Author's Preface
Jax fumbled with his phone, his greasy fingers slipping on the screen. He was standing in the hallway outside the Compressor Room, pacing back and forth like a caged tiger. The door was still vibrating from where Misty had slammed it moments ago .
He hit Deb's contact.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
"Pick up," he hissed, dragging a hand down his sweating face. "Pick up, damn it." .
"You've reached Deb. I'm busy. Leave a message.".
Jax cursed, nearly throwing the phone at the concrete wall. He dialed again. He needed to warn her. He needed to tell her that the grenade pin had been pulled. Misty wasn't just crying in the bathroom anymore; she was weaponized. She knew about the hotel. She knew about the "appetizer" comment. She knew everything .
If Misty found Deb on the floor right now, it wasn't going to be a conversation. It was going to be a homicide .
He shoved the phone into his pocket and started running toward the production floor.
***
Outside in the parking lot, Misty sat in her Ford Focus. Her hands gripped the steering wheel so hard her knuckles turned white.
The engine was idling, a low vibration that rattled the loose change in her cup holder. The radio was playing some upbeat pop song that sounded like mocking laughter .
She looked at the "Exit" sign at the end of the lot.
It would be so easy. Put the car in drive. Turn left. Go home. Crawl into bed with a pint of ice cream and cry until her eyes swelled shut .
That's what they expected her to do. That's what the "sheep" would do. Go home, Misty. Let the adults play .
She pictured Deb's face. The smugness. The way she had looked at Misty yesterday like she was something stuck to the bottom of her boot. She pictured Jax in the Compressor Room, crossing his arms and telling her he "didn't answer to her." .
They thought she was weak. They thought she was disposable.
Misty looked at her reflection in the rearview mirror. Her makeup was ruined, her eyes were red, and her ponytail was messy. But underneath the mess, she saw something new .
Rage.
"No," she whispered to the empty car.
She reached out and killed the engine. Silence filled the cab. She wasn't going home. Leaving meant they won. Leaving meant she was just a crazy girl who couldn't handle rejection .
She opened the car door and stepped out. She slammed the door shut—a heavy, metallic sound that felt like a gavel coming down .
She wiped the mascara from her cheeks with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. It left a black streak on the gray fabric, but she didn't care. She felt a cold, hard clarity settling in her chest where her heart used to be .
She swiped her badge. The reader beeped green. Access Granted.
The noise of the factory hit her again, but this time it didn't feel overwhelming. It felt like a soundtrack .
She marched down the main aisle. She didn't look at Kyle, who was watching her from his forklift with wide, terrified eyes. She didn't look at Barb and Tammy, who stopped working on Line 4 to stare .
She only had eyes for the orange vest.
Deb was standing at the Quality Control inspection table in the center of the department. She was holding a micrometer, measuring a stamped bracket with calm precision .
She looked so professional. So untouchable.
Deb looked up as Misty approached. She didn't look scared. She looked bored.
"Back from your break, Operator?" Deb called out, her voice carrying over the low hum of the conveyor belts. "You have a quota to hit." .
Misty didn't stop walking until she was on the other side of the metal table. There was three feet of steel between them, covered in shiny, sharp car parts .
"Room 212," Misty said.
The boredom vanished from Deb's face instantly. Her eyes narrowed.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Deb said smoothly.
"Don't lie to me!" Misty screamed.
The sound tore through the department. Line 4 stopped running. Barb took her foot off the pedal. Every head in the vicinity turned toward the inspection table .
"Lower your voice," Deb commanded. "You're creating a disturbance.".
"You're the disturbance!" Misty slammed her hands down on the table. The metal parts rattled. "You think you're so smart, don't you? You think you won? You think because you got him into a bed at the Super 8 that you own him?" .
Deb's face turned to stone. "Pam," she said quietly. "Call security.".
"Don't you dare!" Misty pointed a shaking finger at Pam, who froze. Misty turned back to Deb. "You called me a sheep, Deb. You told people I was just a snack." .
Deb leaned over the table. She lowered her voice, but it was sharp enough to cut skin.
"I called it like I saw it," Deb hissed. "And look at you. Standing here in your dirty sweatshirt, screaming like a child. You aren't proving me wrong, Misty. You're proving me right." .
"He used me!" Misty was crying now, but they were angry tears. "And you helped him! You knew! You laughed about it!" .
"He didn't use you," Deb said cruelly. "He settled for you. And then he remembered he had standards.".
Deb smiled. It was the smile of a predator who knows the prey is trapped.
"Go home, Misty. Before you embarrass yourself even more.".
Misty looked at Deb's smug, perfect face. She looked at the clipboard. She looked at the bin of parts sitting on the table—the "rejects" that Deb had used to torture her yesterday .
Something inside Misty snapped.
She grabbed the bin.
It was heavy, filled with twenty pounds of steel brackets. Misty didn't care. She shrieked, a guttural sound of pure rage, and heaved the bin into the air .
"Misty, no!"
Jax's voice shouted from the aisle .
It was too late.
Misty threw the bin.
It didn't hit Deb—Deb ducked with surprising speed—but it hit the inspection table. The bin capsized, sending hundreds of sharp metal parts crashing onto the concrete floor .
CRASH-CLATTER-SMASH.
The sound was deafening. It sounded like a car wreck.
Silence followed. Absolute, ringing silence.
Deb slowly stood up from her crouch. She brushed a piece of lint off her shoulder. She looked at the mess on the floor. Then she looked at Misty .
"That," Deb said calmly, "is a safety violation. Immediate termination.".
Misty stood there, panting, her chest heaving. The adrenaline was fading, replaced by the crushing realization of what she had just done.
Jax skidded to a halt at the edge of the scene. He looked at the metal all over the floor. He looked at Deb, cool and collected. He looked at Misty, wild-eyed and shaking .
"Misty," Jax whispered. "What did you do?".
Misty looked at him. Her eyes were full of hate.
"I cleaned up the mess," she spat.
Five minutes later, Misty was gone. Security had escorted her out the side door. She hadn't fought them. She had walked out with her head down, still crying, clutching her purse like a life preserver .
Jax stood alone in the aisle. The floor was still covered in metal. The production lines were silent. Every eye in the factory was glued to him .
He felt naked.
Deb walked around the table. Her boots crunched on the brackets. She stopped in front of him, looking cool and untouched .
"You have a mess to clean up, Maintenance," she said.
"Deb," Jax said, his voice hoarse. "Why did you do that? You provoked her.".
"I expedited the inevitable," Deb corrected. "She was a loose cannon, Jax. I just lit the fuse so we could get it over with.".
"She loved me."
"She was obsessed with you," Deb said. "There's a difference. And now she's gone. You're welcome.".
She ripped a red tag off her clipboard. She slapped it onto the control panel of Misty's machine.
"Machine locked out pending investigation," she announced loudly, for the benefit of the audience. "Nobody touches this press until the floor is clear." .
She looked at Jax one last time. Her eyes dropped to his belt, then back to his face.
"You look like you need a drink," she whispered. "Room 212. Tonight. Don't make me wait.".
She turned and walked away, Pam trailing behind her like a shadow.
Jax stood there, staring at the red tag. He felt sick. He felt relieved. He felt like the worst human being on the planet .
***
High above the chaos, in the glass-walled Executive Office, Preston lowered his binoculars. He was leaning back in his leather chair, a look of pure delight on his face .
"Did you see that?" he asked.
Rhonda was standing by the window, looking down at the factory floor. Her face was pale.
"She threw the bin," Rhonda whispered. "She actually threw the bin.".
"She has an arm," Preston noted. "I didn't think she had it in her.".
"This is bad, Preston. Safety is going to have a field day. HR is going to be swarming over this." .
"Let them swarm," Preston dismissed. "It's good for morale. Gives the workers something to talk about besides their paychecks.".
He stood up and walked to the window, looking down at Jax, who was now slowly sweeping up the metal parts with a push broom.
"Look at him," Preston said. "The conquering hero. Picking up the pieces.".
"He's a mess," Rhonda said. "He's lost control.".
"He never had control," Preston laughed. "That's the beauty of it. He thought he was the ringmaster, but he was just the clown.".
He took a sip of his espresso.
"Is the cookout still on for Saturday?".
Rhonda looked at him in disbelief. "You still want to do the cookout? After this?".
"Especially after this," Preston grinned. "Jax is vulnerable now. He's shaken. When he brings his wife on Saturday... well. That's going to be the season finale.".
"You're evil," Rhonda said, shaking her head.
"I'm invested," Preston corrected. "Make sure Jax knows attendance is mandatory. And tell him to bring a salad. He looks like he needs to eat some vegetables.".
***
Barb and Tammy were huddled in the corner of the smoking area, out of sight of the cameras.
"I can't believe she said it," Tammy whispered, her eyes wide. "In front of everyone. 'You slept with her in the hotel room.'" .
"She burned the house down," Barb agreed, taking a drag of her cigarette. "She didn't just open the closet door; she took the hinges off." .
"Did you see Jax's face? He looked like he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him."
"He got off easy," Barb grunted. "If that bin had hit Deb, he'd be talking to the cops right now, not a broom.".
"Deb didn't even blink," Tammy said, shivering. "She's scary, Barb.".
"Deb is a professional," Barb said. "She knew exactly which buttons to push. She played Misty like a fiddle.".
"So Misty is fired?"
"Gone," Barb nodded. "Security walked her out. She won't be back.".
"And Jax?"
Barb looked through the wire mesh of the dock gate. She could see Jax inside, still sweeping. He looked small. He looked lonely .
"Jax is still standing," Barb said. "But he's bleeding. He thinks the worst is over because Misty is gone. He thinks he can just sweep this under the rug.".
"Can he?"
"Honey," Barb exhaled a cloud of smoke. "The worst ain't even started. Misty was the storm. But the hurricane? That's Stacy. And she hasn't even made landfall yet.".
Barb flicked her cigarette butt into a puddle.
"Saturday," she said ominously. "Saturday is gonna be a bloodbath."