Noxious (Anathema #1) - Yolanda Olson Page 0,22

been forced to avoid due to driving for so damn long.

I fish the phone out of my pocket and let another billow of smoke escape my lips as I weigh my current options. I can either see what’s waiting for me, or I can just shut the fucking thing off until we get to our destination.

Raising my eyes, I glance to my left when another car pulls in. It’s a young couple; a man and a woman, and when they exit their vehicle, I chuckle slightly. He looks a lot like Dexter, I think as they walk by me.

I nod at him when our eyes meet, and he returns the gesture as he wraps an arm protectively around his gal.

If only he knew that I had two of my own right now, he’d probably feel a little more at ease since I’m not interested in his pussy.

Not that she wouldn’t make a great addition to my little cult. She’s got long, thick caramel-colored hair, a thick ass, and a pair of small, but perky tits.

I just don’t have the room for her right now, and I’m pretty content with what I have, so I give him a two-fingered salute and watch them until they disappear into the restroom building.

I decide that its best to go back to my current predicament though and tap the phone screen to life. Three unread messages? Someone is feeling a little desperate.

The messages are all different, but I can feel the urgency in them as I read them back to back. The first one is asking if I’m on course to Arizona and if I’m excited to meet Lakyn. The second is asking how much longer I think it will take and requesting a current location, while the third is asking me if I’m still alive or if I’ve chickened out.

I clear my throat as I place my smoke between my lips again and begin to fire off a series of my own messages.

Currently somewhere in bumfuck, Ohio.

I have no idea how long this will take; sometimes a guy needs to stop for a bite to eat, to take a leak, or deal with the pussy in his ride.

Guess we’ll see who’s chicken here soon, motherfucker.

I press the button on the side of my phone to turn the screen off and just as I’m about to tuck it back into my pocket, the fucking thing vibrates.

I push away from the fender and crack my neck from side to side as I part my lips and let the cigarette fall to the pavement. I snuff it out with my sneaker before I wander over toward the small picnic area and take a seat at one of the benches.

I run a hand over my face before I tap the screen back to life and see the small envelope waiting for me.

One message.

A new one.

Sent almost immediately.

But I’m sick of phantoms hiding in the dark trying to dictate my little adventure here, so I swipe away the notification, open the message, and hit the call button.

The phone rings for an extremely annoying number of seconds that turn into minutes, but I’m a hell of a lot more patient than Willa ever gives me credit for.

Instead of giving up, I press the speaker button and toss my phone onto the bench next to me as I lean forward and rub my face again. I need to wake up more so I can keep driving. I told Wills that once we were out of Ohio it was her turn to drive again, and I don’t want to make any more unnecessary stops along the way.

When the line clicks, I reach for the phone so quickly that I drop it against the ground.

“Fuck,” I grumble as I scramble to pick it up. I tap the speaker button and put it to my ear, intent on finding out who’s been tormenting me this entire time. “Hello?” I ask into the phone.

The clearing of a throat, a sigh, and some breathing is what greets me.

“Hello?” I ask again. “I know you’re there because a) you picked up, and b) I can hear you breathing. So, who the fuck is this?”

My question is answered by the line clicking dead.

So, I decide to do what any rational person in my situation would do. I pull up my call log, jab the call button next to the number again and begin the game of patience all over again.

Eventually, they’ll have to tell me who the fuck