fished out a hot dog from the warmer and plopped it into the white bun.

She shook her head.

“Chips?”

She continued to shake her head.

The guy beside Jersey rammed into her as he jumped back to avoid the ill-aimed spray of mustard from the pump.

“Shit!” Jersey’s change took flight, some of it landing on the counter, but most of it bouncing off the front of the truck and ricocheting in all directions.

“Two dollars,” the new guy manning the stand said as he fixed the mustard pump while the grumbling patron who bumped into Jersey wiped the splatter from his shirt, giving zero shits that he made Jersey lose her change.

She crawled around on the filthy ground, collecting as much of the money as she could find.

“Hurry up! I have a line.”

She missed Tye, the owner of the stand. He would have taken pity on her—even if she didn’t want it—and handed her the hot dog with a kind smile and a “don’t worry about it this time.”

“I’ve got it.”

Jersey ignored the deep, unfamiliar voice above her as she reached for the nickel a foot under the food truck.

“Make it two.” Three more words fell upon her from that voice.

She glanced up from her hands and knees, giving up on the five cents. A tall man in distressed blue jeans and untied gray boots smiled at the grouchy hot dog stand guy. His white teeth complemented his scruffy jaw. His sunglasses hid his eyes beneath a gray beanie matting dark bangs to his forehead. He slipped several napkins into the pocket of his puffy, space-blue jacket before cradling two hot dogs