by Fiona Keane
“Good.” His mouth was at my ear, and I waited for the crackle of his voice before breathing again. “But you shouldn’t let down your guard. Boston can be a frightening place to the unaware.”
I don’t know if my heart fell to my feet or if it joined the bile rising in my throat. Julian left me frozen in the back room, my left hand still clinging to the door. I had to move my right hand from the light switch to allow his exit. Thankfully.
As frightened as I was, I stormed from the room that now smelled like a spicy mix of nutmeg and musk to find Elliott. My feet wouldn’t work. I pinched myself. I am stronger than this. Some politician, his stupid hint of an accent, and his blinding smile weren’t going to fool me into submission. Closing the door of the back room, I headed toward the coffee bar, planning on tearing my friend to pieces.
“Aid,” Elliott cooed when I turned the corner.
“Miss Leary.” Julian grinned. Why the hell is he still here? Smiling.
“Elliott.” I stared at him, willing him to read my mind and call the police. “I think you should finish the inventory.”
His brows met, but Elliott refused to move from the counter. “I’m making Mr. Molloy’s coffee.”
“I just can’t get enough of it.” Julian winked at me, causing my stomach to knot.
Elliott was oblivious to the fact that man could have shot, strangled, or murdered me mere feet away—and for no reason whatsoever! Julian’s smile was hiding that possibility dangerously well. Elliott grinned like a school girl, making coffee for his schoolyard crush.
“You just can’t get enough of the coffee?” I clarified, hoping to intimidate the creep with my icy stare.
“This is the third time you’ve been in here within the last thirty minutes, Mr. Molloy.” I continued, “I’m sure you have a busy day of saving Boston ahead of you.”
“That’s my grandfather’s job,” he scoffed, “but I’ll do my best to keep the city safe.”
“Please do.” I smiled the fakest smile I could muster, knowing my attitude would bite me eventually.
Elliott elbowed me, grunting and clearing his throat to gain my attention, but I was still glued to Julian in my vain hope a stare down would leave me less intimidated than I was only moments ago. Crap. An icy shiver ran along my spine, climbing up to my neck when I remembered exactly what I saw in the back room.
“And have a lovely day, Mr. Molloy.” Elliott handed Julian the steaming paper cup, wafts of espresso and hazelnut spinning into the air.
He gratefully took the cup, shaking Elliott’s hand once more before nodding at me. I watched the door open, staring it down while the latch clicked and waiting for Julian to clear the sidewalk, before turning to Elliott and smacking his shoulder.
“Politicians?”
“Ow! And yes.” While Elliott rubbed the injury, I contemplated telling him about the back room. I wanted to warn him, but seeing the reflective silver dangling from Julian’s hip suggested the police weren’t going to help us in any way.
“Fine.” I gave in, storming away from Elliott toward the back room. Thankfully, I was alone in the cold space while documenting how many bags of coffee and espresso beans we had in stock. I was two pages of coffee beans into my list when Emma’s curly hair popped around the door.
“Ell said you wanted to see me?”
“Hey.” I looked up from my tablet. “I need to talk to you about the schedule for this weekend. Elliott needs to go out of town, and I’ll be opening alone on Friday and Saturday.”
“Do you want me to come in? I was going to visit Felix, but it can wait.”
“Absolutely not. I just wanted to let you know the plan since you’re always my back up.” I smiled at Emma, watching her fidget with the chunky braid of curly hair wound down her shoulder.
“What’s wrong, Em?”
Emma glanced at me, her green eyes swollen. “It’s the same stuff. He’s calling me nonstop, begging to see you, asking for you. I’m trying to hold him off, but he’s losing it.”
“I wish you weren’t in the middle. I’m sorry, Emma. I really wish this didn’t have to happen.”
“No.” Emma shook her head. “Absolutely do not apologize. Our cousin is a piece of shit, garbage, worthless scumbag who should be in prison for what he did to you. We all know it.”
I tried to shake the thought of Malcolm from my mind, but it was futile. I loved her dearly, but Emma was a constant reminder of her cousin’s violent obsession with me. She looked nothing like Elliott and everything like Malcolm.
“I can’t even talk about men right now, Emma.” I closed my eyes tightly, processing the last six months, and the last half hour. I felt her hand against my wrist, bringing my focus back to the moment.
“Men? Plural?”
“It’s nothing.” I tried to laugh. “I just need a vacation. I want to leave Elliott here though.”
“Fine with me. My brother’s just as bad as any other man.” Emma nodded unfortunate agreement. “How long do you work today?”
“Too long.” I rested my head against her shoulder and walked out of the back room with her. Inventory could wait. That room gave me the creeps after almost dying anyway.
***
My apartment was a sauna, a welcoming box of heat thanks to the elderly couple below, who never let their place go any cooler than eighty degrees. Winter in Boston was beautiful from the inside, where it was at least eight-five degrees in our perfect little space heater of an apartment building. I dropped my bag, coat, shoes, scarf, and mittens in a pile on top of my shoes near the front door. I was depleted. I crossed the small length of my studio toward the kitchen, which I swear at one time must have been a bathroom because it was too small for even me to stand in and there were random pipes coming out of the walls and ceiling.
One pathetic pot of mushy macaroni and cheese later and I was on my bed with the television as my soundtrack. I mindlessly watched the news, waiting to hear if I could cancel my shift tomorrow morning thanks to the incoming winter storm, when flashing lights on the screen caught my attention.
“A spokesman for Senator Gordon Molloy claims the incident was isolated…right now, police are not providing any information…as you can see behind me, members of the Molloy family have gathered…” And there he was, the man who could have killed me but so graciously did not. Graciously. What a prick.
Julian was standing in front of his grandfather, his navy wool overcoat open at the front with his collar popped, revealing a navy suit, white shirt, and blue striped tie pressed tightly against his frame. His cropped brown hair was held in perfect waves despite the drizzling snow. Something was terribly wrong with me to even consider anything about that man as perfect…or even attractive. I tried to change the channel, but watching him appear so vulnerable, despite the fact he exuded confidence and intimidation, was addicting. I dialed Elliott, hoping to interrupt his romantic evening just out of spite for today.
“Hey, beautiful.” He answered calmly even though it was nearing nine in the evening.
“Listen, Daly,” I began, my eyes still glued to the muted television and its haunting image of Julian plastered on the screen, “have you seen the news tonight?”
“No. What’d I miss?”
“Your friends, the Molloy clan. Something’s going on. The press is all over it. Frankly, they’re bad for business.”
“What channel? Aid? Seriously. Look at that man in a suit.”
“They’re all in suits.” I scoffed, still unable to tear away my gaze.
“Look at Julian.” His voice was pathetically giddy.
“Julian Molloy is a creep.”
“Do you need to come over?”
I sighed, comforted. “I’ll be fine. See you in a few days then, right? I’ll miss you.”
“I love you, Aid. Call if you need me.” When our call disconnected, I snuggled into the covers on my bed and changed the channel. It didn’t work—the last thing I saw in my mind before finally falling asleep was Julian Molloy�
��s blue glare inches from my face while he imprisoned me at work.
***
Running. That’s what he taught me to do. I was fine. I was safe. But somehow, Malcolm kept me running. I anticipated each step, twelve strokes ahead of him, always trying to keep myself above ground. I ran through the park, smooth and fluid, but he was still behind me. He was getting so close I could smell the whiskey on his breath as the cloud swirled around me. I turned, hoping to gauge my distance then I slammed into a wall of muscle. I couldn’t look up as strong arms wrapped around me, suffocating me in such a deliciously protective way. I could breathe. Malcolm wasn’t there. I was safe.
“I’ve got you.” His voice tickled above my ear. “You’re safe. I’ll keep you.”
Sobbing, I glanced up, my head forced at the chin by his steady fingers. “Keep me?”
“You heard me. You’re safe.”
My heart pounded so loudly that my brain reciprocated, but all pain, all feeling melted as Julian’s lips crashed against mine. One of his hands lifted, pushing between us at our hips while he removed his gun. I didn’t care. I hated guns, but I didn’t care this time. I heard the power, the explosion, the destruction, but nothing mattered while my lips granted his tongue permission to my mouth.
I flew up, shaking with cold sweat in a panic. Okay. What the hell was that?
Chapter Four
Thankfully for my own sanity, the week passed as another uneventful period of life spent in the confines of the coffee shop. I put on a smile, prepared drinks and treats for the politicians, lawyers, and regular people before they set out for the day in Boston. Saving lives, protecting the city, traveling; they all stopped in and told me their story whether they knew it or not.
I thought about the encounter with Julian Molloy multiple times, and about that horrible dream several more times. I was on my toes, apprehensive and anxiously alert in the anticipation he would drop in and threaten to kill me without using those precise words. His goal was intimidation and, although I didn’t understand why, it was working. However, I was relieved that in the following days I hadn’t even watched the news to hear about the Molloys, let alone have one surprise me in the dark with a gun and their fancy cologne. And their pretty coat and sparkling teeth. Elliott would hear it from me when he returned. I just needed to make it through a few more days.
Saturday finally arrived. I felt my feet scream at me, but I had a few more steps before officially closing for the night. I finished the register, completed inventory for opening tomorrow morning, and was wiping down the counters opposite of the cash register when the bell rang.
I recognized the feeling instantly, the small hairs on my neck rising into an adrenaline-infused state of alarm. Emma left for the evening, Elliott was gone, and there I was, alone with the dangerously unstable smell of Malcolm’s aftershave.
“Malcolm, you need to leave,” I stated without turning to face him, hoping he would listen and I wouldn’t need to call the cops. This prick.
“Aideen.” His voice hurt my ears. “I brought someone I want you to meet. We’re just going to get coffee.”
I shouldn’t have been intrigued, but I was. I turned around, towel in hand, to observe Malcolm and his date. She was shorter than me, rail thin, and smiling as though she won the lottery. The lottery of Hades.
“Jessica,” Malcolm motioned between us, “this is my friend, Aideen. She’s the one my cousin owns this place with.”
I smiled, albeit rudely, at his date. “Nice to meet you, Jessica. Goodbye, Malcolm.”
“Wait.” He ran to the counter, three feet from me, and I wanted to vomit. “She’s my girlfriend. Make her some coffee.”
“No,” I growled, stepping closer. “If you don’t leave now, I’ll call the police.” Malcolm moved back, laughing with his hands raised defensively.
“Whoa, whoa. No need to jump, Aideen.” His laugh spread a chill along my spine. “We’ll be on our way. I’ll see you soon.”
Malcolm’s eyes pierced through me with his parting smile. I balanced myself against the lip of the counter until I was certain he left the building. When my heart finally returned to a rate that would keep me out of the hospital, I ran to the back and grabbed my bag, taking out my cell phone and keys first.
I was more nervous than I thought, letting the brief unwelcome interaction with Malcolm saturate my mind. What if he is still out there? Who will I call—I have nobody. Emma? She won’t answer. Elliott? Ha. I have nobody. That’s a reality that sank in heavily, slowly like molasses attempting to be absorbed by asphalt.
With a shaking breath, I headed for the front door. There were sporadic pairings of people scattered around the sidewalks, enjoying the frigid Boston evening. I repeated my plans for the evening in my brain while I locked the door: order Chinese, take a bath, go to sleep, prepare to kill Elliott, order Chinese, take a bath, go to sleep, prepare to kill Elliott, order Chi—I turned the corner, my eyes straining against the frozen gusts of snowy air, and slammed against someone. Adrenaline kicked in immediately, pumping through my veins like acid, melting all reason and forcing my legs to kick in any possible direction.
“You don’t have to be rude.” Malcolm laughed, struggling against my movement to pull his arms around my neck and shoulders. “Calm down.”
“Get off me!” I screamed, I kicked, I bit. He hollered, but it only reinforced his hardening hold.
“I just want to talk, Aideen,” he continued, panting. I opened my mouth against his exposed wrist, clamping down as hard as my incisors would press, hoping to draw blood so I could run.
“You bitch!” Malcolm’s arm withdrew quickly and he inspected his wrist, giving me enough time to run. I turned the opposite corner, my shins burning with painful splints and adrenaline. It felt like my heart was about to fall out. I saw a couple holding hands walking toward their car, and I wanted to scream out for them, but I couldn’t. I was muzzled, pulled by the mouth against the corner of a building. I wiggled, tried to spin, but my body fell limp. These aren’t Malcolm’s arms. This isn’t Malcolm’s aftershave. Maybe if I play dead…
“Tsk tsk,” Malcolm taunted, waving his index finger in the air as he turned the corner. “Didn’t your mom ever teach you to be nice? Oh. Wait. She died when you were so little. That’s a bummer. I think I remember watching that on the news. Car bomb outside of Belfast, right? Shit. That sucked.”
“What do you want?” I barely recognized my own voice as it snarled through my teeth.
“Just to talk.”
“No.”
“Just a few words, Aid.”
“Screw your few damn words, Malcolm. I’m going to start screaming if you don’t get your goon off me.” Malcolm looked behind me and nodded before I felt my barricade release as his partner stepped away. I wanted to turn around and see that person, but I knew it would only make me more susceptible to something from Malcolm, so I kept my eyes trained on him.
“I think we should talk about what happened. You’re not returning my calls, and Emma won’t send my messages to you. I miss you.” He reached out for my arm, but it recoiled as though the most fundamental instinct was to avoid him at any cost.
“Absolutely not. Don’t fucking touch me.”
“Babe,” Malcolm cooed, shaking his head at me.
I blinked, hoping in the split second of darkness I could form a plan, but it wasn’t enough time. His hand latched around my wrist despite my attempts to pull away. There was an enormous amount of pressure against my body as Malcolm was shoved, pushed, thrown to the ground, and I followed suit. We were separated and I struggled to lift myself, not even sure how my heart still pumped.
“The lady said no,” someone shouted. Malcolm was on the sidewalk, face down in yellow slush. I got to my knees, my head throbbing, and watched the stranger pummel Malcolm—the goon seemed to have disappeared. I still held my phone, my fingers so tightly clenched around the device that my white knuckles began to ache. I glanced at the men once more then back at my phone. I cou
ldn’t see their faces, only the shadowy figures struggling against the sidewalk. I inched backward, three steps, my trembling fingers dialing the final digit for the police, when I walked into something. Something hard. Something that smelled too familiar. Nutmeg.
“Don’t call the police.”
I shivered at the crackle of his words above my ear. My throat was parched. I knew the gun would be on his hip. I imagined he actively thought of ways to intimidate me and, after almost losing myself to Malcolm three times in twenty minutes, I bit my tongue and stuffed my phone into the pocket of my coat. I stepped to the side, keeping my back toward him while I inched away, not risking a glance of his face. He didn’t try to stop me. Chinese food, bath, sleep, kill Elliott, leave Boston…I just needed to get home.
The splints in my shins were excruciating, stabbing deeper into my leg with each pounding step as I ran to my building. I feared stopping, but I had to catch my breath at the bottom of the stairs. I felt my lungs and frantic heart struggle with each gasp.
Once inside my apartment, consumed by adrenaline, I bolted the two deadbolts before burying myself under the covers of my bed. I tried counting invisible sheep, thinking of my happy place, and reciting the alphabet backwards, but my heart refused to settle. It was too quiet. I couldn’t even hear my elderly neighbor’s television, which was always at a deafening volume. I reluctantly pulled the covers from my face, boiling beneath the layers, remaining in a ball on my mattress. I jumped at the faint tapping against my door. My heart tightened, physically constricting within my aching chest. I couldn’t move.
“Miss Leary.” The familiar rasp bound my nerves with fear. He followed me home. He knows where I live. He wears a gun. I’m dead and I didn’t even do anything wrong. I refused to move. If he was going to kill me for something, or further intimidate me for his amusement, he could do so from the other side of my apartment door.
“Miss Leary,” he continued, this time his voice more pressing. “Please.”
