Page 32 of Chasing Danger

I didn’t even make it through the swinging door into the back room, let alone the storage closet. I barely took more than a few steps before one of the men with the wrong shoes vaulted over the counter and grabbed me around the waist.

“Now, now. None of that. Just cooperate quietly and you’ll be fine.”

He lifted me up by my waist so my feet dangled in the air. I struggled, but with nothing to brace against I felt like a piece of wet laundry flapping on the drying line.

“The money’s in the till. Just take whatever you want and leave me alone.”

One of the men scoffed, but from my position I couldn’t tell which one.

“Pfah. We’re not here for your petty cash. Now quiet down.”

I whimpered but bit my lip to keep from making sound as I was dragged back over to the group. One of the men, at that point they all looked the same to me, grabbed me by the chin and forced me to look up at him.

“You sure this is the right one?”

“Yeah.” The man holding me let me go, but kicked the back of my knee so I collapsed to the floor. “Has to be this one, unless this place just so happens to have another barista with a half-melted face.”

Some of the men laughed.

I was too terrified to care about the insult. I’d certainly been called worse.

“But, really, why this one?” the man with all the questions kept asking. “Can’t even sell him with a face like that. Seems like a waste of effort.”

“Hey,” the first man, who seemed to be in charge, smacked the questioning man over the back of the head. “We were paid to do a job. So shut up, and do your job.”

“Yeah, yeah,” the questioning man grumbled and rubbed the back of his head. “You guys get the brat loaded up. The rest of us will prep the location so we can torch it on the way out.”

Two men grabbed me under the arms and dragged me to my feet. They started pulling me toward the back room. I’d tried to run there myself a moment ago, but now my route to freedom felt more like a death row march.

“No, wait, stop,” I shouted and dug my heels into the floor. “There must be a mistake. Who even are you?”

“Ugh,” one of the men groaned. “Will someone shut him up?”

Without warning, a large palm slapped me across my cheek. The blow left my ears ringing and everything turned sideways for a moment. I barely even felt the pain. Everything was happening too fast to keep up; my brain seemed to be shutting down.

One of the men suddenly let out a strange little shout. He stood frozen, looking down at his chest where his white shirt had turned red. Everyone stared at him in confusion for a moment, before he dropped to the floor like a lifeless ragdoll.

“What the hell?” one of the men holding me shouted.

There was a faint clink of breaking glass, before another man collapsed. He fell face up, and I could see a small hole in his forehead that was oozing red in thick streams over his face.

I felt faint, and my breath came in quick frenzied gasps.

“Quick, get away from the windows,” one of the men shouted.

Everyone scattered to press their backs against the walls or duck behind tables, while one man forced me down behind the counter. I could no longer see what was going on, only hear their panicked voices.

“We closed the blinds.”

“How the hell are they shooting us through the window?”

The familiar sound of the greeting bell was accompanied by the unfamiliar sound of the front door being smashed off its hinges. Someone else had broken into the shop, and the situation on the other side of the counter turned to chaos.

I slapped my hands over my ears and prayed for it to end. Whatever was happening, it had nothing to do with me. I wanted no part in it.

The people keeping me behind the counter eventually left to join what must have been some sort of fight.

I was alone. Unguarded. I could run. I should run.

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