8. Bronwyn

8

brONWYN

“ Oof. ” I set down a carton of books, stretched my aching legs, and looked around for my box cutter. “How’s the sign coming?”

“Great,” mumbled Jen. I’d asked her to put together a display table of her favorite detective novels and she was biting her lip in concentration as she drew on a blackboard.

I found my box cutter and sliced open the top of the carton, then sighed as I looked at the stacks of books inside. I was restocking all the books I’d sold off cheap when I thought I was shutting down and shelving them all would take forever. It was already nearly eight in the evening and there was a lot more to do. At least work stopped me thinking about him.

It had been a week since I’d had the drink with Radimir. The next day, Jen had showered me with questions. I’d told her, truthfully, that nothing had happened, but I hadn’t told her who Radimir was.

I kept rerunning our last conversation and wishing I could undo it. I’d been getting somewhere. I’d glimpsed something more than a cold-hearted monster. And then I’d said the wrong thing, and he went right back to icy and distant. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever even see him again.

Maybe it’s for the best. Me, and a mafia boss? I was a nerdy bookworm, not a gangster’s moll. He was wrong for me in every single way…

Except the one way that mattered. When I thought of him, when I guiltily buried my nose in the jacket he’d left behind and inhaled his scent, it triggered a dark, forbidden ache right at the core of me that twisted down to my groin.

I sighed, made a stack of books and headed towards the shelves. On my way past Jen, I stopped and looked at the sign. “What are those?”

“Handcuffs,” she said proudly.

“Nice. But can you add some red and blue lights or something? Otherwise, people are going to think this is the BDSM Romance table.”

Jen smirked. Then she saw something over my shoulder and her eyes widened. “Um. Someone’s here.”

I drew in my breath. It could only be one person. I put the books down and spun towards the door?—

It wasn’t Radimir.

The guy was leaning against the window looking in at us, his face lit up by the pink neon All You Need is Books sign . When the wind caught his brown leather coat, you could see he was lean in that stripped-down, dangerous way, like he survived on alcohol and cigarettes. Something in the way he smiled sent alarm bells ringing in my chest .

I glanced at the street outside. The other stores were all closed for the night. The bookstore suddenly felt horribly isolated.

The door was unlocked but he didn’t know that. I’d just walk over there, nice and calm, and shoot the bolt before he had a chance to come in. I started walking, trying to look casual. The man watched me the whole way, but he didn’t move from the window. It’s going to be fine. Just some creep. It was only three steps to the door, now. Nice and calm, Bronny. Two steps. One.

I lifted my hand to shoot the bolt and that’s when the second man stepped out of the shadows. Fuck. I grabbed for the bolt, but I’d hesitated just long enough. The first man rammed his hand against the door, and I had to dodge back before I was hit in the face.

“We’re closed!” I managed, hating how panicked my voice sounded.

“Door’s open,” he said with a shrug. He had a British accent. He sauntered past me, deliberately slamming his shoulder into me and sending me staggering.

I caught my balance just as the second guy breezed in. He had tightly curled, bleached-blond hair and skin even paler than mine. I glanced at Jen in fear. Neither of the guys were especially big, but they were still bigger than us.

“Books!” The British guy’s voice was mock-playful and loud enough to make me flinch. “Fount of all knowledge.” He tapped a drum riff on the tables of books he passed. Then he put his hands on two tables and swung there, kicking his legs in the air. “You read, Yoz?”

The blond one, Yoz, shook his head.

“You should. Educate yourself.” The British one grabbed a book at random from a table. “This one’s about...people in Bosnia.” He tossed it over his shoulder, and I winced. He picked up another. “Some cowboy thing.” He threw it like a frisbee, and it smacked against the wall. Another. “Sci-fi: well, that’s all bollocks.” He folded the book back on itself, cracking the spine, and it started shedding pages.

“Can you stop, please!” I snapped.

The British guy looked at Yoz, grinning. “ Can you stop, please,” he mimicked.

“You’re damaging the books!”

“ Damaging? Yoz, she thinks I’m damaging things.” He raised his hands in innocence. “I’m just mucking about.” Then he suddenly marched towards me, and I had to force myself to stand my ground. He stopped when he was only a few feet away. “Let me show you what damage looks like,” he said quietly.

He pulled out a lighter, grabbed a book and lit one corner of it.

“No!” I yelled, trying to grab the book. “Stop it!”

He shoved me back. The book’s glossy cover bubbled and peeled. Then the flames caught the pages and the whole thing became a mass of fire. He dropped it on a table of paperbacks and the fire spread outward, eating away at the thick stack of books.

I started forward again, and he pushed me back again, this time with his hands on my breasts. I was so panicked, I only registered the touch afterwards. It wasn’t just the money he was costing me: there was something deeply wrong about seeing books destroyed. “Please!” I begged.

British guy nodded to Yoz, who grabbed a fire extinguisher. Water blasted the burning stack of books, sending some of them flying off the table. Steam billowed up towards the smoke alarm, which had started wailing. When the extinguisher ran dry, Yoz hurled it at the smoke alarm, smashing it off the ceiling and silencing it.

I stared at the wreckage. I remembered carefully arranging the books, a multi-colored patchwork of beautiful covers. Now the top few layers were a charred, pitted mess and the books that weren’t burned were soaked with water. My business brain ran the math: twelve books wide by ten books long times five books deep equals about $3000 dollars of stock I’d just lost.

“That’s the problem with books,” said British guy. “They’re flammable.” He looked around at the store. “Imagine if someone threw a petrol bomb through the window.”

“What do you want?” sobbed Jen, her voice cracked.

But I already knew. I’d heard about this happening in this part of town. “Protection money,” I said dully.

“I prefer specialist insurance,” said British guy with a flourish. He advanced, forcing me to back up towards the counter. “We’ll work out a nice monthly sum that protects against fire, burglary...intruders in your store…”

“You two, working here late at night, all alone,” said Yoz, strolling towards Jen. “Anything could happen.” He looked at British guy. “I’ll take the blonde.”

My stomach flipped. I grabbed Jen’s arm and pulled her with me towards the back of the store. “I’ll pay you.”

British guy grinned. “I know you will.”

My ass hit the counter. “I’ll pay you, stop!”

He kept coming. “I think it’s good if we develop a close personal working relationship.”

I was so scared, I thought I was going to throw up. It was the slow, creeping inevitability of it, the way they were so smugly confident. They’d done this before. They’d do it again. And there was nothing we could do to stop them.

I checked over my shoulder. The back room had a door with a lock, but they were too close, they’d grab us before we could get in there.

I looked at Jen, at the tears streaming down her cheeks. Maybe it didn’t have to be both of us.

I pulled out my box cutter, flicked out the blade and launched myself at the two men, slashing wildly. “ Run!” I screamed at Jen. She stared at me in horror, then ran for the back room.

British guy dodged back, then got under one of my swings and punched me in the stomach. I doubled over, all the air knocked out of me, and he ripped the box cutter from my hand. Yoz stalked past us and tried the door to the back room, then kicked it, furious. “She’s locked herself in there!”

I wheezed for air, holding my stomach. At least Jen was safe.

British guy grabbed me by the throat and now I couldn’t breathe at all. “Looks like it’s both of us on you,” he told me.

I closed my eyes as he reached for the button of my jeans.