Page 87 of Executing Malice
Leaving my helmet on my seat, I set off at a jog across the street. Cars slow and let me pass without a speckle of anger in sight. A few people I pass on the other side meet my eye and smile and even say good morning. It’s a vastly different experience from the city where people tend to avoid making eye contact. But I’m caught off guard and find myself responding with a brief nod.
At the bakery, a few people glance up and give me the faintest appraisal before returning to their conversation and coffees. I skipped my usual breakfast at the diner, too anxious to see Leila to bother. A weak part of me half expected her to run the minute she was out of my sight. That the entire morning had been a trick to get me to lower my guard.
It’s a ridiculous thought process. She could have easily had her non-brother catch me in her bedroom. I was completely vulnerable and easy to capture.
Plus, I’m not stupid. I dug through her medical charts since her arrival to Jefferson. I looked over the articles from the town newspaper. I know she’s not lying about her amnesia and still...
I’m nervous.
What if she gets her memories and realizes why she left? What if she remembers what happened and tells me to leave her alone? She’s currently riding a whirlpool of adrenaline and emotions, but there’s still a chance she’s going to ask me to tell her everything, and she’ll realize I’m a monster.
One thing at a time,I tell myself, stuffing down the brewing anxiety knotting in my gut.
For the moment, she wants me. She wants me around. I can build on that. I’ll show her that I’m not my DNA. I can break her in slowly. It’ll be fine.
The woman on the other side of the counter meets my gaze with a curious little cock in her head. I recognize her as Maisie, the owner of the bakery, or at least the only person who seems to work here.
“Good morning,” she chirps, offering me a bright smile. “Grab you some coffee?”
I order two of their apple cider and cinnamon drinks and two lemon Danishes. I like that she doesn’t ask questions. Doesn’t seem bothered by the fact that she’s never seen me before. She simply prepares my order and sets them on the counter with a sweet,have a nice day.
A little thrown, I gather my items and proceed to the door. Its opened and held for me by a man in his early twenties and a redhead who both give me friendly smiles as I pass with my hands full.
So much smiling.
It doesn’t feel natural to smile at strangers for no reason.
At the bank, I shoulder inside and am immediately assaulted by the clamor of raised voices. There is no order, no neat line. The crowd is clustered with no method around Leila’s desk while she fights to be heard over the barrage of disrespect.
“I was here promptly at nine. I came before Wendy did,” an older woman is shrieking, pointing to another outraged woman trying to shove her way to the front.
“I was here before everyone else and I have other things I need to do before noon,” a man shouts.
Everyone seems to have arrived before everyone else and everyone has other things that require their attention. None want to listen to Leila asking them to form a line because they were first.
I stalk straight to the front, shove past several people who yelp in surprise, but I don’t slow until I’m right at the desk with Leila behind me.
“Everyone shut the fuck up!” I growl.
It works. It silences the chaos. All eyes are on me now as I take my time setting the drinks and pastries down. Hands free, I reach across, take Leila by the jaw. I ignore her wide-eyed surprise by pulling her in for a hard kiss before returning my focus on the stunned crowd.
“What’s wrong with you lot?” I snap. “Get in a damn line like civilized people or I’ll make you. I don’t give a shit who was first. In fact, first person who says they were first, will get sent to the back of the line.”
“Who are you to tell us what to do?” A short, balding man hollers over my orders.
I turn to him, fix him with the full weight of my warning. “The guy who will fold you up like a lawn chair and shove you back up inside your mother. Back of the line, asshole.”
I gather up my Danish and my drink and move to the slab of counter a few feet away. I climb up and look over the furious faces watching me. At least no one’s yelling, I think as I take a bite of my breakfast.
“You,” I point to the only quiet person standing away from the crowd, a tiny woman with deep set eyes and auburncurls. “You’re first. Everyone else, behind her. Single file. Let’s go. We learned this in school.”
There’s a lot of grumbling and murderous side eyes, but they fall into place.
It all runs smoothly after that. Each person gets their chance at the front, gets their business dealt with swiftly by Leila and is sent on their way.
When the door closes on the last person, Leila exhales and falls back in her chair. She runs a small hand over her face.
“What a mess. No one was listening.”
