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Finally, I head into the small closet at the far end of the room. My gear is lined up neatly: more surveillance equipment, tactical vests, and a few firearms hidden behind the rows of black hoodies and jackets. I shove a couple of hoodies into my bag, followed by some socks and boxers, before I slip a few more cameras into my jacket pocket, just in case.
The apartment feels too quiet now, stripped of its usual hum of electronics and activity. I zip up the duffel bag and sling it over my shoulder, the weight heavy but familiar. I’ve done this a hundred times before, but this time, it feels different.
I’m not relocating for work this time. There’s no new target, no new job.
This time, it’s for her.
For my girl.
I check my watch again; time to go. I head back out, locking the door behind me. There’s a stop I need to make before I return to her. The same place where this all started—Rustic Roast.
When I arrive, it’s busy. I can smell the coffee from outside, a rich, almost bitter scent that clings to the air mixed with thesugary sweetness of pumpkin spice. The stupid bell dings as I enter, drawing some of the customers’ eyes to me.
Inside, the hum of conversation fills the space, people chatting in that easy way they do when they’ve got nothing important to say. The line moves slowly, and I glance around. Old ladies are eyeing me like I’m trouble, their gazes lingering on the ink covering my wrists and hands, the tattoos creeping up my neck. One whispers to the other, but I don’t give a fuck.
Let them stare.
Juan’s working the register, the same barista who was there the night I first saw Cara. He doesn’t recognize me—why would he? I was just another customer in a crowded café, but he was part of the backdrop to one of the most important moments of my life.
Now, he’s just another pawn, another potential gift for my girl.
“Welcome to Rustic Roast, what can I get you?” Juan greets with an annoyingly cheerful tone. The guy's smile alone makes me want to commit murder in front of all these people. Show the old hags sitting behind me just how much trouble I can really be.
I order Cara’s pumpkin spice latte, the same one she had that night, and a black coffee for myself. As Juan makes the drinks, I consider him—his neck, his build, the way his hands move as he works. He’s young, fit, probably around my age, and I can’t help but think how much better I could recreate Cara’s gift, but with him.
Now that I know what to expect, I could perfect it this time around.
Cleaner, more precise. His head would make the perfect offering, especially with Juan being so symbolic to the first night we met. He’d make a more fitting tribute for my little nightmare.
When he hands me the drinks, he says, “Thanks for stopping by, hope to see you again.”
I give him a nod, suppressing the twisted grin tugging at my lips.
Oh me too,Juan. Me too.
But not just yet. Maybe later. Cara deserves the best, and I’ll make sure she gets it.
I head back to my bike, balancing the drinks as I secure them before heading out. The ride back to Cara is faster, my anticipation growing with every mile. I need to see her, to make sure she’s still asleep, still waiting for me.
I step back into the house, the door whispering shut behind me, the quiet settling like a heavy shroud over everything. The dim light from outside barely filters through the boarded windows, casting shadows that stretch across the floor. My boots echo softly against the hardwood as I walk through the narrow hallway, slipping the bag from my shoulder and setting it down with a soft thud by the entryway.
The air is warm as I make my way to the bedroom with the drinks in hand, the sound of my footsteps carefully measured, quiet enough not to disturb her. As I reach the door, I pause for a second, my hand resting on the frame as I take in the sight before me.
Cara’s still asleep, her body sprawled out across the bed, the sheets twisted around her legs like they’re trying to hold her in place. Her dark hair fans out over the pillow, and in the dim glow of the bedside lamp, I can see the soft rise and fall of her chest. She looks peaceful—too peaceful, given what I know is coming.
My girl, my little nightmare, is completely unaware of the chaos I’m about to unleash.
I slip off my jacket and toss it onto the chair in the corner, my eyes never leaving her. The room feels smaller with her in it, the space shrinking around us, suffocating us in a way that’s strangely addictive. She stirs for a moment, mumblingsomething incoherent, but she doesn’t wake. I watch her for a little longer, the temptation to reach out and touch her building in my chest like a slow burn. But not yet. There’s still work to be done. I place her latte on the table beside her, and head back out to the hall.
The soft click of the door closing behind me feels like it’s sealing a secret as I leave the room, my steps quickening as I head back down the hall. Heading downstairs, I grab the duffel bag and plop on the couch. I pull one of the laptops from the bag and set it up, connecting it to the cameras I installed earlier. The feed flickers to life, showing the inside of the house—every corner, every shadow.
I sit back, bringing the steaming cup of coffee to my lips as I watch her sleep on one of the screens. Her form is small and fragile against the backdrop of the bed. The other screens show the doors, the windows, and the hallways. No one’s getting in or out without me seeing.
I pull up my email, fingers moving across the keys with practiced ease as I sort through messages, encrypted plans, and incoming intel. There’s an update from one of my contacts and details about a recent job that requires my attention, but I push it aside for now.
Cara is the priority tonight. Everything else can wait.
I settle in, my eyes flicking between the screens and Cara’s sleeping form. She’s mine, entirely. And when she wakes up, we’ll continue this game.
