Page 58 of Monstrosity
"Rio's never happy when he can't control every aspect of something," I reply. "But he agreed to let us open today, with conditions."
"Let me guess," Meghan counts on her fingers. "Prospects outside, check-ins every hour, and back to the clubhouse by one?"
"Pretty much." I glance toward the door where I know Gorm is stationed, trying to look casual while being obviously armed. "At least business is good this morning."
It's true—the morning rush has been steady, almost normal.
Regular customers ordering their usual drinks, complaining about traffic and weather like the world isn't dangerous and unpredictable.
It's exactly what I needed.
"Order up," Tindra calls, sliding a completed drink across the counter. "Vanilla latte with an extra shot."
I grab it and head to the pickup area, calling out the order.
The customer, a middle-aged woman I don't recognize, thanks me with a smile that doesn't reach her eyes.
Something about her makes me uneasy, but I push the feeling aside.
I'm being paranoid.
"Dasha, can you handle the register while I grab more milk?" Meghan asks.
"Got it."
I move to the register just as the door chimes.
A man approaches—thirties, average height, nothing remarkable about him except the way he's looking at me.
Not like a customer looks at a barista.
Like a predator studying prey.
"What can I get you?" I ask, hand hovering near the panic button Rio insisted we install under the counter.
"Coffee. Black." His voice is flat, emotionless. "And a message delivered."
Before I can react, his hand shoots out, grabbing me by the throat.
His grip is iron, cutting off my air as he yanks me partially over the counter.
"Bembe sends his regards," he hisses.
I can't breathe. Can't scream.
My vision starts to blur as I claw at his hand.
Dimly, I hear Meghan screaming, Tindra dropping something that shatters.
Then I see movement from the corner of my eye—another man coming around the counter, moving toward Meghan.
The front door explodes open.
Gorm charges in like a battering ram, not even slowing as he body-checks the second man.
The attacker goes flying, crashing over the counter in a tangle of limbs and coffee supplies.
"Get the fuck out of here," Gorm roars, already moving toward the man holding me. "And tell Bembe to fuck off!"
