Where did that damn girl go?

One moment, your daughter was standing behind you in the market, and the next? Nowhere to be found.

The shop was relatively small, so it’s not like she could be hiding in the aisles. You called her name, nothing back, but Bo said he seen her outside. You turn to the glass and she’s in some truck, the kind your daddy used to drive when he served. With the quickness, groceries abandoned, you sauntered outside madder than a volcano in a heatwave.

“What the hell are you doing out here?” Onlookers seemed to ‘mind their business’ as you reprimanded your girl. “The man paid me to watch his truck-“ “A man?!” Your voice raised, “What man?!” “Mister Smoke, mama.”

Your blood ran cold.

“Smoke?” “Yeah, like of the twins-“

“Get out the truck.” Your voice was flat but the weary sense of danger was in your eyes. “But mama, he paid me.”

“I don’t give a damn if he bought you a pony from Malaysia.” You spoke through gritted teeth, the calm yet crazed expression you’ve mastered made your daughter’s resolve waver.

“Mama, I-“ “We got a problem?” You whipped around, about to cuss out whoever interjected, but visibly paled at the sight of a man. 6’2, no doubt muscles under his tailored suit, his eyes low as if the sun beamed through his hat, his face straightened, his cards close to his chest. His voice was gruff, smoky, deeper than the pit of hell. Undoubtedly Elijah Moore- Smoke, of the Smoke-Stack Twins.

“Hope you don’t mind that I borrowed your girl, I had to handle some business and couldn’t risk anyone going around saying they robbed the twins, especially with my precious cargo in the back. Ain’t that right, girl?”

“Yes sir, Mr. Smoke.” Your daughter nodded dutifully, as if she didn’t risk her life for two nickels.