by Anna Rainn
Kiss Hide Bite
A Vampire Romantic Thriller
Anna Rainn
© 2019 Anna Rainn.All rights reserved.
This book if for your personal use only. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotation in a book review. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
“Write me something light,” he said.
I tried.
To my one and only. It is because of you that I believe in true love.Thank you for the inspiration, the help, and the endless supply of coffee. You make the best French press.
Chapter 1
This time, I’m going to report her!
Bianca was out of sight again, gone when she was most needed. The line in front of the cash register was growing, the early bird rush hour creeping in with sure footsteps, and it was just me and Caleb handling register and equipment, while Dave and Jose tried to keep up with the drive-thru orders and prevent the line of cars from blocking the road.
“Grande Americano!” I yelled at Caleb, who was pouring in the back, handing the suited gentleman his change, and smiling at the next customer. This order was thankfully simple, but I spied two tote wielding girls at the end of the line, and I knew it was going to be Frappuccino flavor pump mathematics for Caleb in no time. At least I was the one in the front, right? I had zero chance of messing up someone’s morning coffee and then having to deal with the anger storm that came with that.
I don’t usually handle the register; Bianca does. Like Caleb, I am a worker bee, who spins milk and dark bean extract to bring everyone back to life every day.
“Hello,” the next customer in line smiled at me, something a bit rare this early in the morning. We got our fair share of both regulars and new customers due to our location. A premium coffee branch in one of the busiest commercial areas in the city, we had to cater to countless employees and ever-changing guests and clients.
“Good morning, how are you today?” I smile back at the suited gentleman automatically. It was practically morning, even though the sunshine was still at least a half-hour away, probably more.
“I’d like a special order, please,” he chimed.
Perfect!
“Sure, how would you like your coffee?” I pulled a paper cup with one hand, and the marker with the other.
“My order is you, babe.” The old man’s eyes were narrow, slimy. They fell rudely on my breast before settling on my name tag. “I would like a Marissa. Very large. Super hot.” He winked.
“That’s not on the menu. Would you like a coffee, sir?”
The line was growing, I needed to handle this well, but more importantly, I needed to handle it fast. Of course, Bianca would handle it very quickly. Where was she again?
“Where is Bianca?” The old man asked, annoyed. Well, that explains it.
“She’s on a break. She’ll be back soon. May I get you a coffee, meanwhile?”
“Fuck you,” He stormed his expensive suit out of the line.
You think that was extreme? You’d be surprised to know that this kind of reaction is not as rare as you would expect. Oh, well.
“Next!”
Being a barista is not easy, let me tell you that. I will spare you the bathroom horror stories and the freebie hunters trivia. The day to day of standing behind a register and dealing with all kinds of customers could be daunting even if you weren’t dealing with uncaffeinated corporate bees on their way to work in one of the busiest commercial districts. Here, with this location, we have it even worse than your average café, much worse.
The firms in the business compounds around us were some of the most brutal. Working in these environments sure takes a toll on a person. And where does said pressure seep out to restore a temporary semblance of balance and keep the business professionals from exploding? Here, of course, with us baristas at the receiving end. If one pump of flavor is missed, or thought to be missed, if the foam is too much or too little, if the coffee is not hot enough or too hot, if the five-syllable name was misspelled, this was their cue to let off some steam before going to work and submitting to another day of brutal corporate life.
And it was okay. To me, it really was okay. I wasn’t going to be in the service industry forever; I had a plan. First of all, I was in college, and I was one semester away from graduation, with flying colors, thank you very much. Yes, the waist-length platinum blond hair and double D cups, both natural by the way, didn’t spell business school, but I was smarter than I was given credit for. Soon enough, I would be joining the herd of overworked corporate professionals grabbing an espresso at five in the morning. The overstressed unrested clientele wasn’t the end of my trouble at work, however. The customers were bearable, but Bianca was a different story.
In her first week at work, Bianca tricked me into going shopping with her. She went home with two stolen bottles of lotion slipped into her purse while I watched in shock, unsure of what to do. A couple of weeks later, Bianca showed up to work with her hair dyed red. It makes for a better tip, she said defensively the first day she showed up with her new, blood-red color. I didn’t mind. I didn’t even care. Between work and school, I had my hands full. It was when she had her boob job and started to wear her work shirt unbuttoned that she started to get on my nerves.
It’s none of my business, I told myself once and again, and that’s how I managed to endure Bianca’s cleavage, Bianca’s squeaky voice, Bianca’s sickly sweet perfume, and Bianca’s leopard patterned undergarments. I did mention that Bianca likes to show off her bras, didn’t I? At least she was wearing a bra, imagine if she hadn’t. So, I grit my teeth, put up with work, put up with her, and bid my days till I graduated business school.
One day, I will be at one of these firms surrounding us, and I will walk in here for a daily cup of coffee, something with no fuss, and I will leave a good tip every time, I chanted, taking the next order.
I miraculously managed to maintain the line at a moderate length for the following ten minutes. When Bianca showed back up, I quickly joined Caleb at the counter for her to take her place at the register.
“Where the hell have you been?” I said to her between clenched teeth, pouring a skinny latte.
She ignored me. But I knew, didn’t I? And so did everybody who worked here, even Jose, our intern. The gentleman who tried to order me, super hot, please, looked like he knew too. He probably got himself a Bianca before.
A disheveled twenty-something popped out of the staff bathroom, his face pale and his long hair in disarray. I caught the lipstick stain on his chin, cherry red, the same shade on Bianca’s enhanced lips, now stretched in a smile as she greeted someone and scribbled their order on a cup.
I hope she cleaned up the mess.
“Fifteen minutes this time, longer than usual, don’t you think?” Caleb rolled his eyes at me, rushing to the blender.
“Let’s hope she doesn’t meet someone with above-average stamina,” I muttered, my eyes scanning the café.
A beautiful girl with a long shiny ponytail was hovering near the door looking for a table. From one shoulder hung a backpack, beat up and retro looking. A student, but what was a student doing here? Our clientele was almost exclusively corporate, and there were no schools or colleges nearby. An intern?
“Marissa!” Caleb’s voice jerked me
away from the fresh-faced brunette. The latte I was pouring over spilled.
“Shit!” I reached for the tablecloths and wiped, quickly grabbing a new paper cup — two caramel pumps, one white mocha, now froth, medium foam.
“Elizabeth,” I called, putting the latte on the counter.
Done.
Next!
The young brunette was sitting now, opposite Bianca’s latest fifteen-minute man. Her innocent face broke into a radiant smile, and she signaled at the line in front of the register. I could imagine what she was saying. She wanted to wait until the crowds cleared a bit before making her order. What would you have beautiful? A simple cappuccino to match your minimal neatly pressed attire or something sweet, blended, and colorful to match your smile. She caught my eyes. I nodded, my heart feeling heavy.
Fifteen-minute man is not her boyfriend. It’s a business thing, I told myself, but then the long-haired hipster reached out and held her hand. She interwove her fingers with his.
I hope he washed his hands.
“Caleb.”
He turned to me, brown eyes questioning, hands expertly pushing blender buttons.
“I’m reporting Bianca.”
Chapter 2
Two years later
Black and Foam was closed, but I was still inside. Around me, the air conditioning was fired up to max to combat the summer’s sticky heat. A few strands of hair had escaped my ponytail and were standing between my eyes and the numbers I was mulling over. The paperwork in front of me was starting to make less sense, anyway; it was time to go. I drained the last of my double espresso, a very bad idea at 1 am, I know, and then I gathered up the papers and started closing up.
Getting a loan fresh from business school wasn’t easy, but I had that one thing going for me: I went to college on a full scholarship. So, I had no student loans. When my resume failed to garner the attention I had hoped for, I went with the one thing I knew anything about: coffee. So here I stood, in my very own café, one year after opening and still standing.
Black and Foam didn’t have the central location my previous chain coffeeshop had, far from it, nor was it as large. We were a small place. But the coffee was good, and we cared, we truly cared. We sold organically sourced coffee and did well by our suppliers, fair trade, always. And most importantly, I had Caleb. I was a hands-on owner, but Caleb was the branch manager.
My employees received the best benefits I could afford, with working hours and holidays I could only dream of during my years as a student/barista. We were all happy.
Inside and outside the coffee shop, lush green trees were planted, all new, and all growing bit by bit, as slowly and as surely as Black and Foam. The only exception was one ancient sycamore tree outback; it was right there when I first signed the lease, and it still stands, a promise of more growth.
Every day, we opened at five am and closed at eleven. On weekends, we stayed open till midnight. And it was me who always locked up. I did it so my employees can get home to their families in time for a late dinner, to their studies and books, or to their girlfriends and boyfriends. As for me, I lived leagues away from my family, and I had no social life so to speak. Since graduation, every minute of my time was invested in Black and Foam. I went on the rare and disappointing weekend date, but that was about it. Today’s date was with paperwork, and the dreadful pastime has thankfully come to an end.
With the files tossed in my large tote, I pushed my arms into a light sports jacket and slipped my Nikes back on before heading outside. I may have become a business owner in this past year, but I still looked and dressed the same: yoga leggings and a tank top in summer, jeans and a knit sweater in winter, and always comfortable shoes. I didn’t have time to think of what to wear. Thankfully I didn’t need to put in time and effort to look good; genes were kind to me. No matter what I wore, my hair still shined, thick, soft, long and blond; my skin still glowed, slightly tanned with a subtle flush, and my boobs stayed full and round, giving shape to even the boxiest tops.
I took one last look at the main area of my coffee shop, now peaceful in the dark, before turning into the small hall that leads to the backdoor. One small table was on my right, then the light switch and the glass door, followed by the humid air of summer nights.
The parking lot behind Black and Foam was deserted, as usually at this late hour, and so quiet you could hear a pin drop. My keys fell, the sound of them connecting with the concrete like a bomb exploding in this dead silence.
“Shit,” I cursed, picking the keys up, locking the backdoor, and throwing the leather key fob in my handbag. When I turned, the parking lot wasn’t deserted anymore. An old van was parked in the middle of the vacant lot. Why didn’t I hear the car pull up? And what was it doing here at this late hour? Everything else was closed.
The café door was already locked behind me, and the keys lost somewhere in the depth of my unorganized tote. Instinctively, I hunkered behind the sycamore. My car was in the far corner, to get to it, I will have to pass by the van. This wasn’t something I was comfortable doing. Should I go back inside the coffee shop? The keys will sure make an audible noise when I pull them out and open the door, and make my presence known to whoever lurked in the creepy van. This seemed like a very bad idea for some reason. If I couldn’t get to my car nor go back inside without making some sort of contact with whoever hid in that car, what option did that leave me?
I pulled my iPhone out of my bag - that I had the good sense to keep in an easy to reach outside pocket. I punched 911 and let my finger hover over the dial button. Why was I so tense? What would I tell the operator? That a van was parked outside my café, and I was too scared to go to my car? Sure, ma’am, we will send you a whole team of cops to help you cross the parking lot, thank you for wasting precious police time and resources.
No, I am just going to go back inside.
Still crouched, I started feeling around in my bag for the key fob. I will organize my handbag, I promised, getting hold of a blush case then pushing it aside, I just need to get out of this safely, and I will never let my bag get so messy again. Please, just let me find the keys and go back inside.
A scream came, sharp and high-pitched — a girl’s scream.
I dropped to all four on the ground, scanning the parking lot from behind the tree branches. The parking lot lights were suddenly flickering. Some were starting to go out. I pulled my hand to my mouth, stifling a scream, my phone sliding into the abyss of my handbag.
Lights on, a large shadow crossing the parking space. Lights off, a panicked scream. Lights on, another shadow entangled with the larger one, blue eyes full of panic. Lights off, the screams now stifled. Lights on, blood. A man, it was a man! And he was attacking the screaming woman. His mouth was on her neck as if in a lover’s embrace, but her dress was soaked red. I whimpered. The attacker lifted his head and started turning his face to me. He heard me! Somehow, he heard me! Lights off.
I dug for my keys. The noise didn’t matter now. He saw me. He saw me SEE him. Lipstick, lip balm, a perfume bottle. I am going to die here and now. Pens and papers, a wallet. No, it wasn’t a wallet; it was too small. My key fob! Lights on. She was on the floor now. He was nowhere to be seen. I pushed the key into the lock and turned. Lights off, a pair of eyes glowed at me from the dark, closing in, red circles of sinister light. I screamed. The door was unlocked. It was unlocked! I pulled the keys out of the lock, ran in, and locked the backdoor behind me. Lights on, a face stared at me from behind the glass door. His teeth were long, his lips blood-stained and smiling. He stuck his face to the glass exterior. This isn’t a human face, I thought in panic, my sanity slipping. He’ll walk straight through the glass. Then the lights went off, and he was gone, disappeared into the dark. And I was left on the floor, shivering.
Chapter 3
Red and blue lights bounced off Black and Foam’s glass exterior announcing the approaching police car. The vehicle parked across the main street at the front. I had to mentally force myself to
get out of my hiding place and switch the lights back on. I had been curling under the counter in the dark since I made the 911 call. Stepping out of my café was out of the question, though. It didn’t matter that two policemen in uniforms were out right now, hands on their guns, and eyes scanning the area; I wasn’t going to risk looking at those glowing eyes again. I shivered at the memory I knew will haunt me for months, maybe even years. The two red circles becoming closer as I slipped through the glass door and into safety. Was I safe?
The knock on the front door startled me, although I had been watching the two uniformed policemen approaching since they stepped out of their car. I tried to steady my nerves, but adrenaline had taken its toll on me, and my hand was shaking as I reached for the door. I managed to put the key in the lock on the third attempt.
“There are reports of an assault at this address,” the first policeman started as he entered the café. His eyes were scanning every inch, searching the red stone interior carefully, then taking in every individual table. He looked young, thirty at most. The other one looked like a new recruit. Not quite what I expected when I called to report being attacked.
“Yes. Outback,” I pointed vaguely towards the back area.
“Ma’am,” the older of the two started, his tone calm, “I am officer Day, and this is officer Fleming. Were you assaulted?”
I guess I looked bad enough for them to doubt I was the one who was attacked.
“No. I mean yes. No.”
The two officers looked at each other. I took a deep breath “He chased me after I saw him assault another woman in the parking lot. I escaped, and I called 911,” I said, then feeling like I needed to provide more context, I added, “My name is Marissa Cooper. I own this café. I was leaving from the backdoor, my car is parked there, when I saw a van. It wasn’t there before. I got scared, hid, and saw a… man attack a woman.” I wasn’t making much sense, I knew, but it was the best I could do at the moment.