We pulled up to Bogart’s and the place looked deceptively normal — a quaint little coffee shop with a blue awning and flower boxes in the windows. It felt weird to picture it potentially bathed in blood by the end of today.
Talon helped me off his bike, pulling me in close and planting a kiss on my forehead. We still had almost an hour to kill before the time I was supposed to meet Craig.
The bell above the door chimed cheerfully as we walked into the shop. The smell of fresh coffee and pastries filled the air, a stark contrast to the dark tension humming through my body. The few patrons inside glanced up briefly, checking us out curiously before returning to their laptops and conversations.
Jake approached the counter, exchanging a meaningful look with the barista — a tall, tattooed ma
