Page 33 of Property of Chaos

THIRTEEN

VANESSA

“Doyou mind if I take an extra ten minutes for lunch?” I glance toward Theresa as I flip the sign on the door to Open. “I want to shoot down to the store and check out a new phone.”

She raises her eyebrow, hand frozen mid-air amidst where she stocks the baked goods cabinet. “I thought you didn’t like technology.”

No. I don’t like the idea thathecould find me via the Internet. But considering the envelope that showed up on my door, I’d say the point is moot now. “I don’t like shit that invades my privacy.”

“Yeah? Well, wait until you have one of those smartphone fuckers. Your privacy will be for sale, and you won’t have a spare minute to scratch your ass with all the apps demanding your attention.”

I chuckle, running my palms down my forearms as I head for the counter. “You sound cynical there, bud.”

“Maybe I am.” She smirks over the top of the cabinet. “What do you think about carrots?”

“Huh?” I grab a handful of sugar sachets and resume stuffing them in the table caddies.

“Muffins. Cake. Do you think they’d sell well?”

“I think it’s worth a try.”

The growing growl of a motorcycle has us both turn our heads toward the window.

“Look,” Theresa says. “They pay well, but I sure hope those troublemakers don’t intend on making this their new regular stop-in.”

“Why not?” I carry the stocked caddy to the closest table in a daze; my attention stuck out the window as the bike’s exhaust notes shake the panes.

“Honey. I know you were sheltered growing up, but you do know what a one percent club is, right?”

“Sure.” I set my hands on my hips, heart rate elevated while the guy backs his bike into a parking space.

The skull with a crooked crown glares at me, judging, promising hell.

My gaze travels upward when the rider reaches to remove his helmet. Brown and blonde tugs free, his hair a riot of chaos along his head where it hasn’t been shaved like the sides.Guess the name makes sense.My heart fails to beat, skipping ahead painfully to catch up as he slings his leg over the bike.

I’m half doubled-over, hand to my chest, when the asshole turns and pins me with a hard stare through the window.

I heard him leave this morning.

My alarm had barely finished screaming dissent when the roar of his bike shook the mirror on my wall. When I darted to the window and tore back the curtains, all that remained was a dust cloud slowly drifting toward my front garden.

I’d hoped I’d imagined the whole thing. That his visit was yet another nightmare courtesy of my rattled mind.

The journal missing from my nightstand was evidence enough.

But knowing he’d stayed nearby while I slept? It should have scared me. Freaked me out enough to have me packing my shit and ready to run. Yet as startled as I felt, I also recognized an emotion I hadn’t touched in a long fucking time: relief.

I’m past saving.The man broke into my house, stole my things, and stayed close by,watching. His behavior should alarm me.

Just as I should be, by the fact that he now walks toward the cafe.

“Ness?” Theresa sweeps out from behind the counter. “What’s happening?”

I realize I still stand bent forward, shoulders curled and hands on my knees as I struggle to catch my breath.Everything’s okay. It’s a public place.Like that’ll help me.

I laugh.

“Fuck’s sake,” Theresa mutters, slowing her roll. “You scared the shit out of me.”

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