Meat stared at her.
Then he roared with laughter.
He released her wrist.
Slapped a fifty-dollar bill onto the counter.
“Keep it, Sammy.”
Samantha pushed twenty dollars back.
“Tip me when I earn it.”
That produced an even larger reaction.
From the corner booth, Grizzly watched.
Wyatt stood beside him.
“You sure about this?” Wyatt asked.
Grizzly took a drink.
“No.”
“She’s scared.”
“Of course she is.”
“Scared people make bad decisions.”
Grizzly looked toward Samantha.
“Sometimes.”
Then he nodded toward Meat, who was still laughing.
“Sometimes they learn fast.”
By two in the morning, Samantha’s feet hurt so badly she could feel her pulse through her shoes.
She had earned eighty-seven dollars in tips.
More than she had made cleaning motel rooms for two days.
When the last patron left, she expected Grizzly to hand her cash and tell her not to return.
Instead, he counted money from the register, looked at the total, then slid her a folded stack.
“Come tomorrow at four.”
Samantha blinked.
“That means I have the job?”
“That means come tomorrow at four.”
Close enough.
She slept that night in a motel two miles away.
For the first time since leaving Reuben, she locked the door and did not place a chair beneath the knob.
Not because she trusted the motel.