Sadistic Mates

Chapter 2

I sleep terribly. Nightmares toss me around all night, making me wake up in a cold sweat. I’m restless, and my anxiety keeps dragging me out of bed to check the locks—again and again. Lying awake, my brain spins in loops. Did I really lock the back window? Did I double-check the door? Eventually, I get up and check everything one more time.

When my alarm blares next to my head, I feel like the walking dead. I drag myself out of bed and head to the bathroom. Turn the tap—nothing. The pipes shudder and groan. Not a single drop comes out.

“f**k,” I groan, slapping the sink. The pipes must have frozen overnight. Of course, the one morning I actually need a hot shower.

In the kitchen, I grab the jug. Empty. My patience snaps.

“Not today, Satan,” I mutter, flipping off the ceiling with both hands. I stomp into my room, yanking a fresh blouse and a pair of black slacks from the cupboard. Once dressed, I shove my feet into my flats—and my toes go straight through the front.

“Really? Could this day get any worse?” I dig through the kitchen drawer. Duct tape. My savior. I wrap the torn shoes in thick black tape, giving my toes a little wiggle. They hold, for now. Just in case, I do another layer. Gotta love fashion on a budget.

Buttoning my blouse, I head back to the bathroom to brush my teeth. My reflection looks like a raccoon that’s been mugged. The bags under my eyes are so big, I could smuggle snacks in them. Thinking of my wallet, I dash out to grab my handbag and dig through it.

Nothing.

Panic hits like a punch to the gut. I tip the contents onto the bed—lip balm, receipts, half a granola bar. No wallet. My heart sinks. I must’ve left it in the alley. The thought alone sends a chill through me. I don’t want to go back there, not ever.

I shove my phone into the bag, throw it over my shoulder, and yank on a jumper. Hair goes up in a high ponytail, and I pause at the door. Deep breath. The air outside feels too sharp, like the world is just waiting to snap. I force myself out, locking the door quickly behind me.

Something catches my eye on the top step.

I freeze. It’s a small cardboard box. I glance around, skin prickling. No one in sight. I squat and open the box—and my blood turns to ice.

My wallet.

I stare at it, unable to breathe. They know where I live. They were here. My heart pounds so hard it hurts. My anxiety spirals, fast and brutal. I grab the stair rail, grounding myself. Touch. The wood. Sight—snow. Taste—I still got toothpaste in my mouth. Okay. I’m alive. Check, check, check. But I don’t feel safe.

I bolt, running all the way to the café.

The bell over the glass door jingles loudly as I burst in, panting. Lisa spins around from behind the counter, coffee pot in hand.

“Geez, the way you stormed in, I thought we were getting robbed.”

“Sorry,” I gasp, doubled over, trying to catch my breath. I glance around. Same old retro café with its checkered floors, red and white booths, diner vibe straight from the 1960s.

The customer she’s serving watches me. I feel his gaze burning as I grab my apron. Lisa puts the coffee pot down. I pour myself a mug, chug half of it.

“Rough night?” she asks.

“You have no idea,” I mutter, finishing the cup and going back for more.

“Vick’s not in yet. Let’s hope he doesn’t show up at all,” Lisa says, giving my shoulder a squeeze as she walks past.

It’s a quiet morning. No customers except the guy Lisa served. I watch him from behind the counter. Something’s off about him. Dark hair, thick lashes, jawline carved from stone. He’s bigger than anyone I’ve seen in this area. The guy clearly lives at the gym. His button-down shirt strains against his chest, biceps stretching the sleeves. He’s way too polished for this part of town.

Lisa taps me on the shoulder, making me jump. “It’s dead in here. I’m going for a smoke. Are you good with Mr. Hotty?”

I chuckle as she slips out, her apron tossed on the table near the door. The man moves the second she’s gone. My eyes snap to his as he stands and walks over, sitting at the counter. His gaze locks with mine. I don’t hear what he says—his eyes are hypnotic.

“Are you okay?” he asks, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

“Huh?” Brilliant. Real smooth, Evelyn.

“I said, can I have more coffee?” He nods toward the jug behind me.

“s**t—sorry. I spaced out.” I spin around, refill his mug.

“Evelyn,” he says, reading my name tag.

I nod, hoping Lisa walks back in soon and saves me from my own awkwardness.

“I’m Orion,” he says.

What kind of name is that?

“Nice to meet you, Orion.” I flash a polite smile just as Lisa strolls back in, tossing me her smokes and winking. I pull off my apron and duck outside.

The chill hits my face hard. I settle on the milk crate and light a cigarette, taking a long drag.

“Smoking’s bad for you,” a voice says. My eyes snap open. Orion stands nearby, leaning against the wall.

“Gotta die of something,” I mutter, not looking at him.

“You lost?” I ask. “Can I help you with something?”

“No. I was looking for you,” he replies.

My stomach knots. “Well, you found me. Now you can leave.”

He chuckles. “That’s not very nice.”

“Last I checked, you’re invading my personal space. I don’t need to be nice.” I stub the cigarette out and head for the entrance, only to groan when I spot Vick’s yellow car.

Orion opens the door for me. I slip past him quickly and warn Lisa.

“He’s here.”

Lisa frowns and walks out front, pasting on a fake smile. I don’t bother pretending. After yesterday—after Vick told me I could have my tips if I blew him—I’ve got zero patience left. He’s twice my age and smells like a compost bin.

Vick waddles in, gut straining against a stained white shirt. “Ladies,” he says as he heads for the back. I gag inwardly.

Orion’s watching him, expression unreadable. As soon as Vick calls my name from the office, I sigh and head back, grabbing a coffee mug on the way.

Vick’s at his desk, rubbing his shiny scalp. “Shut the door,” he snaps, yanking the mug from my hand. Coffee splashes everywhere.

I wipe it with the tea towel from my apron.

“Anything you want to say about yesterday?”

“Nope. Pretty sure I nailed it the first time,” I say, arms crossed.

“You should watch who you mouth off to. I’m not firing you, I’m cutting your shifts.”

“Who are you punishing? Me or Lisa? She can’t run the place alone.”

“She’ll manage. Unless…” He leans back and adjusts his pants and I quickly walk out.

No way am I crawling to that sleaze. I’ve got enough saved to get by for a week or two. I slam the office door behind me.

Lisa looks up. “What did he want?”

“He’s cutting my shifts because I won’t blow him,” I whisper.

Her face hardens. She knows what he’s like—he used to just get grabby. Since his wife died, he’s gone full creep.

“So quiet this morning,” she says, glancing out the window.

I look too. Orion’s still there, but he’s glaring toward the office door like he wants to rip it off its hinges.

“Probably because they spotted the Dark Ones,” I mutter.

She nods. “I heard they destroyed the north side. A hundred people died when the bank collapsed. I wish they’d just f**k off.”

The office door swings open. Vick strolls out and snatches the tip jar.

“Bullshit!” Lisa calls after him.

He ignores her and walks out.

“Not like there was much in it,” I mutter, glancing toward Orion—except he’s gone. I scan the room. Empty.

“Where did he go?” I ask.

Lisa walks to his table. “No idea… oh look he left a $500 tip.”

My jaw drops. “What?”

She waves the cash in front of me. I laugh, stunned.

A couple of hours pass before the café fills up. Lisa and I juggle cooking and serving since Miranda quit over Vick’s harassment. It’s a blur until closing.

Vick never returns, which is strange.

Lisa splits the tips, and we lock up. Her bus arrives just in time.

“I’ll lock up,” I tell her.

She tosses me the keys and runs to catch her ride.

I drop the shutters, padlock everything, then turn. It’s dark now. I wrap my arms around myself and hurry home, heart pounding. Every sound feels too loud. Every shadow looks like someone watching.

At the alley, I freeze. The shortcut is faster, but… no. I take the long way, sticking to streetlights.

When I see my van, I jog the last stretch. Slam the door shut, lock it tight. First thing—check the taps.

They work.

“Victory!” I do a dumb little dance before heading to the bathroom.

Just as I’m about to shower, my phone buzzes.

Vick: Going on vacation. You and Lisa will take over the café until I return.

I blink at the message, confused. Still, I’m not complaining. At least we won’t have to deal with him. Lisa and I can run the place without being harassed.

Sure, Vick. Have a pleasant holiday, I reply, then toss the phone on the bed and step into the shower.

Finally.