Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 69759 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69759 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Groaning, I gather some cleaning supplies and begin helping them scrub. The words are coming off, but it’s not an easy task.
“Any idea who did this?” Dom asks, helping too.
“I know exactly who did this, the pain in the ass bikers next door,” I mutter.
“Bikers?” Mom says, her eyes wide. “You mean like actual bikers?”
“Yes, actual bikers. I went over there early this morning because they were making so much noise and I cut their stereo cord. I guess they weren’t very happy with me.”
“Wait,” Dom stops, eyes wide. “You went into a biker party, cut their cord, and you’re still alive to tell the tale?”
“That’s dangerous, Evelina!” my mother scoffs. “You could have been killed.”
I snort and wave a hand. “I doubt it. They don’t scare me.”
“They’re criminals,” Daddy points out, wiggling his finger at me. “They’re dangerous. You shouldn’t be anywhere near them, Evelina.”
“Well, they shouldn’t be making so much noise.”
“Promise me you’ll stay away from them,” he goes on. “Do not engage with them any further. Call the police about this.”
“I’m not going to call the police, Daddy,” I say, rolling my eyes.
“You don’t understand what you’re getting into, Evelina, this is dangerous.”
“It’s not dangerous, they’re not going to hurt me, they’re just making a point.”
He gives me a look that tells me he’s more than displeased, but he doesn’t say any more. We just keep cleaning until the graffiti is gone and the café is good as new. Just in time for opening. I tell Mom to open up so I can have a shower and get ready. She does, and by the time I get in there, everything is running as normal. Thank god.
Nobody is any wiser to the fact that this morning my place was covered in graffiti. Those bikers might not know it yet, but they’re messing with the wrong girl. I worked my ass off for this place, not a single thing is going to take that away from me. Or a group of things.
“Ah, Eve,” Mom says, coming into the kitchen a few hours later where I’m busy rolling frosting for my incredibly good cupcakes I just spent a long time making. They’re a rich chocolate hazelnut, and seriously, they’re enough to make you moan like you’re being fucked by Thor himself.
“What is it, Mom? I’m running behind,” I ask, putting everything into it as the frosting rolls thinner and thinner. I don’t just ice my cupcakes, I decorate them.
“You have some visitors, and, well, they’re scaring off the customers.”
I stop rolling and look up. “Are they wearing leather? If they’re wearing leather I’m going to lose my shit and go out there and bust a cap in their asses.”
Mom nods. “They’re wearing leather.”
“Ugh.” I throw my rolling pin down. “I’ve had about enough of this.”
I storm out, covered in flour and chocolate, and see not one, not two, not three, but four of my tables filled with a sea of dickheads wearing leather jackets. Frustration bubbles in my chest, because the few other customers I do have are looking incredibly uneasy. Why would they want to be here with these loud, pains in the asses around? I wouldn’t.
During the day is my quiet time, where old people and families come in for breakfast and lunch. At night, when the music is on and the beer is flowing, the crowds are a little more forgiving. Now is certainly not the time for a bunch of bikers to be getting around. I walk straight over to the table where Riggs is leaning back in his chair, laughing with Adan about god knows what.
I clear my throat.
He turns around and looks up at me, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Good mornin’, Sparkler, how are you this morning?”
I lean in close. “Don’t come in here asking me how I am, you know exactly how I am. I know what you did to my shop, and let me tell you, I’m not going to take it. You can pack your bikers up and get out right now, or I’ll call the police.”
“Call the police for what? We’re just customers wanting some breakfast.”
He blinks slowly.
“You want to play it like that, do you? That’s fine, we can play the hard way. It’s still my café, and I still choose who comes in and out of it. You’re not welcome here, and I’m asking you to leave.”
“Didn’t get much sleep last night, huh?”
He’s goading me, stirring the pot, making me seem crazy with every word. People are staring at me, and I know, I just know that if I don’t handle this right, the reputation of my café will be on the line, and I’m not risking everything I worked for.
“You want to stay in my café, you follow the rules everyone else has to follow. No jackets, no hats, and you keep the noise down. You want to come in and play up, come in when it’s open after hours.”