Tis Thursday, and with it comes my results for Monday's Muse Writing Prompt! To check out the original post for rules and participation, click HERE.
The ROad to Honduras
“I thought you said you were done smoking.” She said, aimlessly tossing torn bits of grass into the blanket of darkness before them.
“I did,” He said taking a slow, deep drag from the cigarette dangling precariously from his lips. “But that was before all this happened.”
He swept his lighter behind them, casting a quick glow of orange light on the boots of the men who lay on the ground in bloody heaps. They weren’t the only one’s injured. A sticky, bloody cut saddled his swelling nose.
She hoped it wasn’t broken. The fight was her fault after all.
“But since you are bringing up people’s failed goals, I thought you were done with all this yourself. Want to explain?”
Even through the veil of smoke and darkness of the night she could still see the green of Dean’s eyes. He always had the greenest eyes, one’s that never failed to get their way…at least when it didn’t come to her.
“No.” She said, shaking her head as she turned from him. More so she was shaking off the guilt that tried to weigh down her shoulders. Dean had fought for her, broke his parole and even though he didn’t seem to care, she most certainly did.
“Suit yourself,” He said before walking a few steps ahead of her. “But you owe me.”
Her eyes rolled shut and she sighed out the words, “Right” before dislodging her boots from the rooted position they had taken in the ground. She hadn’t moved since the first few fist was thrown, standing stock still the moment Dean got the number on the three guys who were accosting her.
It happened on a regular. It wasn’t that she was the prettiest woman around, but she made due, given off enough honey to catch a man’s eye. She only teased them a bit, slipped a little ‘taste’ into their drinks before they addled hers. It was just enough to get them to sleep and give her a chance to rid their foul wallets of their weight.
Lady ‘killers’ didn’t need cash.
But as to her game, and her catching of men’s eyes, tonight she had caught three, one of which had remembered her from a bar across town. Things quickly went south. She shuddered to think what would have happened had Dean not been there, had he not been passing through.
“Where are you headed?” She finally asked. Ten minutes walking along side him in the chill of night with nothing but the sound of gravel beneath their boots and regrets of her mistakes whispering in her ears had nearly driven her mad.
“Honduras.” He sniffed and then spit.
“Honduras? But,” Her head was suddenly spinning. Not only had he broken his parole, for her, but now he was leaving the country. “Dean, you’ll make it worse! You can’t skip town let alone the country on parole!”
Dean huffed. “Maybe you should have thought of that before nearly getting yourself killed. Besides, if you were that concerned about my parole you would have known that it ended last month.” He winked at her and yanked open the door of his old Chevy 4×4. “Get in,”
She did so obediently and waited until they were well down the road before speaking again. “If you’re headed to Honduras, what about me owing you? Does that mean-”
“Hell no you ain’t off the hook.” He huffed again as if her statement was the dumbest he had heard.
“Then what do I owe you?” She narrowed her eyes at him. “And if you think I am spending the night with you, you are out of your mind!”
Dean laughed and snorted again. “I don’t want you to spend the night.”
“You are coming to Honduras with me though.” He flashed a smile at her silence. “A man’s wife is supposed to go where he goes anyhow. And this way I know you’ll stay out of trouble. You can’t speak a lick of Spanish.”