Chapter 1

"Don't fucking speak, Ronald." Growled Trevor, the scampering and anxiety ridden former account had to practically jog to keep up with his boss, who to say was angry, was an understatement.

"Trevor, I am so sorry, I swear on- "

"Do not fucking speak unless I say so, or I'll wrap you in a block of bricks and send you into the Alamo Sea!" warned the psychotic CO of Trevor Philips Industries.

Ron wisely did as he said. Knowing full well what his employer and neighbour was capable of, especially when angered.

Silence, however, would not get them out of their present predicament. On a near empty countryside in Blaine County, with no car, or cell phones – all getting destroyed in the firefight.

"And it was going to be so perfect!" Trevor thought, the urge to go batshit crazy even more tempting than a bowl hit at this point.

Right now, they should have been driving back to Sandy Shores, $50,000 worth of guns in tow from a group of recently deceased Korean mobsters who had them stashed it in an old barn up in the mountain foothills

Instead, Trevor's plan of busting in and stealing them had blown up in smokes thanks to Ronald getting himself caught. Instead of a skeleton crew, a truck already loaded with military grade firearms, and a clean getaway, they now had no vehicle or guns, all destroyed to pieces in the explosion they had barely survived.

The two men looked worse for wear even on their best day. Ronald looked to be in his fifties, maybe older. He wore a dirty white wifebeater, with a red unbuttoned sleeved shirt over it, sand-coloured shorts and dark sandals. There was also some kind of brace on his left knee.

To say the man looked like a nervous wreck was to be generous even on the best of days, but now, it was amped up by a thousand.

Trevor was younger, but one would be hard-pressed to say he looked it. He was in his late forties, but likely looked a decade older due to heavy meth use over the last few years. He wore a white t-shirt, but it was covered in grime, filth and blood. Grey sweatpants, that were also covered in stains, as well as brown boots.

They kept walking, or rather, Trevor stomped his own way, right or wrong, and Ron did his best to keep up, not questioning their route, knowing in this state, there was a considerable chance his boss and friend would follow up on his promise and bury him in a ditch out in this no man's land. Never to be seen again.

They must have walked for an hour along the dirt road when T finally spoke up (his previous expressions being a montage of occasional yelling to the skies, smashing his head against the trees and muttering threats of extreme violence to nobody.)

No words were exchanged, besides Trevor's outbursts, and the patter of blood droplets that dripped from his head. Although neither said it, they knew that they needed to get home fast. Their phones were gone, and although they had no way of telling the time, they knew it would likely begin to get dark sooner rather than later. Judging by the position of the sun, it seemed it was around midday, Trevor guessed.

"Hey." Trevor spoke up, "You see that." Indicating to the shape and sound of a vehicle that seemed to be getting closer to them.

Ron readjusted his glasses, opening his mouth, but stopping himself.

Trevor rolled his eyes, "You may speak now."

"Yeah, sounds like we have a ticket out of here, boss."

Trevor pulled out his sidearm, pointing it carelessly in Ron's direction as he spoke, the safety not on of course.

"I'll handle this, stay back and I'll call you when it's done." He looked behind him, "Get behind that big tree."

"You got it." The older ex accountant promptly did as he was asked.

Trevor felt the top of his forehead, seeing the blood on his hands. A smirk on his face as he noted the car, now in clear view. A blue Gallivanter Baller, engine hard and heavy, and it seemed to be speeding like the driver had a death wish (which may not be out of the question, although he could not fully make them out.)

"Works for me, I'll even help them along if they want, and we get a way out of here." He mused.

"Hey!" he yelled, "civilian down, need help here!"

Trevor went all in, jumping and indicating for the driver to pull over.

They were so fast though, driving wildly like no tomorrow, it made even him blush.

Unexpectedly, they pulled over alongside him, dust in the air from the reckless driving.

And was Trevor happy with what he saw.

Instead of some well-off asshole, it was a girl, no more than her mid-twenties at most, and extremely easy on the eyes.

"Car trouble?" she asked, a tone of amusement and mocking underneath her dark shades.

"Oh yeah." Trevor spoke, "Yeah, I was taking a ah, a daytime drive here. Like to clear my head."
She smirked in amusement, looking pointedly at his bleeding forehead that likely needed medical attention.

"I can see that."

That was when the gun came out, Trevor pointing it at her temple. Practically ripping open the driver door, shoving her over to the passenger side.

Trevor fully expected a scream of terror, begging to not hurt her, or to take the car and leave her be.

Instead, she only maintained that same amused grin.

It was then that he took in this strange girl's appearance, mousey brown hair, some light freckles on her features, and eyes like deep blue pools when she lazily removed her shades.

She wore a simple black and white top with no sleeves, no bra, much to his appreciation, small denim shorts and what looked like genuine tan cowboy boots.

Overall, Trevor was both curious and aroused.

"Look sweetheart. It's been a long day. I just wanna get home. Shit happened that shouldn't have happened, and quite frankly, its left me feeling like a man without a heart. All the same, I'm taking your car. You can act like a problem, and I can put a bullet in that pretty head and leave you to the mountain lions, or you can follow my instructions and I'll let you go after."

She said nothing besides a slight tilt of her head. As if she was taking him in fully, making some sort of decision.

Observing the interior, he noted it seemed lived in. Women's clothing, empty cups and snacks were left scattered everywhere. Clearly, this was a home, as well as a transport.

Looked cleaner than his room, that's for sure, Trevor mused before turning back to his hostage.

Before he could call Ron, the lady was like a cheetah, pushing the gun out of her face whilst simultaneously ripping a sidearm of her own that was tapped below the glove comportment.

Trevor was no slouch and immediately recovered, but this time, he had a gun pointed at his face too.

Now it was a stand-off.

"Or." She spoke, "I cap you, cap your friend over there-" Head slightly turning to indicate to Ron, who's efforts at hiding were almost as outrageous as his community radio show.

"- take any valuables, not that you two seem likely to have any, and the lions can have your bodies to have as their breakfast, lunch and dinner."

She said it with such glee, he noted.

"Hmmm… that isn't ideal. And screw me senseless if you haven't got my attention." Trevor almost growled.

Unlike many girls who wouldn't hide their revulsion at him making such a comment, this lady only grinned wider like a cat. As if this situation was exciting to her.

"How about this," she said, gun cocked "I drive you, drop you off, but you pay me back for this kind gesture. Don't worry, I'm an exception to my generation. I wanna earn, not take it as charity."

"And what kind of work would that be, missy?" he responded, a mocking tone in his voice. Both still had their guns trailed on each other.

"I can guess the game you're into. Only thing up here are mountain lions, trees, those cute little critters that live inside the trees and those guns those Koreans stashed in a barn."

That caused Trevor some surprise.

"And how do you know about that?"

She shrugged, "Everyone around here knows. Not to be racist, but a bunch of Koreans do tend to stand out in the middle of this bumblefuck town. Plus, people talk. Anyone who pays attention knew about those guns. I'm surprised nobody else tried to take them before you did."

For a moment, Trevor considered his options. For some reason, he had encountered a lady who was hot, dangerous and looked to be trying to find an "in" to the illegal game.

"Those guns are gone, sugar. Blown to smithereens, just specks of dust."

There was a moment of silence between the two, once more, only the occasional drops of Trevor's blood that now stained his white T-shirt could be heard.

The lady puckered her lips and once more shrugged, "Oh well. This is America, we have plenty more where they came from." Another Cheshire-like smile appeared on her fine features, "what say we steal some? Maybe we'll even get to use them ourselves, I've always wanted an RPG, or a fifty-cal machine gun, and you know what they say: the way to a girl's heart is a machine gun."

It was rare Trevor was stunned by anything, but this… this was one of those times. At first, all he wanted was the car, now, he needed to get to know this crazy chick.

Trusting his own instincts before any reasonable assessment, Trevor put down his gun, although, she did not do the same, "Oh god yes, we are. And why stop there, maybe a mortar, maybe a mini gun, no, we need a nuke, just like I was going to drop if it wasn't for the evil witch!"

Any normal person, even someone in his line of work, would have pulled the trigger on such a clearly deranged man just to be safe.

Judging by her own giddiness at this rant, she was not normal by any means.

"Nukes for everyone!" she squealed, now herself having laid down her gun.

And that settled it.

"Ron. Get in the trunk!"

Ronald soon waddled over, bending over to look inside the front of the car.

"But, but Trevor, I can get in the backseat- "

"Trunk. Ronald." Tone venomous, "Are you seriously going to argue with me now. Right fucking now!?"

"Oh ok, T." for some reason, Ronald saw it as reasonable to make his quick acquiesce, looking to the woman who seemingly would be their driver. Oblivious to Trevor's rising temper.

"Oh hi by the way, I'm Ronald J-"

"NOW" yelled Trevor, which sent the man running, opening the trunk, practically launching himself in and slamming it shut with a thud.

"A friend?" the lady asked inquisitively, unbothered by the exchange, much less that she now had two unusual and quite dangerous men inside her car.

"A friend, a co-worker, an employee. We don't like labels at TP Enterprises, sweets. We're a small organic business. Although he does and will do anything and everything, I say at any time I deem desirable at the threat of instant pain."

"It's the American way I suppose." She snarked. Putting her shades back on.

Oh yeah, Trevor thought, he liked this one.

As per their agreement, she would drive, and he sat passenger side, gun always present in case she pulled any tricks.

"What's your name, darling. Don' think I caught it."

She paused for a moment.

"Kalia. Kalia Rae."

Trevor gave a nod and a hmm, wondering in silent if that was a real or fake name. Not that it bothered him.

"Trevor Philips. CEO of Trevor Philips Industries and independent entrepreneur in this fine county."

Kalia Rae stared at him, and laughed, "I think we're going to get along just fine."