Page 7 of Cruz

She says nothing, but she doesn’t have to.

“It’s not forever,” Liam offers.

“Two days,” Sloane breathes. The words hang in the air, surprisingly ominous. “But that’s all, Liam. We’ll talk again, and I’d like us to truly consider making some changes.”

I don’t know if Liam’s just assuaging her, or if he means it, but he nods. I suppose he didn’t specify what he’d be willing to reconsider. It’s not the club. I know that’s a hard boundary for him. No one is going to change his mind, not even the person he clearly loves most in the whole world.

“Okay.” Sloane surges upright. “I’m going to flip that sign back on and unlock the door. You…” She skewers me with her eyes, shining bright and brutal in intensity. “Do whatever you have to do, I guess, but make sure you’re not scaring customers away.”

I’ve already said more words today than I want to, but I force a few more up from that deep place of me. They scrape up my throat and come out just as raspy as the first ones did. “I can do that.”

Far from looking at all satisfied or happy, Sloane forces a smile for Liam, but gives me her back.

I’m fine with that.

I can guard a pissed off woman just as easily as I can a happy one.

Chapter 4

Sloane

I love everything about my cafe, I really do. I don’t mind the long hours. Most of my customers are great and the ones who aren’t, usually fail to get under my skin. This place takes a lot of hard work, but it pays all my bills, and it’s allowed me to put a little bit of money into my savings account every month for years. Making coffee, baking, cleaning, putting in orders, and bookwork might not be glamorous, but I like it. I find the mundane routine comfortable and relaxing.

Usually.

It’s an hour away from close up, and I still haven’t settled in. It’s a miracle that I haven’t caused a coffee explosion or spilled trays of drinks, I’m so distracted. Tremors alternate between my hands and the rest of my body. I keep trying to lose myself in work, but it’s not going to happen.

I feel like we’re one step away from certain disaster. How is it possible that this day has been a thousand years long? It’s wild to think that I woke up this morning and everything was so painfully, wonderfully normal. Now, my son worked for a gang, witnessed a murder, and is prospecting at a biker club. When I referred to them as a gang, he put me straight. It’s not enough that he’s planning on joining them, he also works for Satan’s Angels MC too. He’s so thoroughly enmeshed with them that I know chances are slim of ever unpicking those knots and setting him free. If I needed a reminder of how deeply he’s enmeshed in all this, I just need to look up at the giant of a man who’s invaded my café and our home. Okay, it’s for our protection, but I could do without his presence throwing me off kilter every time I catch a glimpse of those steely gray eyes.

The bell at the door jangles, admitting John and Henry. They work down the street and generally come in around five—the end of their day, for a coffee for the drive home.

Liam wasn’t entirely wrong when he listed off the types of men that I’m wary of. He said don’t like, but I’ll die on the hill of caution never hurt anyone. It’s not that I don’t trust a man in a suit, but it does get exhausting that donning one seems to make the wearer think that they can talk down someone working in the service industry.

John and Henry aren’t like that. They’re middle aged with kids nearly as old as Liam. John’s been balding for years and has a dad bod, while Henry looks like a lumberjack jammed into a suit. They’re always funky. Plaids, browns, checks, but never boring black. He grins his typical grin at me. He’s as big as a Viking, though not as large as Cruz.

He and Liam went upstairs an hour ago to talk about security. We’ve never had a camera in our living space. I don’t like it, but there’s not much about this that I do think is great.

I still can’t believe this is happening.

“You look like your parade got pissed on,” Henry barks. Loudly.

Mrs. Jenkins is over in the reading nook, a smutty romance book resting on her knees, a slice of banana bread and her regular black Earl Grey tea on the coffee table in front of her. She turns around and scowls. She might regularly read the spiciest, darkest books in full public view, but swearing in real life is a no-no. She’s eighty-seven. I think she wants real life men to have some class like the book boyfriends do.

“I’m okay. Just… just got some unexpected news. I’m still processing.” I smile, but it’s the kind of thing that says I don’t want to talk about it.

A few teenage girls in the back giggle loudly, but when I sweep my eyes to the tables over by the back window, I can see them crouched over a phone. They’re not laughing at my shitty day. God. Normally, I don’t take everything so… personally.

Sweat prickles at the nape of my neck. I’m carrying a lot of tension and it’s not going to unwind itself anytime soon. I half expect some thugs to drive up in a black vehicle with tint and shoot my windows out.

Jesus Christ, could they shoot the windows out?

If they did, someone else could get hurt. Anyone in here, and it would be all my fault for not doing the responsible thing and closing for a few days.

I swallow thickly. I have less than an hour before I can flip the neon open sign off and shut it down for the day. After that, I’ll figure out if I’m going to open tomorrow, or if the door is getting a handwritten note about us being closed for an emergency remodel or pipe repair or something stupid but believable.

“Are you having your regular?” I ask past my dry throat. The rest of me is clammy and sticky with sweat.

Henry frowns. He glances at John, then over the menu, then back to John. “I was thinking about trying one of those fancy lattes. The flavor of the day. Butter pecan sounds exotic.”