Page 20 of Xavier

It’s now or never.

I take a deep breath and push the box to the side before inching my way out of my hiding spot. It’s a huge risk, being seen and caught, but I quietly make my way out of the kitchen to the front of the restaurant.

Wood and glass litter the floor foyer and chairs are askew, but I don’t have time to assess the damage. Uncle Zach and an insurance agent can do that later.

When I get to my new hiding location, I squat down and hide under the corner booth in the dark shadows.

It would be nearly impossible for someone to see me here. Unless they were already looking for me.

Car doors slam outside in the parking lot as a man yells, “Where are you, Everett?”

A second man yells, “We know you’re here somewhere. Your car is right outside.”

What the hell is going on? Who’s Everett and what do the two men want with him?

There’s more commotion in the back of the restaurant as the intruder opens the office door. His heavy footsteps get louder the closer he gets to the kitchen door before they get quieter.

He must be heading toward the back door to escape.

Did he hear the men yelling for him? It would be pretty hard not to. Their voices were louder than the angry waves and wind outside.

The door to the walk-in refrigerator softly squeaks as it’s opened.

What is he looking for? First, the office. Now, the refrigerator.

Or who is he looking for?

Is this related to Uncle Zach? Why else would they be here in his restaurant?

Or is this somehow related to me?

My body shakes.

It has to be me.

First, the attempted kidnapping. Second, being tailed by someone who tried to crash my car. Now, breaking and entering my uncle’s restaurant while I’m inside and my car is parked in the parking lot.

It’s too much of a coincidence. Too many things are revolving around me and my whereabouts in the past twenty or so hours.

Who are they?

What do they want with me?

Heavy footsteps echo through the busted front door as two new guys walk inside the restaurant.

All three men look alike with their longer dark hair, dark and dangerous eyes, and dark clothing.

These men are also wearing similar clothing down to the same concrete covered combat boots.

It’s clear they work together or are in some shady shit with one another.

They stop moving as soon as they get to the long counter that separates the dining room from the bar.

The shorter man of the two whispers something to the other man, but I can’t hear what is said because they are too far away.

That’s a good thing. The further away they are, the safer I am.

At least that’s what I tell myself, so I don’t have a panic attack.