Chapter 2: Human's Best Friend

"So, what's the alarm for?"

I jump in surprise. He's still here? I've just finished closing the windows, and for some reason, I had totally forgotten about the man crashing in my store. "Kravs eat up everyone who're dying in the streets," I reply flatly. I turn to his direction and swear under my breath. He's sitting on my spinny chair, his feet on the counter, looking bored and…eating a carrot?

"You know that's not washed, right?"

He stops munching on it. "What?"

"It's not washed. I'm not wasting my water for some carrots that I don't end up eating." He stares at the carrot for a while and I sigh. "Your rich ass doesn't know that the earth here can get you sick for a while, doesn't it?"

He immediately spits the pieces of carrots on the floor. I exhale slowly. "Seriously? On my floor? Like I said, water is precious." I cross my arms and he just stares at the carrot. He seems really…stupid. Stupid and ignorant. "You'll clean it up."

"So what's going to happen to me?" He sounds just a tad bit worried, which annoys me for some reason.

I shrug. "Don't know, don't care."

He's putting blood on my chair. Gross. I try to act like he's not here by continuing to take out crates from the storage room and into the shop itself. The only light comes from a small window at the very top corner of the wall, but it's enough for me to grab the white and purple potatoes and stuff them into a crate next to the carrots.

"I'm not just some rich kid, you know?"

I nod, barely listening to him, focused on a potato that has a slight pink shade. "I'm sure you aren't," I say, twirling it in my fingers, trying to figure out why it's getting pink. Could I make him taste it and see his reaction? Cause if my potatoes are becoming pink, I'm not eating them unless I'm sure they aren't hazardous for my health.

"But seriously, I'm not."

I turn around, annoyed by his presence. "Yeah. And I just got one of those free passes the government offers to try and keep our hopes up," I snap, finally tossing the potato in the crate with the rest. I'll ask anyone who buys it to tell me how they felt after it.

"Why are you so keen on keeping this shop?"

I snort. "Why're you so keen on staying here?"

He lets out a short chuckle. "Cause it's nice here. You got some weird ass potatoes and deadly carrots. What's not to like?"

I roll my eyes. "There are five unnamed graves that I dug out outside. Still think this is a nice place?" He coughs a bit but doesn't seem that bothered by it. "Fine. That chair you're sitting on, I clubbed to death a Kravmol."

He laughs. "You think that's gonna scare me? A Krav hunter?" And he's an arrogant bastard. "I'm Chester," he adds.

"Good for you."

A silence settles in the room and I have to keep on reminding myself that I'm the one who's superior in this environment, and not him who's sitting smugly on my chair, watching me analyse my potatoes.

He finally decides to speak up, by saying the only bloody thing that could annoy me. "Does the Government know about your shop?"

I chuckle sharply. "The government can suck my –"

"Right. You hate the Government. And I'm guessing you're running an illegal operation here too."

I curl my fists into balls. He's a frickin' spy, isn't he?

I slowly drop the crate on the floor, eyeing him murderously. "So you think that giving people food when they're starving to death is illegal?!" I fume, approaching him and the counter. I bang my two hands flat on the countertop, in order to be taller and look down at him. "You think being human, not letting people fucking starve to death is illegal?! Get. The. Fuck. Out," I say, my jaw clenched, my teeth gritted.

He frowns. "Nah, I was just assuming that –"

"Do I seem like I care what you're assuming?" I snap back, leaning in so that our noses are inches away from each other, and I can see some fear in his eyes. "Nobody, especially not some rich snob, can tell me what's wrong and what's right."

He sighs, takes his bloody boots off the countertop, and sits correctly. There isn't any fear in his eyes anymore. Just amusement. And a stupid little smirk on the left side of his mouth. So he thinks that I'm funny? He thinks it's funny to starve to death, eh?

"Not what I was saying. I thought you were one of those dealers."

I tense down a little. I might've gone too harsh on him. It seems like his pretty face can't handle the brutal reality. "Dealers?"

"There's a new drug that's spreading out. Rod Rocks they're calling it."

I snort. "You think I'm a drug dealer? Hell nah! And the Government can kiss my ass goodbye. I'm not letting another one of you hunter, if that's what you really are, enter in here if you're doing the Government's dirty job!"

I take in a deep breath before adding quickly; "Government or not, anyone whom I don't know can't come in."

"You already said that," he starts, his tone cautious. I look back at him and if looks could murder, he'd be dead on the floor, thirteen knifes in the chest.

"I know what I said!" I screech, but it gets muffled up by the alarm. Great, now he can leave this shop and I can never ever see him again. And if he does happen to cross my way one day, I'll swear to god I'm taking my knife and…

Too brutal.

I go back to the crate, staring intensely at yet another pink potato. "Fucking potatoes!" I shriek and throw it in his direction. It barely misses him, only to land with a splat and fall right back down.

"I'm sure the potatoes aren't the source of your anger," he says coolly. Cool as a cucumber my ass. I'll beat him with one if I do manage to grow some.

"Do they sell cucumbers in your rich city?"

He nods and goes back to his leaning-on-someone-else's-chair-because-I-think-I'm-cool posture and I groan.

"I'll make you a deal, rich boy," I say, slightly annoyed at myself. He doesn't seem to hear me because of that stupid alarm, so I shout louder, trying to make him understand without sounding like a teacher helping a five-year-old.

The alarm stops, but the ringing is still in my ears. Everyday it's stupid like that.

"What's the deal about?" he asks, passing a hand in his now-dried bloody hair but takes it out when he realises it's so full of knots that his hand can't pass through. Dumb idiot.

"Get me seeds and other products from Nixador," I say, feeling genuinely happy about having a stupid rich ignorant in my shop. He coughs, as if he was choking on water.

"Are you crazy?! You know nothing about Nixador Valley, don't you?"

I grunt. The situations have completely changed, haven't they? Now I'm the one getting picked on because I'm the poor one. "Nah, I don't," leaning in again.

He pushes me backwards. "I'm not smuggling things out if that means I can get banned."

I let out a sharp chuckle. "What? Live with us? The poor people?"

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Getting banned means being fed to the pit of Kravs. Not sure I want to do that. And if you so urgently need seeds, I'm sure your lipstick smuggler can get you some."

"Fuck you," I spit. "I'm not paying no smuggler, my mum used to have tons of lipstick. I wear it in her memory. I'm not paying a smuggler. But I want some seeds. I need some seeds. I'm not even sure I can survive off potatoes that're turning pink. Who knows what's gonna happen next time?"

"Right. You know we won't arrest you right?"

I arch an eyebrow and back away, finally deciding to open the blinds. "So you do admit you're not a Krav Hunter?"

"I don't admit to anything. But, what's in it for me if that happens?"

A dirty one, isn't he? He's just like the fish and I'm the bait. Having a governmental official in my shop would've been bad, but he's dumb and I'm manipulative.

"Fifty percent of what I win."

I know it's too much, but if that's what I have to pay to get what I need, then I'm fine with it.

He doesn't answer but gets off my chair and makes his way to the door, his scent lingering in the shop. When's the last time I felt just a sniff of perfume? And why the hell would he wear cologne?

"Seventy."

He re-adjusts his leather jacket, takes out his knife and twirls it in his fingers. "Seventy percent of what you could give me is one percent of what I make. Multiply it by eighty, and you get my monthly salary. I'm not wasting my life for cash I can easily make."

Mary sweet mother of Jesus…let me strangle this man. Change of plans. He's not dumb, just messed up and dick faced. "Fine," I start, crossing my arms over my chest. "What do you want?"

"Now we're talking business." He turns around, puts his hands in his pockets and stares at me, waiting for me to continue. I move around a bit, trying to figure out what I could say, but nothing that I think could possibly be interesting for him comes up.

He smirks when I'm silent. Technically, he could've come up with something, but diabolical took over dumb apparently. "You're desperate," he says in a teasing voice, that just happens to get on my nerves.

"Fine," I say in a large blow. "What do you want? What do you need?"

"Access to the drug distributors. Give me access to that particular factory, whatever way you have to, and I'll make sure those seeds will arrive on your doorstep."

I gulp. Drug? Access? Distributors? What on Earth am I getting myself into? All this just for a measly packet of seeds? I'm sure my life isn't as important as his, but it's got to have a certain amount of value, right?

"And other stuff when I'm in need. I'm sure your government doesn't mind funding my dangerous trip. I'll make a list."

I don't wait for him to answer and rush into the storage to grab a piece of charcoal. I've used up all my pens and all my paper a long time ago, and burning wood works great. I slam the door and walk up to him. "I hope you've got paper, otherwise I'm writing this on your arm."

He sighs, looks at the burnt piece of wood, then groans, slowly lifting up his sleeve. I smirk with satisfaction. I was going to draw on his arm and—

"What kind of dumb tattoo is that?" I say, analysing his tattoo. He groans. I look at the word written on his arm before laughing. "Stupid?" I read it out loud, the word perfectly written in black ink on his flesh.

"Write your damn list already," he grits through his teeth, but I can't help and laugh. Who the hell would get something permanently tattooed on their body that says that? That says stupid?

I take my piece of charcoal and frown. "Not enough space. Lift your shirt."

He shakes his head. "This is sounding more like you're wanting to get into my pants than–"

I grunt. Boys are so...well his tattoo says it all. Stupid. "You got paper? Because I'm sure your stomach is large enough to write what I want. That it nothing."

Although to be fair, the idea of seeing his stomach sounds ridiculous. I probably would've reacted very differently if someone were to tell me that. Maybe a slap across the cheek and a kick in the balls if they happen to be boys.

"I got a pen," he finally admits after searching effortlessly his pockets. I want to die.

"How many tattoos that say stupid do you have?"

"Shut up," he snaps, and lifts his sleeve to reveal his tattoos yet again. This only makes me even more curious about what's on the other arm, because he would've shown it if it were less...imposing than the one he's got on his right forearm.

"I want a goldfish."