Fear Cuts Like A Blade by Tiffany Bauer (have you read this book TXT) 📕

reached back and pulled my zip-up black with orange polka dots wallet out of my right pocket. "I'll take two chocolate cupcakes, one cream filled donut, and ... two slices of raspberry cheesecake, please." I said slowly making my selection from the showcases holding those exactly.
"That will be $11.50." She said after ringing it up. She looked up and readjusted her glasses. "Hey, you look familiar. Do I know you from somewhere?" She asked half smiling as if she knew the answer.
"Um, I'm not sure. You might have. I've been practically everywhere lately." I said.
"You have a drawl. That's so cute."
Ugh. The drawl. It was a living, breathing dread that I despised. And everyone else adored. Back home in Mississipi, it was tolerable, probably because everybody there had a southern drawl. Or maybe it was the Spurs. It could even have been the stiff black felt cowboy hat I always wore and sometimes still did. Whatever it was, was gone because now it was just a pain in my neck.
"So I've been told" I responded.
She laughed softly. "You hate it, huh? I can hear it in your voice."
"Yeah. I wish I didn't have to deal with it."
"I don't know. I think it's kinda cute."
"Exactly. I hate being called 'cute'. It's the worst insult since the beginning of time."
"Oh, come on. It can't be that bad, can it?"
"Like you wouldn't believe."
"Mmkay." She muttered with a smile.
The front door banged open with a barely audible ding from the bell. Laughter erupted from the new customers, A group of men around mid-twenties. I saw the girl I knew only as Olivia tense and her smile fade.
I analyzed the newcomers with cynical eyes. Thier jeans were baggy and falling down a little too low. Two had a string of tear shaped tattoos under their eyes, telling me they were in a gang and had murdered more than one person. One with dark skin and darker hair, with a long scar slicing from his right brow down to the bottom of his jaw, looked at me and winked. Great. Just friggin great.
Tightening my jaw I looked back at Olivia and asked, "Can you please go and get my order ready. I'm in a bit of a hurry." I said, playing the role of the goody-two-shoes rich girl.
"Yes." Was all she said verbally, but the expression on her face said thank you. She hurried through the door I figured led to the back room where the real magic happened.
"Hey, girly. You here alone?" The voice was definitely Mexican. Which could mean a few things.
I turned to see the guy who'd winked at me earlier walking my way. I shoved my hands in the pocket of my sweatshirt and turned away, ignoring him. I scoped out three exits...just in case. I'd done this before and knew things could get real ugly real fast. I learned my lesson to always have multiple escapes. Counting on just one was simply suicide.
A strong hand grabbed my arm and flipped me around. Anger flashed in his eyes as he tightened his grip, pulling me closer. His face was inches from mine as he whispered, "I asked you a question. I expect an answer."
"too bad." I said as my free hand went to the Buck knife on my left leg. So, there was a good thing about JJ's clothes designing, I secretly thought, My clothes were always being adjusted just for me. Sheaths sewn onto my pants. Roller skate option in my boots. And custom designs on my tops.
I had to deal with a lot of people when I was fifteen. Mostly because of my business, Kody's Garage. Fifteen years old and I bought a thirty-acre lot on main street. I, Kate, and JJ all put our workstations in a single building, thin walls between them.
JJ's beauty boutique, Kody's garage, and Kate's MotorKross were on the front page of the weekly newspaper in no time. I still remembered the caption: The TriFri's do it again. TriFri's. It stood for 'tri friends' or 'three friends'.
My lips curved into a Don't-mess-with-me-or-you're-gonna-get-hurt smirk. In the back of my mind, I thought out a few scenarios of what could happen here. I slid the 8" blade from its holder and tapped it against his leg, making him glance downward hesitantly.
"What the..." He trailed off. Finally registering what was going on, he lunged back.
Feeling quite smart, I whispered to him in what I hoped to be a dangerous voice, "You don't want to do that. I've got a short temper and a bad attitude. Especially with wannabe gangsters." I held the knife in my hand, it wouldn't be a good thing to put it back just yet. Not that I always did the good thing, but still.
He reached behind him and pulled out a black Glock 9. Olivia came through the door just as he pointed his gun towards the ceiling and fired off two shots. ------- more shots, I noted. Plus however many his buddies had. That could be a lot.
"This is a robbery." He shouted. "Everybody on the floor now. You." He said aiming the gun directly at me, totally freaking me out. " Come here."
Knots formed in the pit my stomach. This wasn't going to end well. Best case would be no one shot, fatally or otherwise, and the crooks in jail by nightfall. Worst case... I didn't even want to think about what the worst case was.
Shocked and scared, the white bakery bag with Donut Hut splashed across the front slipped out of Olivia's hands and crashed to the floor. The frosting on the cupcakes smeared the recently cleaned checkered surface as they slid along the floor like pebbles did on ice.
The guy, I assumed was the leader, whipped his head around as if he hadn't noticed she'd come back. Olivia went white as a ghost at his dark expression. She flipped a U and high-tailed it through the door.
"Get her. The boss wants no witnesses." The leader barked. Two men behind him jumped into action. Pulling their guns they scrambled over the high counter and hit the floor running. Unless she knew some serious self-defense, she was dead.
Kicking my foot up, my boot flew through the air and clocked the bigger guy square in the side of the head. "Bull's-eye!" I said throwing a fist in the air then yanking my elbow back to my side as if I'd won the world championship.
Dazed, probably by the outstanding weight, he staggered but didn't fall. Until he hit the wall with the other side of his head. That's when he fell. Just as I was about to kick my other boot at his partner, Olivia came back through the kitchen door holding a sawn-off shotgun and a .38 special with a top-of-the-line silencer on the end of it.
Her eyes were a little too wide, her hand a little too shaky. It wasn't a secret she wasn't comfortable with a gun. But still, she came back for me when there were at least six guys, fully armed, robbing the store. I added another notch for her on my respect-o-meter. Yes, I was still giving and taking points of respect. It's just how I do things.
Still holding his gun, the leader reached out and grabbed me. My back against him, he put the muzzle to my temple and pressed hard, letting me know he was the one with the gun, not me. "Don't do anything like that again. Or I will kill you. Right here, right now. After all, that's what a gun is for." He was so close I could smell the peppermint on his breath.
"No. A gun is for hunting. And you've just become the hunted." I replied, throwing my head back. I heard the particular sound of bones breaking, probably his nose. I swung my arm out and jerked it back in, elbowing him in the ribcage.
Moving fast, I ripped the gun from his hands and smacked it against his cheekbone. He dropped to the floor, knocked unconscious by the impact. I looked up and my jaw clenched. I pointed the gun at the guy holding a knife to Olivia's throat. There was a sharp pain in the back of my head and everything went black. No Time To Waste

I slowly blinked my eyes open, only to see darkness. I had a throbbing pain in the back of my head, slowly moving to my forehead. I wiggled around but had limited movement. My hands and feet were bound with blue and pink leopard print Duct tape. Really? Blue and pink leopard print Duct tape? What happened to regular gray tape? Or black? But seriously? Leopard print? Ugh, what was the world coming to?
I opened my mouth to speak but was stopped by a strip of, guess what? You got it, leopard print tape across my lips. It was dark. I was bound. And this wasn't one of my scenarios. I was pretty sure it wasn't a dream, either. The beginnings of panic encircled me.
I hadn't a clue where I was, or who I was there with. Something touched my side and I flipped like a coin in midair. My words were muffled but along the lines of "Get away from me." and "Touch me, I'll kill you." It was an empty threat, of course, but I figured it was the usual thing to say.
I twisted and turned, scooting away from whoever it was. Though muffled, a woman's voice came back to me. She was quiet and sounded much like the crying I heard in my dazed dreamy state earlier. In an instant, everything came roaring back.
The bakery. The guys with guns. Her coming out with a sawn off and .38 special. Me jabbing the leader in the ribs. And then nothing. I couldn't remember anything past the point of seeing Olivia with a knife to her throat.
Just the thought of it made me shiver. I'd never seen anybody murdered. And I sure as heck didn't want to, it wouldn't matter if I'd known her for ten minutes or ten years. It wasn't the type of activity I wanted to be a part of. I wasn't the good kid, but I wasn't the, all-in-all, bad kid either. I was sort of in the middle. Leaning towards bad.
I sat up and leaned back slowly to find a wall. My vision swayed from side-to-side but didn't fade. leaning against the wall, I realized they hadn't taken my backpack. Amateurs. The knives in my boots and on my jeans were gone. So they did do a body search.
My belt was gone, which meant the little dagger on the buckle was gone, too. Okay, calm down. I told myself, Take stock. identify location. Make plan. I counted off the steps in my head. Taking a deep breath I strained to remember the contents of my bag. The phone I had in my pocket was no longer there. My wallet wasn't in its place.
I felt around until I found nylon. Running my hands down I sought out the bottom, where yet another, longer dagger was carefully stitched into the black nylon using steel cord and fishing line. Pulling the razor-sharp dagger from its black sheath I turned it in my hand and sliced through the