8. Chapter 8 The Roosters Verdict
Cole
Ikill the lights.
The shop plunges into darkness, and Suzanne sucks in a breath behind me. I move on instinct, one hand spanning her waist, pulling her back against the shelving unit. The other reaches for the door handle.
"Cole."
"Quiet." The word comes out harder than I mean it to, but those footsteps are still out there. Slow. Deliberate. Like whoever it is knows we're listening.
I turn sideways, putting my shoulder to the door. My free hand finds her hip, pressing her back against the shelving.
The footsteps stop.
Right outside the door.
Three seconds. Four. My pulse stays steady because training kicks in when adrenaline tries to take over. This is what I do. Run toward the danger. Assess. Respond.
But Suzanne's hand fists the back of my shirt, and that protective instinct goes feral.
The handle jiggles.
Someone's testing it.
I tighten my grip, ready to yank it open and put myself between her and whatever's out there.
Then all hell breaks loose.
A screech rips through the stockroom. High-pitched. Furious. Feathered.
General Tso explodes from a wooden crate near the back wall like a tiny demon launched from a cannon. Wings flapping, claws extended, that ridiculous rooster slams into the door with the force of a creature three times his size.
The door rattles in its frame.
"What the…" I barely get the words out before he hits it again, shrieking loud enough to wake the dead.
Outside, someone swears. Footsteps scramble. Retreating.
Tso keeps going, battering the door, crowing like he's declaring war on the entire county. His beak hammers against the wood, over and over, until the footsteps fade into nothing and the alley goes silent.
I flip the lights back on.
The rooster stands in front of the door, chest puffed, eyes wild, looking like he just won a bar fight. A few feathers drift to the floor around him.
"Good bird," I mutter.
Tso cocks his head at me, then struts toward the crate like a sheriff heading back to his post.
I turn to Suzanne.
She's pressed against the shelves, arms wrapped around herself. Her face is pale. Too pale. But it's her eyes that gut me.
She's not surprised. She's resigned.
"Suzanne." I step closer, slow, like I'm approaching someone in shock. "You okay?"
She nods. Doesn't speak.
I move into her space anyway, hands hovering near her shoulders because I want to touch her, ground her, but I don't know if she'll let me. "Talk to me."
"I'm fine."
"Bullshit."
Her gaze snaps to mine, sharp, but there's no heat in it. Just exhaustion. "I said I'm fine, Cole."
"You're shaking."
She looks down at her hands as if she didn't notice. They're trembling. Bad. She shoves them into her pockets and straightens her spine, lifting her chin like she's daring me to call her on it.
I've seen this before. People who've lived with fear so long they wear it like a second skin. The way they brace. The way they breathe shallow, waiting for the next hit.
Suzanne's not scared of what just happened.
She expected it.
That knowledge makes me want to break something. Starting with whoever was outside that door.
"This isn't new for you," I say quietly.
"What isn't?"
"Being hunted."
The word lands between us, heavy and sharp. She flinches, just a little, but enough that I catch it.
"I'm not." She stops. Swallows. Try again. "You're being dramatic."
"Am I?"
"Yes."
I take another step closer. She doesn't back up, but her breathing changes. Like she can't decide if I'm a threat or the only safe thing in the room.
I'm betting on the second one.
"Someone tampered with your gas line," I say. "Someone messed with your car. And now someone's testing your back door after hours." I pause, letting each word settle. "You want to keep pretending this is random?"
Her shoulders sag. Just a fraction. But I see it.
"Cole…"
"Don't lie to me." My voice drops, rough and low. "I can handle a lot of things, Suzanne. But don't stand here and lie to my face."
Her eyes go glassy. She blinks fast, like she's fighting it, and I hate that too. I hate that she thinks she has to hold it together right now.
"I don't know what you want me to say."
"The truth."
She laughs. Hollow. Bitter. "The truth won't help."
"Try me."
For a second, I think she's going to shut down completely. Walk away. Throw up that sunshine smile and deflect like she's been doing since the first time I met her.
But she doesn't.
She looks at me. Really looks at me. And when she speaks, her voice is barely a whisper.
"He found me."
Her hand moves. Just barely. Toward her stomach. Then stops, like she caught herself doing something she shouldn't.
My chest goes tight.
"Who?" I keep my voice level.
She blinks. Whatever cracked open closes just as fast. "It doesn't matter."
"Like hell."
"Cole." Her voice is flat now. Controlled. "Drop it."
I stare at her. "I need to know who I'm putting down."
"You're not putting anyone down."
"Suzanne."
"I said drop it." She holds my gaze, jaw set, eyes dry and hard. But her hand is still near her stomach, fingers curled tight.
She knows I saw it.
She looks away first.
I don't push. Not yet. But I file it away, that small unconscious move, and the way she caught herself making it.
I don't wait for her to decide.
I pull her in.
She goes stiff for half a second, then collapses against my chest, her forehead pressing into my sternum, her hands gripping my shirt like I'm the only thing keeping her from falling apart.
I wrap my arms around her and hold on.
She doesn't cry, doesn't make a sound. Just breathe in and out, slow and shaky.
Behind us, General Tso settles into his crate with a low, satisfied cluck.
I press my chin to the top of her head and breathe her in. Coffee. Vanilla. Something floral I can't name.
"I've got you," I murmur into her hair.
She doesn't answer.
But she doesn't let go either.
We stand there in the middle of the stockroom, surrounded by bags of coffee beans and boxes of paper cups, while the danger outside fades into the night and the truth sits between us like a loaded gun.
When she finally pulls back, her eyes are dry and clear. But there's something in them that wasn't there before.
Trust. Small and fragile. But there.
"I need to tell you something," she says.
"Okay."
She takes a breath. Opens her mouth.
The front window. Glass. Everywhere.