Page 3 of Grave Games

“You got a man? A woman? An ex that needs to be dealt with?”

Wow, he didn’t give up easily. “What I have is no heart left. It died a long time ago. I wish you well, though,” I added honestly, backing away. “I’ll go see about your order.”

Without waiting for a reply, I turned and headed for the diner’s kitchen. And with every step I told myself I was glad that this would be the last time I ever served up a club sandwich with extra bacon, French fries with brown gravy and two pickle spears.

*

One of the great things about working the four-to-midnight shift at a diner was that after the usual dinner rush, things were pretty peaceful. As I’d known he would, Romeo left without saying much more, something I told myself I was happy about. He left behind a huge tip, something I hadn’t been expecting, another thing I should’ve been happy about. Heather even volunteered to take over my empty section the last ten minutes of my shift—declaring that she was tired of my moping and bringing the whole place down—and that should have made me happy, too.

Buthappyand I hadn’t been on speaking terms for a while now. Happy, as far as I was concerned, could go suck a bag of dicks, because happy always came to an end, usually in a blaze of epic destruction.

Or maybe that was just me.

Tucking my face into the extra-long scarf I’d knitted for cold January nights just like this, I narrowed my eyes against the snow blowing in my face and rooted around in my coat pockets before remembering I’d lost my gloves days ago. Great, I thought, scowling as I fished my car keys out instead. Just another fun-filled night in wintry Chicago.

The weather hadn’t been that bad when I’d started my shift at four. but it had definitely gone down the tubes in the past eight hours. Instead of the gentle flurries when I’d started my shift, the heavy snow now blew sideways, and I couldn’t see my little pickup parked at the far end of the restaurant’s parking lot. What I really needed was a ride-share dogsled to get me to my trusty third-hand pickup, but since dogsleds weren’t a thing in Illinois, I trudged out into the howling blizzard, my eyes trained on the place where I knew I’d parked my truck. Unease rippled through me that I couldn’t actually see it—or anything farther than a foot in front of me—but at last the vague outline of my truck emerged from the blowing snow. It was cocooned in snow and ice, of course, and I’d have a hell of a time getting it uncovered, especially with no gloves to keep frostbite at—

A rough hand shoved me hard between the shoulder blades. I flew forward, skidding on the snow and ice before just managing to catch myself on the side of my truck. My legs nearly did a Bambi on the snow-covered parking lot before I snapped my head around to face my attacker.

He was huge, like a grizzly bear on its hind legs, made that much larger by the black parka he wore. Its hood was up, and a balaclava covered everything except a pair of eyes that looked so black he could have been a demon fresh from the pits of Hell.

“Gimme your wallet,” the man ground out, seeming to swell to an even larger size as I watched. “Now.”

Who mugged people in the middle of a blizzard? My stunned brain threw that question out and wouldn’t leave. Everyone knew this wasn’t supposed to happen. It was like an unwritten rule. Who was this mutant who didn’t know the rules of basic urban dwelling? This wasn’t right.

This wasn’t fucking right.

A low growl ripped out of me, a sound swallowed by the wind before I turned, swiping an armful of snow off the hood of my truck and straight into the mugger’s face. My exposed fingers were both burning and numb, so at first I didn’t realize I’d thrown my keys at him as well, but I couldn’t worry about that as I took off as fast as I could back toward the diner. It was my only option since my keys were now probably in the possession of my idiot blizzard mugger, and the diner’s lights were so close…

Somehow I wasn’t surprised when I was tackled from behind.

It was as if the nightmare I’d lived through years ago was happening all over again, and for a horrifying, gut-wrenching moment I was back in a wood-paneled room that smelled of stale beer, sweat and old sex, and every inch of my abused body hurt. Then the iciness of the snow bit into my face, jarring me back to reality, where another man was trying to make me his victim.

No.

Fucking.

Way.

Wildly I swung my elbows back behind me, connecting with something so hard a muffled grunt of pain sounded from my attacker. Before I could celebrate or even think what to do next, the weight crushing me into the slush and ice was suddenly gone as if by magic. Frantically I scrambled on all fours through the snow, slip-sliding as I tried to find my feet. At last I made it and looked back even as I stumble-ran toward the diner.

When I saw Romeo tossing the parka-wearing mugger halfway across the parking lot, I froze as solidly as if Elsa had touched me with her magic.

“Get inside,” Romeo yelled, waving a hand at me before turning back in the direction of the mugger with menacing intention. “I’ll deal with this motherfucker.”

I didn’t stick around to see what that meant. Blindly I turned and half-ran, half-skidded my way back to the diner while my weekend warrior dealt with an idiot who thought mugging people in the middle of a blizzard at midnight was a great way to earn a buck.

Chapter Two

Some Heroes

“Ow. Owowowowowow. Heather, no more. I’m fine.”

“The website said to immerse frostbitten extremities in warm water until normal color returns. Your fingertips are still purple.”

“I’m closing up.” The diner’s manager, William Wilson, or Dubya, lingered at the open archway connecting the kitchens to the area behind the counter. He chewed worriedly on his lower lip while watching Heather keep my hands immersed in a bowl of warm water. “No one’s going to come in this time of night during a blizzard. As soon as your fingers are no longer Grimace-colored, Shiloh, I’m sending everyone home.”

“What about the police?” Heather wanted to know.

---