Mocha.
And I was aware enough to see him add sugar, creamer, and whipped cream to it as I moved to the counter to check out.
Taking my bag and my coffee, I made my way out of the convenience store with a knot slowly twisting in my belly as I tried to glance around to see who might be following me, but not seeing anyone who seemed familiar.
That was kind of the point, though, wasn’t it? Not to be known, so I wouldn’t suspect anything.
I wasn’t stupid. There were a lot of men on Eren’s payroll. Dozens. Maybe more. And I was sure I had only ever seen a handful of the higher-up, more important people.
It could have been anyone.
Somehow that was more nerve-racking than it being one of the people I’d seen time and time again.
Unknown eyes attached to unknown bodies with unknown hands that would reach out and grab me at any minute.
I wanted to break into a dead run all the way back to the hotel, but was acutely aware of the fact that I was supposed to keep acting like I was clueless to it.
So I made my stride purposeful and wide, but not hurried, even if my heart was slamming in my chest and a cold sweat had broken out across my whole body.
Not even getting inside the hotel made me feel any better.
But I counted my blessings that I managed to make it to the elevator to ride up with a family of four—both parents, and two teenagers— because there was at least the illusion of safety in numbers.
I got off before them, and my chest felt tight as I stuck my key card in the reader, then moved inside.
Paranoia had me dropping my bag and coffee on the nightstand then moving around the room, checking in the closet, the bathroom, and even under the bed, a part of me terrified that someone might be lying in wait to come and… what? Attack me? Kill me? I had no idea. All I knew was that I didn’t want to find out.
Sure I was alone, I went back to the door, sliding the bar lock, then making my way to the bathroom to splash some cold water on my face, trying to pull myself together.
So what if someone was watching me? It didn’t mean anyone meant me any harm. They were probably just making sure I wasn’t, I don’t know, liquidating all the assets and running away.
As if I even knew how to do something like that.
I was still drying my face when I heard a knock at the door, the sound making my heart lodge up in my throat as I moved on stiff legs through the room toward the door.
“It’s me, Ezzy,” Brio’s voice called, making my hands shoot out, fumbling with the locks in my attempt to get them open as quickly as possible to let him in.
I never would have thought I would feel safer with a blood-thirsty serial killer in the room with me, but everything in me said that this man would never hurt me.
“You’re okay,” he said as soon as he got a look at me. “He’s still down in the lobby, reading the paper,” he said as he moved inside. “It’s okay,” he insisted again, frowning at what must have been panic all over my face.
Turning away, he slipped the locks into place before moving inside, his coffee in one hand. The other one reached outward, touching me at the hip, steering me further into the room.
“Seems like we need this talk more than I thought,” he said as he nudged me toward the bed.
I sank down happily, my own legs feeling wobbly and unstable.
“Talk about what?” I asked, watching as he moved over to the wall, leaning against it beside the TV.
“About your husband. About his business. About why people are following you.”
“That’s a lot to talk about,” I said, dread unfurling in my belly.
“I got nothing else to do,” he said, shrugging as he lifted his coffee to his lips.
And for reasons that made no sense given the situation, my mind flashed back to those lips on mine in the elevator, to those scarred hands running through my hair and massaging my scalp.
“Can I ask questions too?” I asked, glancing up at his dark eyes. “Or am I just supposed to give you what you want and get nothing in return?”
“You can have anything you want from me, babe,” he said, shrugging. And something about the intensity in his gaze and the sincerity in his voice as he said that made me think he actually meant it.
I mean… the man had killed and dismembered for me.
What was answering a few questions?
“So, you work for the mafia, right?”
“Right.”
“What do you do for them?”
“A little bit of everything, but mostly enforcing type shit.”