Page 52 of Everlasting Vows

“You must bring Abbi and your beautiful kids in sometime,” Mrs. B tells me as Mr. B serves the man around my age.

The guy says his thanks, grabs his items, and is almost at the door when there’s a commotion at the entrance to the store. A young guy, who appears strung out, shoves the man back, causing him to lose his footing and land on his ass, dropping his purchases.

“What the hell?” he blusters as he tries to climb back to his feet.

The newcomer pushes him back down with a boot-covered foot to his chest. “Give me your cash,” he demands.

The hair on the back of my neck bristles, and Mrs. B gasps. My muscles tighten. I fucking hate these entitled pricks who think they can steal from hard-working people to feed their drug habit.

“Hell no!” the guy spits from his prone position. I don’t blame him, but we need to deescalate this scumbag, not intensify the situation.

I hold my hands loosely at my sides and take a single step toward the pair, hoping to calm the situation before it gets out of hand, when the newcomer whips out a gun from the waistband of his pants. I pause my steps, not wanting to make any sudden movements.

The tone in the store changes dramatically. The air grows heavy. Thick with tension. Dripping with anxiety.

All of my senses burst into overdrive. The blood pumping through my veins feels like it’s rushing too fast. I take purposeful breaths to slow my breathing and scan the store, making a mental note of the position of each patron. Thankful the young woman is as far away from the entrance as possible.

While the newcomer is focused on the guy on the floor, I turn to Mrs. B. “Go out back,” I murmur only for her ears. “Move slowly and quietly.”

She nods and carefully shuffles backward without taking her eyes off the commotion. Her worried gaze meets her husband’s, and he nods to her, silently encouraging her to keep moving.

“I fucking said give me your fucking cash!” he shouts as he points the gun directly at the man on the floor, who raises his hands in contrition.

The guy quickly shakes his head from side to side. “I-I don’t have any cash.”

A slimy grin slides over the gunman’s lips, and he straightens the arm holding the gun. “I don’t fucking believe you!” he shouts.

Everyone in the store collectively holds their breath as the drama unfolds at the front of the store. Frozen in place, making themselves appear small and non-threatening, and hoping not to draw attention to themselves.

A sharp bang shatters the silence, rattling the windows and making my ears ring. Instantly, I’m taken back to my time overseas. Dust motes float through the air, and the familiar metallic tang of blood fills the air. My blood freezes in my veins, then rushes too fast, gushing through my body with unnatural force. My pulse pounds.

Every noise, no matter how soft, sounds too loud for my ears and my focus narrows to the two men. The one on the floor falling lax as blood forms a dark pool beneath his body. The other standing over him, his gun still aimed at the man’s chest as if he doesn’t realize he’s just murdered a human being.

Fuck fuck!

There are hundreds of corner stores just like this one across the city, and I have to marvel at the chances of this happening at this particular store at this exact moment.

What are the fucking chances?

I don’t have time for this.

I was doing so well with my time.

Frustration builds tension in my muscles, and my fingers tighten into fists at my sides. I can’t be late and miss Abbi. I’ve been looking forward to surprising her and watching her face light up with happiness all day. And while I know she’s not expecting me and won’t know that I’ve missed taking her out tonight, I’ll know.

But there’s no way I’ll make it now.

The young woman at the back of the store screams, causing the gunman’s head to snap up. My anger burns at the situation and the fact that nobody should be subjected to experiences like this. Let alone a civilian woman. I glance in her direction but can’t see the top of her head over the low shelves. She must have dropped to the floor—smart girl.

The guy with the gun crouches, digging through the dead man’s pockets, seemingly oblivious to the rest of the customers in the store. While he’s busy, I glance around, ensuring Mrs. B is safely tucked out the back of the store and out of sight.

After digging through the man’s trouser pockets, he pulls out his prize. The man’s wallet. He wastes no time opening it and dragging out a few dollar bills. He just took a man’s life for less than ten bucks. I’d like to say that I find it shocking … alarming even, but this type of thing happens far too often. He grins as if he’s won the lottery, then shoves the few dollars into his pocket and climbs unsteadily to his feet.

The asshole glances around the store with a sneer. “What are you fucking looking at?” he shouts, spit flying out of his mouth, and I wince. He waves his arm around the store, as if he’s not holding a loaded gun, causing anyone still standing to drop to the floor.

My heart leaps, and my blood charges through my veins as if the cells are electrified. My muscles bunch and flex as adrenaline pours into my system, overriding my normal resting state. A sense of knowing and calm washes through me, and decades of training and experience kick into play.

I draw a deep breath. “Dunno. Still trying to work it out,” I respond.