“I find myself suddenly ravenous, Kinsley.”
The way he said my name was like a familiar melody. He hadn’t even looked at my name tag.Don’t panic.
“Then I suggest the Straggler’s Big Breakfast. It comes with tea or coffee.” I pointed to the menu and waited. Heat flooded my cheeks, and his eyes burned into me. Nervously, I looked at my manager.
“Do you, now?” His eyes were alight with curiosity. His sexy, plump lips were very distracting.
“Sir, what can I get you?” I asked once more after what felt like a few minutes of him just staring. Thankfully, my manager stepped in and came to my rescue.
“Why don’t you take your break? Mr. King, welcome to Woodinville Café. What can I get for you?” he asked.
Excusing myself, I turned to leave when I heard him say, “Her. I wanther”—he paused long enough to make both of us exchange a look—“to take my order, and then I want her to sit over there with me on her break.” He pointed to a corner table. He spoke with the authority of one who always got his way.
My manager paled, then looked at me, pleading with me to honor the request. He obviously knew who this man was. I didn’t have the slightest idea, but the line was getting longer, and the people were getting impatient with the holdup.
“I’ll take your order, sir, but I don’t see what you could possibly want with me. So I’ll decline your invitation to spend my break sitting with you over there, or anywhere, for that matter.” I stepped back up to the register.
“Do you know who I am?” he asked, a hint of humor lacing his voice. He leaned over the counter.
“No, but with a tattoo like that, I would guess you’re trouble. So, are you the Grim Reaper? Come to collect my soul?” I asked innocently.
With a smirk on his face, he stood tall again and said, “Something like that. If my brothers were with me, you might have cause for concern. As it is, I insist we talk.”
Stepping back a little, I gulped.What kind of response was that? Get it together.I dug my nails into my palms to compose myself. Holding his gaze, I tried to act braver than I was. Try as I might, unease had taken root in my stomach, telling me I wasn’t overreacting to this stranger.
And as the seconds stretched to minutes, the tension in the air became almost palpable. All other sensory stimuli dimmed as the pounding in my heart increased. The long, drawn-out minutes seemed to stretch forever.
Looking down at the register, I chose something from the menu and rang him up. His response, or lack thereof, was enough of an indicator that he wasn’t here for something to eat.
“You insist? Interesting choice of words. The Straggler’s Big Breakfast it is. With black coffee—matches the tattoo and seems fitting,” I muttered, hitting the buttons.
Maybe this had to do with Pasha?Damn him.How the hell did he find me? It was hard enough seeing him and acting like I didn’t know who he was. It was all I’d thought about that night, and I refused to give my birthday another thought. The club scene was definitely not my cup of tea. I think it would have been better if I’d stayed home.
When I was a young girl, I fancied myself in love with Pasha. I had followed his career over the years as he became popular. He was even more incredible than when we were little.
He was a man now—no longer the little boy who anchored me in every dance move from classic ballet to aerial ropes. I needed to push those memories out of my head. That was my old life. That life, and the one I lived for a season, didn’t control me anymore. My name was Kinsley Anya Marie Taylor.
You are safe.
Maybe this wasn’t even about Pasha. But then, if it wasn’t about him, what did this stranger want with me? Could it have to do with my past? Was I ready to go there if it did? My answer was no, not really. I wrestled with my inner need to know and self-preservation to remain ignorant.
He walked to the table in the far corner and situated his large body into a chair. His intense gaze found mine once more, so I turned away from him, taking my apron off.
“How much do you know about that man?” my manager asked as he pulled me to the side.
“Nothing, nothing at all. Who is he?”
“Aleksandr King—or the Reaper, as he’s called in some circles. His father is a diplomat on assignment in Seattle, but that’s not what concerns me. There are rumors…how shall I say it? Um…some people believe that he and his two brothers are vigilantes of some sort. Are you okay?”
I must have turned white.Why on earth would a vigilante be interested in talking to me? I could feel his eyes watching me, even though my back was turned to him.
“I’m fine. I didn’t eat this morning, so I’m feeling lightheaded, is all. I’m going to take my break now.”
Every part of me wanted to run from the building and not look back. Unfortunately, I had a feeling the stranger probably wouldn’t let me get out the front door before following.
But in the back of my mind, I heard Owen and remembered his years of drawing me out. It hardly seemed fair. We’d worked so hard to come back from the brink of isolation, and I didn’t want to give that up.
Owen had taught me so much in the years I had with him. Outside of self-defense in using a knife or gun, he’d taught me about reading body language and nonverbal cues, how to recognize suspicious behavior, and how to assess my environment.
