I’ve spotted him around the corner from my shop, on my morning run in his eye-catching EV, and at the tiny house build near Decker Lake. He wore neon-pink sunglasses and a baseball cap, thinking that would somehow make him less recognizable.
Today is the closest he’s gotten to me, and I’m inclined to go over there and ask him why he’s doing this. Maybe I’m a suckerbecause I can’t find it in me to burst his bubble. Also, I can admit—at least to myself—that I like the attention.
Lingering over my coffee by the window, I sit with my back to Rami while monitoring him in the reflection of the glass.
Only… What the fuck is he doing? He keeps messing with his glasses and then pulling up his tablet to type something out on the screen.
Now, he’s just pulled the glasses off and is staring at them like they hold the secret to the universe. I take an embarrassingly long time to figure out the score, and by then, I have to stop myself from laughing into my coffee.
He’s wearingsmartglasses.
How fucking adorable is that? Honestly, I should put him out of his misery.
I’m about to do just that when two handsome and terrifyingly familiar men enter the shop. I freeze, heart in my throat, willing the Fathers Bash to look past me. Maybe forget my entire existence while they’re at it.
“Rami? What are you doing here? I thought you only liked the coffee shop in your building?”
“Oh, Baba. Hi. I, uh…”
He’s looking in my direction to see if I’ve noticed him, and his fathers follow his line of sight. Shit.
“Someone you know?” Anders asks in an improbably kind tone.
“Oh, no. Thought I recognized him, but I don’t.” He rips off his glasses. “Anyway. I’ve gotta, uh, go. Charity things. You know how it is.”
“Of course,” Omar Bash says, his voice so warm and sweet.
No wonder their son has no clue. They sound like absolute marshmallows when speaking to him. Honestly, now I just hate Rami for having good parents.
Who happen to be serial killers.
Rami makes his way out of the shop, and I let out a breath.I’ve enjoyed whatever this is, but I don’t need this kind of stress in my life. Next time he follows me, I’m going to call him out on it. That decided, I grab my lukewarm coffee and take a sip, then nearly choke on it when Anders Fucking Bash sits on the chair in front of me.
Playing it cool, I send him a friendly nod and start to stand. A large hand grips my shoulder and pushes me back down.
“Please.Sit,” says Omar Bash, his accent at once hypnotizing and terrifying.
He remains standing with his hand on my shoulder while Anders leans forward, scanning my face. Double shit.
“Why is our son following you?” Anders asks. His relaxed drawl sends an icy chill down into my guts.
Keep it steady. Admit to nothing.
“Who’s your son?” I ask, though the warble in my voice kinda gives me away.
The hand on my shoulder tightens. I take a painful gulp and chance a look up at the man standing next to me. I recognize those blue-green eyes.
“Something tells me you know better than to pretend, yes?” Omar asks, his mouth tight. “That you know who we are?”
I suck in a breath and then nearly choke on my own spit.
Amusement lights Anders’ eyes and, gotta say, that’s the fucking scariest goddamn thing I’ve ever seen in my life. Even scarier than the look he gave me in the mirror.
Omar lifts his brows, as if to remind me he’s still waiting for my answer.
Fine. I go with the safe answer.
“You’re Rami’s dads.”
