The girl half-turns back to him, her lips curving, murmuring, “See, I told you it would be fine. C’mon, they have the best milkshakes here. You can’t leave Boston before you have one.”
His shrug turns into a grin. His raised eyebrows say he’s too old to be ordering kid’s food. His deep voice carries the slightest southern accent as he says, “Milkshakes, huh?”
“Hey, we missed out on each other’s childhoods. We have a lot of catching up to do.”
There’s a striking resemblance between them. They don’t quite have the same hair color, but definitely the same eyes: green with stunning blue rims. At first glance they looked like a couple, but now I’m thinking brother and sister—especially after the comment about their childhood.
She tugs on his arm and he strides after her, retaining his protective loom over her while he assesses the room. I narrow my eyes at the way he quickly studies the exits, counts the customers, runs his eye over all the items in the room that could be used as a weapon, all in a practiced casual manner that nobody else would notice. It’s like watching a mirror image of my own behavior.
Except that I stopped checking the exits about a month ago. I’ve definitely stayed too long, got too comfortable. I sigh inwardly. I thought I had a reason to stick around, but it turns out I was wrong about that.
They choose a table in the middle on the left side. The other wait staff are late, so it’s up to me to serve them. I take a deep breath as I approach. The girl is talking about her college major, and her brother—if that’s what he is—seems happy to listen. He may hide his other reactions, but it’s clear he adores her.
When she pauses and looks up, I ask, “May I take your order?”
True to her promise—and her brother’s amusement—she orders two milkshakes. Before I can move away, she says, “Oh, hey, what are you reading?”
I glance down at my pocket, surprised she noticed the book peeking out of it. She may not be as reserved as her brother, but she’s just as observant. I slide the book out into the open so she can see the title before I let it drop back into my pocket.
She asks, “Is it any good?”
“I haven’t started it yet. I hope so.”
She turns back to her brother with a smile. “Do you read, Cain?”
“Not as much as I’d like to, Parker.” Cain’s gaze sweeps across me as he speaks. It looks like a casual gesture, but he’s doing it to someone who recognizes the behavior.
In one glance he’s sized up my height, weight, the chocolate smudge on my apron, my blond hair, my nametag, and my chewed fingernails. Yep, I’m twenty years old and I still chew my nails. It’s the one nervous tic I allow myself to have. I quietly curl the ends of my fingers behind my notebook to hide them, making a mental note that it’s time to kick the habit.
Parker shakes her head at Cain. “You should find time, big brother.”
I find myself smiling. There’s something contagious about Parker’s lighthearted smile. I ask, “Would you like to order anything else?”
“Two plates of bacon and eggs, sunny side up, please.” She laughs when Cain gives her a surprised look. She says, “You thought I was going to order egg whites, didn’t you? We just ran two miles. I’m not afraid to eat.”
I jot down their order and glance up as the bell rings again, but it’s not a customer. It’s Jeremy and Sophie, the other two wait staff. I exhale and force myself to relax. Until a week ago, Jeremy and I were dating. I fell for his deep brown eyes and easygoing personality. He was the reason my intended three-month stay turned into six months. He was my first for many things—too many things—and now I’m determined that he’ll be my last. There’s no point pretending I can have a normal relationship when I can’t tell anyone my name.
I never should have come back to Boston in the first place.
Jeremy doesn’t acknowledge me, sauntering past with Sophie close beside him. It’s hard to miss the way he squeezes her butt as they round the corner into the coatroom.
Wow, he moved on fast.
“Hey.” Parker reaches out to gain my attention. She’s going to ask me why I haven’t taken their order to the kitchen yet. How can I just stand here gawking while they’re waiting for their food?
Before I can apologize, she says the most surprising thing. Her voice and expression are gentle and genuine. “Are you okay?”
I’m stunned. I can’t remember the last time someone asked me that, let alone a complete stranger. I shake myself. Remind myself I’m tougher than this. “Sorry. Yes. I’ll be back with your food.”
I deliver their order to the kitchen staff. I’ve already taken all the other prepared orders out to the required tables, so I steal a moment to gather myself, leaning up against the wall in the nook between the coat room and the kitchen.
So Jeremy broke my heart. So what? I’ll get over it and remember not to open my heart again.
Then I suddenly realize that my current location is the last place I should be. The coatroom is where Jeremy and Sophie went and they’re taking their time coming back out. Jeremy’s familiar voice wafts out to me. “Last night was incredible.”
There’s a long pause. Are they kissing? Sophie gives an exaggerated moan-sigh. “I don’t know why you wasted so much time on Grace.”
“God, yeah. She’s got nothing on you, babe. You are amazing.”
That’s what he’d said to me. That I was beautiful. That I was amazing.
I feel like I’ve been doused in ice water. My whole body just went numb. It’s my own fault. I never should have stayed. I never should have believed I could have something normal. I’m the daughter of a criminal—I don’t get to be normal.
I spin, trip, and bump over someone standing right behind me. My defensive training kicks in. I’m not athletic, not by a long shot, but I always had quick reflexes. I can move fast when I want to. I grab the guy’s shoulders to keep my balance, but to my surprise he’s faster, catching me and bending his knees slightly at the same time so he doesn’t knock the wind out of me.
He draws me upright and I find myself hard up against his chest. I can’t even draw breath. It’s like the wind was knocked out of me. I can sense … all of him … every muscle in his arms cradling my back, every flex in his thigh, every ripple in his chest. His hands grip either side of my waist to steady me, and the way his palms flex against the curve at the top of my hips stops the breath in my lungs.
My gaze jolts upward to Cain’s face. His quick inhale tells me he’s as surprised as I am. Startled green eyes like the color of a stormy sea meet mine. Up this close, I can see the bristles shadowing his jawline as if he meant to shave but didn’t have time.
What was he doing so close behind me? And what is going on with my heart right now? And … oh no … did he hear what Jeremy and Sophie said about me?
I’m beyond embarrassed. I never understood the desire to leap into a hole in the ground, but right now I wish I could disappear.
He doesn’t seem in any hurry to release me. His gaze softens. “Are you okay?”
I find myself speaking the truth. “I’m not having a very good day.”
Whoa, where did that come from? Honesty about my feelings has never been my forte. And why does he care?
“Well…” he says, adjusting me so I’m standing on my own two feet, releasing me and putting a stop to all those head-spinning sensations. “At least you won’t be without a pen.”
He holds it up for me. I must have left it on the table. He came to return it.
There’s a gasp behind me and I jolt to see Sophie and Jeremy gaping in the doorway that leads into the coatroom.
Sophie’s jaw drops. She squeals, “Oh, my God. It’s Cain Carter!”
It takes me a moment to catch up. Cain Carter…
Now I know why he seems familiar. His name has been plastered all over magazines and online news sites over the last few months: Cain Carter, Boston’s youngest and most ambitious businessman. At twenty-one years of age he’s already wort
h upwards of something in the high millions.
According to the magazines piled on the table in the corner of the café, he grew up in the South and relocated here a few months ago for reasons unknown. I’m guessing it might have something to do with his sister. But if the tabloids haven’t gotten wind of her existence yet, then no wonder he and Parker were cautious about being seen together in public.
I take a step back so I have a clear line of sight into the café to locate Parker. She’s peering in our direction. It takes her two seconds to realize they’ve been made. The disappointment on her face is heartbreaking. I guess she doesn’t get to have “normal” either.
Cain’s expression turns to stone. “Looks like I have to go, after all.” For a moment, his expression softens. “Have a better day, Grace.”
Then he swings away from me, strides toward Parker, throws a hundred dollar bill down on the table, and whisks her out the door.
Feeling like I’m made out of wood, I follow his footsteps. Outside, the car door slams and the vehicle disappears. I pick up the cash and take it to Joe. He runs it through the register and gives me the leftover amount after Cain and Parker’s meals are paid for.
He grins. “That’s some tip.”
I look from the money to the spot where Cain caught me, and then past it to Jeremy. He has the grace to look embarrassed. He’s smart enough to know that I overheard him.
This is one chapter in my life I’m putting behind me.
“I’ll take two muffins and two mocha lattes, thanks, Joe,” I say, pulling off my apron and placing it on the counter. “And then I’m afraid I have to quit.”
Joe sighs. “I knew I’d lose you one day. If you need a reference, let me know. I’ll gladly give you one.”
“Thanks.”
I retrieve my coat and shoulder bag, put my book into the inner pocket where it rests against my side, and pay Joe for the food. I wrap my scarf around my neck and chin, pull up my hood, and exit the café juggling two lattes and two brown paper bags.
I head to the last place I saw the old homeless lady. It’s time to share a meal with her. She usually sticks to the alleyways during the day, so she should be somewhere nearby. I peer down one alley, then another.
The street is lined with electricity poles, dotted with old flyers in all colors. Ten minutes later, I reach the quieter end of the long street and I’m worried I’ll have to give up. I really wanted the lady to have a warm drink for once. One sip of my latte tells me it’s getting cold. I stop and lean against the nearest pole, trying to avoid the trash can beside it.
One of the flyers catches my attention, mostly because it’s the same blueberry color as my waitressing apron. In bold black lettering, it says:
Feeling lost? Find yourself in books. The Tomb Bookshop is hiring now.
I need a job and I have customer service experience. Working in a bookstore would be a dream for me. There’s something comforting about being surrounded by so many worlds hidden in pages, worlds I can escape to. The flyer looks old though. They’re bound to have hired someone by now. Still, I take it down and shove it in my pocket, just in case I change my mind.
A clatter from the next alleyway draws my attention. I pick up my pace in the direction of the sound. A muffled gasp meets my ears as I round the corner and peer down the lane. It’s wider than most, lined with trash cans. One of them lies on its side, garbage bags strewn across the pavement, and next to them…
The old homeless lady leans on her side, gripping the arms of a man in a mask, who is holding her by the throat.
What the…? He’s choking her!
It doesn’t occur to me to back the hell away and call for help. She’ll be dead by the time someone with authority appears on the scene. It also doesn’t occur to me to run for my life. Big guys in masks don’t scare me. They probably should, but I grew up surrounded by them, got desensitized by all the violence, so I don’t feel fear. I drop my bag at the alleyway entrance and pitch one of the coffee cups at his back to get his attention.
He jerks as the cup splashes liquid across his shoulders. He loosens his hold on the lady’s throat long enough for her to scoot away from him, gasping for breath as she rubs her neck. She looks for a place to escape, but she’s got nowhere to go. The alley is a dead end. I’m standing in the only exit and her would-be killer is between her and me.
Her assailant draws up to his full height to face me, fully clad in black: pants, shirt, boots, and a full facemask. Only his hands are visible. And his eyes—amber with chocolate flecks. I read all the emotions in them, the dominant ones being surprise and annoyance.
I don’t waste time with words. Talking isn’t going to save her life. I throw the other coffee cup straight at his face. He bats it away with his fist so that it hits the grimy brick beside him. Caramel liquid splatters across the pavement.
He growls, low and deep, in a way that tells me I’ve made him mad.
With a quick movement, he draws back his arm and releases a sharp object right at me. The dagger thuds into the wall of the wooden building, beside my face.
I don’t scream. I’m not a screamer. I stopped screaming when I was thirteen years old and Dad put a gun in my hands and told me to fucking shut up and shoot.
I drop the bags of muffins, but not because I’m scared. I need my hands to be free. The dagger quivers beside my face. It has two letters etched on it in large silver script right at my eye level: SL.
What does that stand for? Super Large? Seems like the sort of acronym a guy would use. Either this man has bad aim or that was a warning shot. He turns back to the old woman as if he’s certain I’ll run away now. She tries to get away as he grabs her once more by the throat, but he pauses when he realizes I’m not going anywhere.
He inclines his head sharply back the way I came as if he thinks I might be stupid. Don’t I understand he wants me to leave? The dagger was a message. A warning. His gesture says: Get the hell out of here. This is not your business.
Like hell it’s not.
I have no idea what “SL” stands for. If I’m supposed to be frightened, I’m not. I wrench the dagger from the wall and grip it in my fist, adjusting it for maximum leverage. My knife skills are rusty but they’ll come back to me.
My heartbeat slows; a powerful calm takes over. It was always this way. Every time Dad gave me a weapon, every time I held a dagger or a gun, everything got really slow, really serene.
I am completely in control.
I’ll get the shakes when it’s all over, but for now the whole world may as well be at peace.
I stride toward the lady’s assailant, judging his strengths and weaknesses from his height and build, assessing the way he’s using his hands—brute strength—to subdue her. Another dagger is clipped onto his belt, out in the open, which means it’s up for grabs like the one I’m holding now.
Knife fights are quick and brutal. They get messy fast. Unlike the assailant, I have decreased motion because of my clothing. My old man’s coat is thick and warm. It’s the only thing Dad left me—literally the coat off his back—it’s not designed for a fight. I’m not taking it off though. Together with my hood and scarf, I could be anyone. He won’t be able to identify me.
Actually … he might not realize I’m a woman. No lady I know would be caught dead in this coat. It completely hides my curves, but I refuse to give it up. I might have gone through stages of hating my dad, but this is the only thing I have left of him.
Now, I have to use every second wisely.
The man’s eyes widen as he realizes I’m not going away. For a moment he looks at me as if he thinks I’m walking toward him simply to return his dagger. I keep it raised in my fist, pointed to the right, a fighting grip. His gaze flicks to it and he jolts a little.
Any fighter worth his salt will recognize the way I’m holding it, along with the message I’m sending: I’m coming for you.
He’s so surprised he lets me get within arm’s reach before he reacts.
I slash right at his face. It’s a warning swipe more than anything else. I don’t want to kill him. I just want him to leave the lady alone. I’m not sure if he’ll feel the same way toward me though. If this guy is prepared to kill a harmless old woman, he won’t have any problem ending me.
He drops the lady so he’s free to grab his spare knife.
She scrambles away from him, scooting up against the back of the alleyway as he rounds on me. I leap backward when he takes a swipe at my stomach, a slashing cut that would have run from one side of my torso to the other … if he was serious about it.
His attack was a test swing too. He wants to check my reflexes and determination, to find out if I pose a real challenge. My nimble evasion just told him I’m not going down easily.
“Who are you?” he asks, his voice muffled behind his mask.
I don’t answer. My voice will give away that I’m female, and I’m determined to take my ruse to the bitter end.
He makes a swift swipe at my face, but I duck, arms up so that if I’m not quick enough he’ll cut my forearms and not my face. At the same time, I grab his knife hand, push it wide, and kick my foot into his stomach, following up with a quick uppercut to his jaw. I use my left hand, not my knife hand, so it doesn’t have the same impact, but even so, his knife flies wide as he goes down.
He leaps back to his feet just as fast, quicker than I anticipated for such a big guy. I narrowly evade a hit to my temple, landing a punch to his side instead. When I try to knee him, he pushes my leg down and forces me off balance. It’s my turn to hit the ground, rolling out of the way as he comes after me. He stomps the spot where I’d lain a split second ago.
I end up right beside his fallen dagger, snatching it up as I find my feet and turn to face him again.
Now I have both weapons.
Before I can use them, he darts up between my arms and tries to grab my scarf to reveal my face, but he only succeeds in drawing it further up over my nose. I’ve tied it securely around my neck and mouth to stay warm. It takes him a second to figure out my scarf isn’t going anywhere.
Shadows and Sorcery: A Collection of Urban Fantasy and Paranormal Romance Novels Page 41