Chapter 7
Valli
My boss is an asshole. He is the type of man who has never said thank you to anyone in his life because he genuinely thinks the world revolves around him that he is better than everyone.
He opened the coffee shop eleven years ago, and I would bet everything I own—which isn’t much—that not a single staff member has ever felt valued.
Most have left because they found something better, or because George fired them when he was in a bad mood.
Which is every day, but some days are worse than others.
I have been working here for fourteen months, and today George is watching me from his spot behind the register, looking for anything he can find that I have done wrong.
Even if everything else I have done is right.
He makes everything so hard, including not having enough clean aprons and fixing things at the last minute.
Our coffee machine has needed to be fixed for weeks, as the sound it’s making isn’t normal.
Plus, I won’t even think about our tip jar—the one he helps himself to, even though he does no work.
This morning he was a pain in my ass as he watched me restock the display cabinet.
I had to take everything off in order to reset it.
After I was done, all he said was that the mugs were not evenly spaced.
His words made me want to smash every last one of them, but I won’t because I need my job—yet if there ever comes a day I can leave, I will do it.
“Table four needs clearing,” he snaps from his spot at the register, the spot he has not moved from for the last three hours.
I’m currently making three coffees and a hot chocolate on the machine that is running at a snail’s pace. “I’ll get to it,” I call out.
“Valli, now,” he spits.
I set down the milk jug. “George, I have four drinks, but they’re almost done.”
He gives me a look, the one that screams, You’re a bitch and better do as I say.
It’s one of his go-to faces he likes to pull.
I swear he thinks all his employees are an inconvenience.
Last week Lucy hid in the bathroom and cried, even though she denied it when she came out, but I could see the red rims of her eyes.
I finish the drinks and deliver them, then clean table four on my way back, wiping it down. I smile at a couple who sit down just as I finish. “I’ll be right with you.”
I put the cloth away and take their order, then I dash back and put it through the register. By the time I’m back at the coffee machine making their drinks, George is glaring at another table.
“Table six,” he snaps.
I grind my teeth together, holding back my words. This man is impossible—I will get to table six soon. Or maybe his lumpy ass could get up and do it, since he can see I am run off my feet.
Then the lunch rush hits and doesn’t let up for two hours. By the end of it my feet ache, and so does my jaw from clenching so hard from stopping myself from cussing out my boss for being the biggest dick on the planet.
Lucy smiles at me; she knows the drill. None of us say anything, as we’re the ones stuck here, with no career goals or skills to get a better job. I wish I could, but Leni’s accommodation payment comes out in three weeks, and I barely have the money to cover half of it.
At the end of my shift, George appears at my side as I’m untying my apron. “I need you to work on Sunday.”
I stare in confusion; I’m already rostered on Saturday, and we only work one day of the weekend. “I’m not rostered Sunday.”
“Someone called in,” George answers.
I call bullshit, more like someone quit. “That’s not my problem.”
His beady eyes lock onto mine. “I’m asking you for a favor.”
George has never done me a favor, and the words sound wrong coming out of his mouth.
“I’m already working six days this week.”
“Think of the money. Don’t you have a sister in college and a useless brother?”
Balling my hands into fists, the pain from my nails in my palm stops me from snapping. My brother might be useless, but this asshole has no right to bring it up. “Fine, but I’m leaving at two.”
George nods as if he is doing me a favor. “Two is fine.” He walks away without saying thank you.
I collect my bag from the staff room—which is really a tiny room with a corner desk and a broken chair—and leave before he wants something else.
The afternoon has turned gloomy while I was inside, the clouds now sitting lower, as if they are about to give in and let the rain pour down.
Pulling my jacket closed, I consider my earphones but leave them in my bag.
I made the mistake of not being alert to my surroundings before, and look where that landed me.
I reach the alleyway that saves me time.
For the last week, I have taken the long way, but I take a deep breath and decide that I cannot let this affect my life.
If I do, then I will always look over my shoulder.
My brother always owes someone money, and I’m not new to this life.
If they can’t get to him, they will come after me. It’s how the world is.
Scooping my keys out of my bag, I position them in my hand to use as a weapon. Then, keeping my pace steady and remaining alert to my surroundings, I don’t stop until I turn into my street.
It hits me straight away—something is off.
I look around, but there’s no one in sight. Maybe I’m imagining it, so I don’t speed up. I continue walking and don’t look back.
At my mental count of fifteen, I reach the crossing, and there I turn my head each way to check for traffic, letting my eyes carefully sweep the street.
Mrs. Mills is pushing her baby stroller. It’s now empty, as she used to push her dog Daisy in it, but the pup died last year, and the poor woman has not been the same. Two men in hi-vis vests are sitting on milk crates eating, and a teenager is nearby with headphones on and absorbed in his phone.
Nothing appears out of the ordinary, so I keep walking but can’t shake the feeling of being watched.
I slip between the old bakery and flower store, neither of which is open, and press my back to the brick wall.
I breathe as I watch the people go about their day.
A man in a knitted sweater walks past, and I watch him as he strolls along, his hands pushed into his pockets.
As he gets to a letterbox, he stops and pulls out his phone.
After he types something, he puts his phone away and keeps walking, then turns into a gate three doors down.
I exhale a sigh of relief, then hurry faster until I can see my house, running up to the front door and slipping the key into the lock. I fling myself inside and close it, pressing my back to the wood as I try to calm myself.
Someone is in my house. I can feel it.
It’s probably just my brother, but my gut says otherwise.
I look down and see straw, just a few pieces near my feet, then as I look up I see a trail of it leading from the front door to the kitchen.
Shit.
I tiptoe toward the kitchen, knowing it’s for sure not my brother.
The kitchen light is on, and as I peek around the doorway, it highlights the figures before me.
Cipher is on the floor in front of my fridge, and the bottom panel is off and sitting beside him on a folded cloth.
Both of his hands are inside the gap, and he has a small flashlight held between his teeth.
Cave is seated at my kitchen table, but he is so tall that he looks strange sitting at such a small table.
It’s almost funny, except this is Cave and nothing about him screams funny.
He has a piece of paper in one hand, and he looks up at me the second I walk into the kitchen.
His amber eyes find mine, and he places the paper down on the table and stares at me.
Noa is leaning against the counter with a mug and a smile. “You’re back,” he says warmly.
I blink in confusion. Why are they here in my house? I can’t lie and say I’m not intrigued. It’s a better surprise than finding my brother here.
“Your fridge was making a noise,” Noa says, setting the mug on the counter, and he proceeds to emit a sound a person could not describe in words. “Like that.”
I peer down at Cipher, who has removed the flashlight from his mouth and set it down beside him. “Fan motor. The bearing is going. Probably would have failed by the end of the week.”
“Okay . . .” I say.
“The door seal is also compromised, and the temperature inside is inconsistent. Anything you are storing in there could go bad until it’s fixed.”
“Right,” I reply, because telling him the seal has been broken for well over a year is probably not what he wants to hear, or that I have been unable to afford to fix it. “But that doesn’t explain why you’re all inside my house.”
Noa straightens up, pushing off the counter. “Well, we all came here together, which was an experience. Cipher tried to pull my cassette player right out of the dash. I like 80s music, but him, not so much. Then the big man got mad because I slapped Cipher’s hand.”
“Noa . . . I’m asking how you got inside my house.”
Noa opens his mouth and closes it as he glances at Cipher, who answers me. “The lock on your front door is a single-cylinder deadbolt, which was installed incorrectly. Anyone with a basic lock-picking set or a credit card and thirty seconds could get inside.”
“But we had tools,” Noa adds.
“I can see that.”
“In our defense,” Noa continues, “we didn’t come here to break in, but the door being broken . . .”
“Was an opportunity to let yourself in?” I drawl sardonically.
He points at me. “We were concerned for your safety, which is why Cipher is going to fix it before we leave.”
Cipher reaches into his pocket and pulls out a deadbolt, as if that’s a normal thing to have available.
Cave grunts and turns the paper over, sliding it toward me.
When I walk over and scan it, I see it’s an NDA with a lot of legal jargon I don’t know shit about.
There are clauses about the island’s operations, night events, and the staff.
At the bottom there are two signature lines, one of which has already been signed.
“You came here with an NDA?”
Cave doesn’t respond.
“Well, when you were asking about the island, I couldn’t tell you anything, but after you left, I bumped into Cave.
I told him about our talk, and he dragged me to Cipher’s shed.
I think it was supposed to be a meeting of sorts, but since he doesn’t talk, Cipher and I did, and it has been made clear Cipher belongs to Cave. ”
“I do not belong to him,” Cipher says, and Cave grumbles. The big guy doesn’t like that correction.
“I just thought that if you sign it, and you wanted to come back, I don’t have to worry about saying things I shouldn’t,” Noa explains. “And also, you won’t have to leave before the guests arrive. Ares is a stickler for the rules.”
I don’t have to think about it hard—digging a freaking grave with a man I just met was the most fun I’d had in a long time. Besides, I really want to know what goes on there, and they can’t tell me without me signing an NDA.
“I don’t have a pen.”
Noa reaches into his pocket and pulls one out, holding it toward me. He smiles as I take the pen, and Cave watches me lean over the table to sign my name, then set the pen down. Cave picks up the paper and folds it in half, then carefully puts it inside his weird jacket.
“So,” Noa says. “Do you have anything to eat? We’ve been here for two hours, and I only had half a sandwich before we left.”
“You can’t eat her food,” Cipher says from the floor.
“Why not?”
“Because it’s rude. She wasn’t expecting us, so order some pizza.”
Noa claps. “Why didn’t I think of that two hours ago?”
Noa openings my drawers, rifling through the contents. “Do you have a menu anywhere?”
I laugh. “No, I can’t afford takeout, but there is a place down the street.”
Noa declares he will be back soon, and I take a seat opposite Cave. I wonder how my life went from being kidnapped from an alleyway to having three men in my kitchen. Sure, they’re all weird in their own way, but they seem harmless enough.