Jess drove her new crewmate to the Los Santos Customs branch near the city airport. They disembarked the stolen SUV and entered through an open garage door. One of the mechanics, a younger Asian man with a tattoo sleeve on his right arm, looked up from the hood of a muscle car he was working on.
"What's up?" he said, immediately laying eyes on Jess. "What can I do for you?"
"I'm, uh, here to pick up my car," Alexia said quietly as she looked at the floor.
The man blinked. He looked like he hadn't noticed Alexia standing next to her much taller crewmate.
"O-oh yeah," he said with a laugh. "Alexia, right?"
She nodded, attempting a smile while avoiding eye contact. "You need an ID?"
"Nah," he said with a hand wave. "That shit-talker Lamar said you'd have the black hair, so it's all good. Everything's been paid for, on behalf of Mister Yetarian."
Hao reached into his pocket and retrieved a set of keys, which he handed to Alexia.
"Now, you ever wanna mod that ride, you bring it back here, alright? We can do all kinds of crazy shit to those German cars." The man stuck out his hand. "The name's Hao."
Alexia nodded, shaking his hand, which was slimy with engine grease.
"And, uh, who might you be?" Hao's eyes were lovestruck as he looked at Jess.
"Princess Robot Bubblegum," Jess answered with her arms crossed.
"Dude, I love that show!" Hao smiled. "You wanna hook up, babe?"
Jess shook her head, leading her friend out of the office. Hao's smile fell as he turned back to the car he'd been working on.
Alexia couldn't help but be impressed. In less than an hour, Jess had been asked out by two separate guys - that was more date offers than she'd had in her entire life. One of Alexia's craziest ambitions was to get married one day, even if she knew it was unlikely to happen. She didn't think anyone would want to date a skinny ex-convict with social anxiety and no job. Her mother had liked to scream some variation of that phrase during their frequent arguments, and Alexia could never refute it – at age twenty, she had still never been on a date.
She knew she was nothing compared to Jess, tall and gorgeous and brimming with self-confidence. If it weren't for her drug addiction, Jess probably wouldn't have had to settle for little weasels like Curtis. She could have dated a movie star or a lawyer and gotten out of crime if she'd wanted to, but something told Alexia that Jess didn't want to.
Alexia unlocked her car and climbed in the driver's seat. She cranked the engine and fastened her seatbelt, adjusting the rearview and side mirrors to her liking. Everything looked good as new – she didn't see any cracks, dings, or even any chipped paint. If she ever needed car repairs in the future, Alexia made a mental note to choose this LS Customs location.
Jess let out a loud gasp in the passenger seat, scaring the daylights out of Alexia.
"Oh my God!" Jess looked devastated as she looked at her friend. "…Have you eaten today, Alexia?"
Alexia, thoroughly weirded out, shook her head no.
"God, I'm such a fucking idiot!" Jess laid her head on the dash. "You can't go clothes shopping on an empty stomach! What in fuck's name was I thinking?!"
Alexia choked out an uncomfortable laugh. "I mean, i-it's okay, Jess, I-"
"Listen, you are way too adorable to be going hungry," Jess said seriously, withdrawing her phone from her purse. "You like Mexican? I know this place up in Morningwood, right near the dress store. Ten. Dollar. Chimichangas." She smiled. "But whatever you wanna eat, I'll pay for it."
"Jess, I have some money now," Alexia offered. "I could pay for my-"
Alexia felt a hand pinch her lips shut, stopping her mid-sentence.
"That ain't how it works around here, girlfriend." Jess shook her head; she was no longer smiling. "You made it through that street race, which makes you a Black Skull. In this crew, we trust each other with our lives, our freedom…You're not looking to squander that, are you?"
Jess whispered this last question. Her big blue eyes pierced through Alexia, frightening her to the core. She rapidly shook her head no, sweat springing up on her upper lip where Jess's fingers were.
"Then let me treat you a little," Jess said calmly, her eyes softening. "Ten dollar chimichangas, Lexi. It's a small price to pay for having someone I can trust."
Alexia looked down at the floor as Jess removed the fingers from her lips. She hadn't thought of it like that, but she supposed Jess's logic was sound. Both of them had nearly died under that overpass. If they were going to be doing more high-risk jobs like that in the future, it was imperative they have a good relationship, both inside and outside of work.
Jess swiped to the navigation app on her iFruit phone, which Alexia noticed was the same model as hers. The new phone, the expensive handbag, the diamond earrings and designer clothes…Alexia could tell that Jess made a lot of money. As eccentric as Jess was, Alexia felt it was a good idea to listen to her. Above all else, she wanted money to send back to her brothers.
Alexia shifted her car into drive and rolled out of the LS Customs parking lot, then turned left onto Greenwich Parkway, with Jess's GPS guiding her north. The skyscrapers loomed up ahead, watching her progress.
Gobs of white queso dripped from Jess's chin, spilling onto the white tablecloth that adorned their booth at Las Cuadras Mexican Restaurant. It was the lunch rush, and the place was packed. Waitresses bustled between impatient businessmen and Hawaiian-shirted tourists, their faces set in concentration as mariachi music blared overhead. They had visited Alexia's and Jess's booth several times, as Jess kept ordering extra chimichangas. Apparently, the ten-dollar special was an 'all you can eat' deal, which Jess was taking copious advantage of.
As she sat across from Jess, Alexia struggled to understand how someone could be so skinny and yet eat like a starved hyena. Jess was already on her fourth chimichanga, and Alexia hadn't even finished half of her entrée, a grilled chicken quesadilla with sour cream and fresh guacamole.
Jess sucked her fingers with a loud smack, drawing glares from an elderly couple at a neighboring table.
"I dunno about you, Lexi, but shootouts make me hungry." Jess finally took a napkin and wiped at her face, which was slathered with queso. "You like your food?"
"Y-yeah, it's good." Alexia nodded.
"Are you shitting me, Lexi?" Jess cocked her head, looking at Alexia's unfinished plate. "Please tell me you're shitting me right now."
"I'm…not?" Alexia answered unsteadily.
"Say it then," said Jess, grabbing a handful of tortilla chips.
"Say what?"
"Say you're not shitting me."
Alexia looked around a bit. She'd cursed the previous night after the street race, but she didn't like doing it in public. However, Jess was looking at her, expecting an answer – maybe this was another test, like their talk back in the car.
"I'm…" Alexia looked at her, taking in a breath. "I'm not shitting you, Jess. I promise."
Jess's lips curbed upward, her mouth full of tortilla chips – not only had Alexia said this at a conversational volume, but she'd put extra emphasis on the verb. The old woman at the next table scoffed, and the old man summoned a waitress to bring them their check while shooting a disgusted look at Alexia.
Alexia's cheeks turned red, and she looked down at the table in shame. She saw one of Jess's chimichangas lying on her plate, next to the quesadilla.
"You earned that one, champ," Jess said and winked at her. "You enjoy that while I go to the ladies' room, okay?"
Alexia nodded, and Jess rose from her seat, an earth-rumbling belch erupting from her throat that made a couple of other patrons jump.
Looking after her as she went, Alexia was at a loss for words – like Lamar had said after the street race, this girl was definitely 'something else'. She'd never met anyone quite like Jess, someone who had no regard whatsoever for what other people thought of her. She supposed this was a more common trait among criminals, people who had no hope of joining mainstream society. While she may have been a criminal too, Alexia doubted she would ever be as self-confident as Jess.
However, this hadn't stopped Jess from trying to change this - the chimichanga was a clear example of operant conditioning, something Alexia was surprised Jess knew about. She supposed it could be coincidental, but it was also possible that Jess was more well-read than she appeared. If this was true, Alexia wondered if they could bond over a shared love of books. As soon as she had some disposable income, she planned on hitting up the local bookstores so her apartment could have some reading material.
Whatever the case, Alexia could tell Jess wasn't just some airhead with a nice rack. She had clearly been around the block a few times, and Alexia realized she probably wasn't the first new member Jess had helped get acclimated.
Shaking her head, Alexia dug her fork into the queso-smothered chimichanga, slicing through the deep-fried tortilla with her knife. The inside was loaded with shredded beef that produced a smoky aroma as it was freed from the tortilla shell. Alexia was skeptical of the copious amount of cheese, but she nonetheless took a small bite, since Jess was clearly a fan of this dish.
Alexia perked up as she chewed. Her quesadilla was okay, but the chimichanga was good – really good. She looked down at the dish, sprinkled with cilantro and green onions on top of the queso, the shredded beef perfectly barbecued. Back home, she would have thought about saving some of it for her brothers, but she realized this wouldn't be an issue in Los Santos. Here, she could have as much of it as she wanted.
She took larger bite, a smile crossing her lips as she ate. There weren't many restaurants in her part of South Yankton, and even if there were, she had been too poor to eat out. From what she'd heard though, Los Santos was famous for its Mexican food. The city had been a part of the Spanish Empire and then Mexico before it was annexed by the United States, and strong influences of Hispanic culture remained despite rapid gentrification.
She wondered if the Hispanic man she'd killed that morning had enjoyed this same taste during his life, a life she'd cut short under the freeway about an hour ago.
Alexia stopped chewing. She swallowed, the food falling with a hard thunk into her stomach. She could feel her palms begin to sweat and her blood vessels dilate. Suddenly, she wasn't very hungry anymore. She pushed the plate away toward Jess's side, reaching for the glass of water she'd ordered with her quesadilla.
The door to the restaurant was kicked open.
"NOBODY MOVE!"
"THIS IS A STICK-UP!"
The elderly couple were near the door, getting ready to leave when the old man was clubbed over the head with an assault rifle. His wife screamed, but she was forced to the ground at gunpoint next to her husband, who had been knocked out cold, blood gushing from his head.
Another man showered the ceiling with automatic bullets. Several of the customers and waitresses cowered under tables, and Alexia followed suit, ducking under the table in her and Jess's booth. She scooted back to the wall, hoping the men hadn't seen her. There were three of them, all dressed in red balaclavas and matching red jackets – clearly a crew, although Alexia didn't know which one.
What she did know was their guns: Carbine Rifles, a product of an Austrian manufacturer called Vom Feuer. Chambered for five five six NATO ammunition, this was the weapon of choice for SWAT teams, government agencies, and several branches of the military. It was priced insanely high at most gun retailers, so street gangs usually went for cheaper assault rifles with less accuracy and stopping power. How these thugs had gotten their hands on some, Alexia didn't know.
One of the men stepped forward – peeking carefully from her booth, Alexia noticed the mods on this thug's gun, including a sixty-round extended magazine, an aftermarket grip, and a mounted tactical scope. Something told her this guy was the leader.
"Listen up!" the man shouted. "All of you in this restaurant owe a tribute to the Roses of Death! I want everyone to lie face-down on the ground with your hands behind your backs while we check your pockets! Anyone who refuses will be shot!"
Alexia could hear a few people complying with the thug's demands, terrified whimpers emanating from most of them. More people complied as the robbers shouted at people to show themselves or have their brains blown out. Clothes rustled as one of the men checked them for guns and valuables, while another went around the restaurant, clearing the tables and booths and ensuring universal compliance.
Luckily, Alexia's booth was far away from the door, so she had some time. Lifting up the hem of her tank top, she reached into her waistband and retrieved her gun, which she'd tucked into the front of her jeans – not the safest way to carry, but she'd been able to secure it against her right hip with her belt after ensuring the manual safety was on. She knew this particular model also had a drop safety, so the risk of an accidental discharge was low on the short walk from the car to her and Jess's booth.
Despite what Lamar had told her about criminals carrying in their pants, Alexia knew a properly fitted holster from Ammu-Nation would be a wise investment. Because of the gun's size and her small frame, the Hawk & Little had printed into the front of her shirt, but none of the waitresses had questioned her on this. Los Santos had lenient gun laws compared to most other major cities, but she reasoned that open carry would look a little too suspicious. After all, she was allegedly trying to lie low, even if she'd committed multiple crimes in the less than twenty-four hours she'd been in Los Santos.
Alexia flipped the safety off. She had one in the chamber, eleven more rounds in her magazine, and another full clip in her front pocket – twenty-four rounds total. Jess's Micro SMG would have been better, considering the men had assault rifles, but Jess had taken her purse to the bathroom, as girls often did.
"I said everyone out, motherfuckers!" yelled another of the thugs, kicking over one of the tables. "Yo, Spider, I think we should take this one back to the boss!"
A young woman screamed as she was dragged by one of the men to the front of the restaurant. Alexia recognized her as the waitress that had been serving her and Jess's table. She was a young Hispanic girl, probably a college student. However, this didn't stop the thug from ripping open her white dress shirt and exposing her bra. Soon after, he moved to her pants and started pulling them down too, which the waitress fought but to no avail.
Alexia's grip tightened on her pistol. She didn't know who these 'Roses of Death' were, but they were clearly bad men. She knew she had to act.
The rush of blood down her arms slowed to a crawl as it reached her fingertips. There was no denying she was afraid, but she focused on making her breaths slow and deliberate, just as her uncle had taught her back on the snow-covered plains of South Yankton. The truth was that bad breathing impacted aim just as much as shaky hands, jerking the trigger, or not following through on your shots. Simply put, breathing affected the heart, which needed to beat as slow as possible. A good rule of thumb her uncle had taught her was to always to pull the trigger at the very end of an exhale, when the heart was at its slowest. Even as Alexia emerged from her booth with her gun at the ready, she could feel the pulse in her fingers pushing against the steel trigger. As a kid, her heart rate had seemed impossible to overcome - she was always too nervous, the blood in her fingers had pulsed too strongly, and every single time it had thrown off her aim. However, her uncle had never given up on her. For whatever reason, he'd kept telling her she could do it, even when she was breaking down in tears over her inability to shoot anything.
Then one day, when she was eight years old, something had clicked. As her breathing had slowed, time had slowed with it. A single breath had stretched into eternity and the entire world had faded away, a valley of nothingness between her and her target, and she'd finally shot one of the glass bottles she'd been using for target practice. She remembered the moment when the world came back, the bottle shattered into a million pieces, the glass shards reflecting the fluffy white snow and her uncle wrapping her in a big hug. It was one of the only moments of her childhood that were actually happy.
Alexia didn't know why she had this ability, but ever since, getting into this state had required less effort, even if it was harder to get into when her anxiety was bad. She'd never been good with names, so she'd just called it 'The Zone'. She'd figured that having some flowery name for it would be less descriptive overall.
The crowded Mexican restaurant was now an endless void, its only occupants being Alexia and the man in front of her, who turned his head just as she finished her exhale. She squeezed the trigger, depressing it past single action and just enough to let off the double action first shot, one of the safety features of the Hawk & Little. Her bullet flew across the void, the sharp crack of gunpowder echoing across space, and hit the man between the eyes, a spray of blood issuing from his forehead and soaking through his mask.
Alexia blinked and another man entered the void, the leader with the tricked-out gun she had noticed, probably 'Spider'. As Spider scrambled in slow motion to shoulder his rifle, the blowback from her first shot re-cocked the hammer of Alexia's Hawk & Little, meaning less pressure was required for the second shot. Still in the same breath, Alexia lined up her sights and depressed the trigger, intentionally not anticipating the recoil. It was all about timing – she let the recoil happen, controlling her hands at the precise moment the bullet exited the chamber. This shot too was on target, hitting Spider right between the eyes. He stumbled backwards, his gun emitting a shower of bullets as he fell on his back.
Only one guy left. Another sound entered The Zone – footsteps. The last thug had gone to the back of the restaurant to round up customers there. He was quickly approaching Alexia, and she could see his face, twisted in a snarl, eyes locked onto her, a hint of fear in his beady little eyes. He was shouting something, but she couldn't hear what it was. She could see his finger curl over the trigger, but she was prepared.
She released her last shot just as her heart sped back up, and the world along with it. The man fell to the ground in real time, a bullet in his skull, the shot echoing much louder across the restaurant.
As the man lay death spasming on the ground, Alexia stepped back a couple of paces, gasping in breaths, the gun dropping to her side and her left hand clutching her chest. The Zone was a peaceful state, but it wasn't a permanent one. Through experiments she had done back home, she'd determined it lasted about ten seconds or less each time, depending on how well she was able to concentrate. However, she'd never hit three targets in the same breath before, and this iteration had left her winded, sweat pouring down her face.
As she caught her breath, she was suddenly conscious of the fact that every single person in the restaurant was staring at her. The old woman next to her husband, who was slowly regaining consciousness; the waitress, who reached over and grabbed her tattered dress shirt, holding it closed over her chest; even a preschool-aged child at one of the other tables who held a couple of crayons in his hand. They were all looking at Alexia like she'd suddenly grown eight eyes and sixteen legs.
Alexia's cheeks turned red – she'd never liked being the center of attention. She didn't look at anyone as she de-cocked her pistol, then flipped the safety back on.
There was dead silence for a few seconds, which was broken by the sound of a toilet flushing and rapid footsteps out of the bathroom, which Alexia noticed at the very rear of the restaurant. The door to the bathroom was kicked open.
"HOLD ON, LEXI, I'M COMIN'!"
Jess emerged from the bathroom wielding her Micro SMG, a strip of toilet paper hanging off her right shoe. Some of the customers screamed and cowered at the sight of another armed person, but Jess immediately dropped her Micro SMG to her side when she saw the fresh corpse near her feet, along with two others near the front entrance.
"Whoa," Jess said quietly, looking at her new crewmate. "Lexi, you…you took out all these guys by yourself?"
Alexia's cheeks lit up. She could hear the whispers of a few customers, some calling her a hero, others questioning how the hell she was able to do that. Alexia didn't really have a good explanation – her uncle had told her that many people in the Knight family were natural marksmen. While this gift had passed over Remus, it had gone to Alexia's father and had apparently passed down to her.
Some of the braver customers began clapping, which eventually turned into a chorus of cheers, whistles and hollers of thanks for saving the restaurant and all their lives. Even the elderly couple by the door clapped for her, which only caused Alexia to shrink down more into red-faced shyness.
"Yep, she's a hero, alright!" Jess grabbed Alexia's hand and lifted it up, like the victor in a boxing match. "But she's pretty tired, so we're gonna head down to the police station and give 'em our story! You guys take care now!"
Alexia tensed up at the word 'police', but Jess gave her wrist a squeeze, a discrete sign that her statement was a lie.
On the way out, they passed by the waitress, whose eyes were distant and stained with tears as she knelt on the bloodstained floor, holding her shirt desperately to her chest.
"Sorry about that, ma'am," said Jess, reaching into her purse and fetching a one hundred dollar bill. "Please, take this for your trouble."
The waitress absentmindedly took the money and immediately began sobbing, covering her eyes with her hands as the restaurant continued to cheer. Alexia felt bad for the girl, who had nearly been the victim of something truly horrible. However, Alexia knew she was attracting way too much attention as a wanted fugitive. If she stuck around any longer, police would show up wanting to question her, which would probably lead to her being extradited to South Yankton to face charges.
Alexia reached into her pocket and fetched her car keys, unlocking the doors as she and Jess walked briskly to a sun-bathed parking lot next to the restaurant.
Jess sighed as she climbed into the passenger seat. "Okay, so we can't stay in Morningwood after that – let's go to Rockford Hills instead. There's a Ponsonby's over on Portola Drive I can direct you to."
"Y-yeah, sure." Alexia's eyes were heavy, her voice quiet as she recovered from the heavy adrenaline rush The Zone always provided.
Alexia started the car, backing out of her parking spot and turning right onto North Rockford Drive. The roads were slammed with cars and city buses at this time of day as office workers returned to their jobs and tourists crowded the scorching hot sidewalks. Los Santos may have been a big city, but its roads weren't built to handle this many cars. Thousands of engines idling in traffic jams were a contributor to the sickly cloud of pollution that hung like a pestilence over downtown.
As she waited to turn left on Boulevard Del Perro toward Rockford Hills, Alexia felt a hand on her shoulder.
"Must be tough being a secret badass, huh?"
Alexia squinted at Jess, who shook her head.
"Don't give me that look, girlfriend. You're acting like I didn't see those bullet wounds back there - three perfect headshots on three guys with assault rifles? That's not something we see a lot from rookies."
"That so?" Alexia said quietly.
Jess nodded. "I mean, you don't have to tell me your secret if you don't wanna, but I'd appreciate if you did. Like I said, it'd be better if we can trust each other."
"I just…concentrated," Alexia said carefully. "Believe me, Jess, I'm not some secret badass. I can't even talk to people most days without stuttering like an idiot."
"You're doing okay around me." Jess shrugged. "I haven't heard you stuttering that much. And you were telling me all that stuff about my gun earlier that even I didn't know, so you're clearly not an idiot either."
Alexia pouted as Jess patted her on the back.
"Don't be so hard on yourself, Lexi. I mean, those guys back there, they weren't just some two-dollar thugs. Those were the Roses of Death, and they're the Skulls' biggest rivals in the drug trade. They've been a thorn in our side for years, and you just came in, fresh off the plane, and made them look like bitches?" Jess grinned. "In my book at least, that makes you a badass."
"Well…thank you, Jess." Alexia looked at her with sad eyes. "That was clever wordplay, by the way."
"Hmm?" Jess raised an eyebrow.
"The 'Roses' are a 'thorn' in your side?" Alexia offered with a smile.
"Oh!" Jess put a hand to her mouth, snorting a bit as she laughed. "Shit, girl, you noticed that way before I did."
Alexia betrayed a small laugh of her own as Jess cackled in the passenger seat. As she accelerated through the intersection and turned left, Alexia couldn't help but notice how long it had been since she'd had a female friend. Ever since leaving juvie, she'd struggled to find other girls her age she could talk to - rural South Yankton wasn't the easiest place in the world to make friends. Alexia hoped things would be different in Los Santos, even if her uncle's crew was mostly men.
Del Perro ran past the offices of Lifeinvader, a social media company that had lobbied the right of privacy into the ground over the past few years. Once they passed this building, Jess pointed to Alexia's left, toward a collection of high-rise buildings abutting Vinewood Hills to the far north.
"You see that tallest building right there? That's the Skulls' compound," Jess said proudly. "Your uncle's office and penthouse are up on the top floor. I gotta show you around sometime though – the compound's got a gym, an indoor pool, an armory, a medical clinic, pretty much anything a criminal needs."
Alexia blinked hard as she looked at the building in the distance. It wasn't as tall as the skyscrapers downtown, but the higher floors had unobstructed views, from which the entire city was probably visible. Remus had mentioned he'd watched some of her street race from his office window – she wondered if he was even watching her at that moment, smoking a cigar and sipping a bourbon as he watched his niece's progress. Maybe he'd even tapped into the city's camera network again so he could watch closer.
She shook her head, focusing on the bumper-to-bumper traffic ahead of her. She didn't know why she kept thinking of her uncle like he was Big Brother. From their phone conversation last night, he still seemed to love her like he had when she was little. Surely, she thought, her uncle hadn't changed as much as she feared.
"Y-you said a gym?" Alexia asked, trying to distract herself.
"I sure did." Jess nodded. "You wanna go with me sometime? I noticed you struggling during the job, with all that running."
"Yeah, I've…never been strong or fast." Alexia slouched as she said this. "I'm strong enough to hold up a rifle, but I can't do much else."
"That's probably because you don't eat." Jess smiled as she poked Alexia in the ribs. "I mean, we work our asses off in these jobs, so we need calories. That's the reason I eat so much."
Alexia looked down at Jess's slim hourglass figure. She also couldn't help but notice her biceps, which were crisscrossed with tattoos. While not of bodybuilder size, Jess's arms were well-toned compared to Alexia's own noodle arms. It was apparent she didn't just have a high metabolism: Jess obviously worked hard to keep herself fit enough to do these jobs.
The only flaws to Jess's physique were the track marks under her elbows, which looked purple and freshly irritated. Something told Alexia she had shot up in the bathroom back at the restaurant, but she was too tired to remember what the marks had looked like earlier that day.
"You're probably right," said Alexia, trying not to look at the puncture wounds. "My uncle's wanting me to join the sniper squadron, so I do need to get in shape."
Jess inhaled through her teeth. "Yeah, that training is tough, Lexi. A lot of people flunk out because they can't handle it, but I can help you prepare." She smiled. "Like you said, you just have to concentrate. If you do that, you can do great things in this crew."
"I hope so," Alexia murmured. "My family could really use the money."
"Oh?" Jess perked up. "You have kids or something?"
Alexia shook her head. "Two little brothers back in South Yankton. If I can give them some money, help them go to college and get decent jobs, then I'll be happy."
She gripped the steering wheel hard.
"Look, if I'm gonna die, then I at least wanna die for something that matters, you know?" she said to Jess. "Maybe my pathetic life will actually mean something in the end."
"You're not gonna die. Stop talking like that," Jess said firmly. "If you bum yourself out, you're not gonna be able to concentrate on what matters, so stop saying that shit."
Alexia felt her eyes moisten, but she was able to restrain tears. Like she had guessed back in the restaurant, Jess was much wiser than she appeared, especially for someone so young. She let Jess take her hand and squeeze it as the car stopped at a red light.
"Like I said, Lexi, you are way too hard on yourself. But once we get you this new dress, you're gonna see just how irrational those thoughts are. If you want, we can even get you a haircut too – Bob Mulét is just around the corner, he's the best stylist in town."
Alexia didn't know how to feel as Jess gripped her hand. She hadn't really been expecting a criminal and drug addict to be so empathetic. However, she supposed Jess wasn't like most other criminals – she did bad things, torturing and murdering people, but Alexia could tell she at least had a little bit of a heart. It was also apparent that she looked out for her brothers and sisters in the Skulls, which Alexia couldn't help but appreciate.
As good as she was at shooting, Alexia realized how severely lacking she was in the social department. She reckoned she would need someone like Jess to succeed in this city.