“Shut up and keep both hands on the wheel, fucker,” Nasa growled, reaching forward to snatch the fifty out of Raid's hand before he could pass it to Damon.
“Testy,” Damon tsked,. “Is your blood sugar low again? You didn't bring those jelly beans you're always munching on. I can stop and get you a snack—”
The fifty made a crunching noise as Nasa balled his fist to shake it at Damon.
“Which I will promptly shove up your ass! We've got a thirty-minute lead on the next satellite, and we're not stopping to let the damn thing catch up and start tracking our movements unless someone is dying.”
Raid shot Damon a smirk, the two of them clearly in cahoots with the intent to make Nasa blow a gasket. Bastards.
“What if I have to take a leak?” Raid chortled.
“Put your dick out the window. Aim for the himbo driving that ugly-ass truck behind us.”
“Am I supposed to do the same thing if I have to pee?” Dillon asked.
Nasa looked sideways at her, somewhat surprised to find the little smile curving the corners of her lips took the edge off his rising, paranoia-fueled rage.
“There's a bucket in the back for girls. We can toss it out the window.”
Dillon gave a strangled snort. “I prefer a toilet, thanks. There's a rest stop not far from here.”
Horror suffused every cell of his body as he imagined Dillon walking into a rest stop bathroom.
“Fuck that! Every hour, 500,000 bacterial cells per square inch are left behind on a public toilet seat. No way in hell, are you putting your bare ass on that filth.”
Her eyes danced with amusement now, her smile wide and silly.
“Girls squat, Nasa. Strong thighs. My ass would never touch the plastic.”
“No, but you'll track it back into my car on your shoes. Elka will be completely contaminated. I wouldn't be caught dead going into a public bathroom without a full hazmat suit—”
“Did you bring one?” Damon asked calmly- “Cause now I gotta piss like a mother fucker, but I'm remembering that time I waded through a river of shit. Surely, a public bathroom can't be worse.”
Nasa let his head fall back against the seat, ready to be home, safe behind the walls of his compound, beneath the layers of steel and concrete.
“I did not bring one. I was in a hurry. But pull over, piss in a disgusting urinal that's been hosed down with thousands of gallons of urine, see if I care. Enjoy that new flesh-eating bacteria crawling all over you from the splash back.”
“Isn't urine sterile?” Raid pointed out, just to fuck with him.
Helpfully, Dillon set him straight. “Technically, it's only sterile if it's still in your bladder. As soon as you start to go, skin cells are sloughed off and whatever sweat, yeast, and bacteria is living on your junk gets introduced to the stream.”
Damon grumbled under his breath while he reached forward to the phone hooked into the dash, hooked into the Bluetooth. They could all hear Veracruz answer with a gruff, “What?”
“I gotta take a leak, Sarge, but big brother back here has me convinced my dick will fall off if I hit a public bathroom. Find us a spot to pull over.”
The phone spewed out the raucous sound of four commandoes laughing their balls off.
“Alright, princess. I'll see what I can do.”
Ten minutes later, their three-car caravan pulled off onto a shoulder specifically made for truckers, and to Nasa's disgust, every man got out to take the opportunity to pee.
He was absolutely shocked when Dillon hopped out with a bottle of water, a little green case in her hands, and bold as brass found a spot beside Duke.
“What the hell?” Duke squealed, acting like Dillon was about to drop her pants right next to him.
Nasa had the same thought and was rushing to get a towel from the back to shield her when she drawled,
“Eyes front, soldier. Nothing to see here.”
But there most certainly was something to see. Dillon had a hand and some... thing between her legs, her pants still firmly situated around her hips, nothing on display but the top of her belly, and was pissing like a guy.
Standing up.
Right there on the side of the road with Elka squatting to do her own business right beside her, and Duke was still staring.
Nasa was impressed. Shocked, but impressed. Dillon finished up, wiggled to settle her pants, and used the bottle of water to rinse off her gadget. But he had to know.
“What the fuck is that?”
She glanced over her shoulder at him. “A Tinkle Bell.”
“A what?”
“You act like you've never seen a woman pee standing up.” Dillon chortled, her tiger eyes dancing with amusement as she showed him the spout-like device.
She didn't notice how she subtly stepped toward him when she was suddenly surrounded by ten curious guys who wanted to know how she'd managed to keep from peeing on her shoes.
But Nasa noticed, and that one tiny step was worth whatever lead they'd lost on the satellites overhead.
“It's the product of a woman who got tired of having to squat in the dirt with her pants around her ankles or risking a flesh-eating bacteria from sitting on a public toilet.”
“Do those wing things hold your pussy open so you can get in there with it?” Duke asked, totally serious.
Tobias did Nasa a favor by reaching out with his good arm to slap the bastard upside the back of his fool head.
“What? What'd I say?”
Raid guffawed and whipped out his phone- “I've got to get one of those for Athena; she'll love it.”
Nasa was most definitely going to stock up on at least twenty of them and stick them in every go-bag he had in storage for the women, but they all didn't need to be out here in the open discussing the particulars of learning how to not piss on yourself.
“Alright, everyone back in the fucking trucks. The satellites—”
“If I
