Author: Eden Beck
Category: Paranormal
Go to read content：https://readnovelfree.com/p/29741_8
Right at me.
Or, at least I think he does, just for a second. By why would he be?
“That’ll be ninety-nine cents, please.”
Startled again, I dig into my pocket for my change. When the door opens behind me again, I feel my stomach twist. If it’s my dad, I’m screwed. If it’s the two hot boys again, I’m probably going to turn several shades of red and try to pretend I’m invisible.
Fortunately, it’s neither. Just some other guy paying for his gas. I dump my change onto the counter and stick my hand back into my pocket again to get the rest of it. I can hear the man behind me huffing in annoyance.
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“Sorry,” I mumble as I turn around to apologize while still trying to get the rest of my change. These jeans are too tight, and my fingers can’t seem to reach down to the bottom of the pocket. If we had any more money, I would have gotten new jeans for school.
“Looks like you need some help,” the man sneers.
Before I know what’s happening, he thrusts his hand down the front pocket of my jeans and pulls me away from the counter and closer to him. The coffee in my cup spills over, splashing his arm with the scalding hot liquid as the cup drops from my hand.
I stare up at him in a mix of both horror and surprise, and his angry coffee-burned glare stares right back. Everything seems to move in slow motion as I try to pull the man’s hand from my pants and simultaneously avoid the clenched fist raising at his side.
I’ve seen this before, seen the rage boil over. I’ve been on the receiving end of a fist like that, and often, for much less than spilled coffee.
Before the hand can strike, however, I’m suddenly flanked by two pressing bodies.
It’s the boys from before, and this time, they’ve brought the third.
I didn’t even hear the door open again, but I guess that’s because I was too focused on fighting off this freak who still has a hold of my jeans. The third boy with them now is every bit as handsome as the other two; muscular, with blackish-brown hair that is just a couple of inches shorter than the others.
His face is more angular than the other two boys, and when I catch sight of his eyes, I see that they are as close to solid black as you could get without looking like a supernatural creature. He grabs the man’s hand and jerks it backward out of my pocket. It makes a sick, snapping sound as he does, causing the man to cry out in pain.
I stumble backward but the youngest boy from earlier catches me, propping me back up to steady footing. He just as quickly lets me go as if he’s touched something without permission and is suddenly afraid of a scolding. The three boys surround the guy who grabbed me, looking like a pack of predators closing in on their prey.
They say nothing, and in return, the man who harassed me looks like he’s staring into the loaded end of a shotgun … and he knows it.
“You okay, dear?” the gas station attendant says as I feel him put his hand on my shoulder. I seize up at the touch, even though I know he means well.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I say, shrugging him off as carefully as I can without somehow offending him too.
I’m really not quite fine, though. I’m shaken up, my clothes soaked and stained with coffee, and my nerves shot. As if they weren’t already. I turn my attention back to the boys, but they—as well as my harasser—is nowhere to be seen.
In just the time it took for the cashier to grab my attention, they’ve all vanished.
“Where did they all go?” I ask in near hysterics. I’m really hoping that he doesn’t tell me I imagined that whole scene, because I’m already pretty close to questioning my own sanity.
“They scared that guy off and left.”
It’s all I can do to stifle a sigh of relief. At least they were real.
“But I only turned around for a minute. I didn’t even hear them go.”
“They’re good kids,” he says as he picks up the empty disposable cup from the floor and heads to go grab a mop from the back. “I don’t expect that other guy will be bothering you again.”
“I wanted to thank them,” I say, still standing there in the aftermath of what just happened.
The old man leans his mop up against the side of the counter and walks to the back of the store, emerging a minute later with a fresh cup of hot coffee to hand to me.
“This one’s the house,” he says, forcing one of his own smiles. “Sorry you had that happen to you this morning. I promise, the people here aren’t usually like that.”
“Do you know who that guy was?” I ask.
“Nope, never seen him before. Good thing the boys were still here though.”