Chapter 7

It had begun.

I couldn't tear Sentinel's arms from their sockets. I wanted to watch the man die before my eyes, but the envelope in my breast pocket was even more satisfying. It'd be a slow and painful realization that he was helpless to save those he considered his near and dear.

The smell of coffee hung in the air as I walked down the street. The Hideout. It was a quaint coffee shop. It blended into the Ward's landscape. Rows of small shops lined the streets, giving this section of the city a small-town feel. Between the pubs, comic shops, bakeries, and tattoo parlor inside an antique store, I couldn't imagine why the real estate prices here continued to soar. Quaint and I didn't get along.

A patron exited the coffee shop, holding the door for me. I stepped inside. I was mildly disappointed to see Bernard didn't occupy a table. It would have been the icing on the cake to see his reaction. I'd have to leave the look of horror to my imagination.

A server sped by, dropping plates of food on a table. It appeared that the Hideout did a fair amount of business. I had to commend them for their ability to thrive in a tough market. I couldn't imagine what made it stand out compared to the chain coffee joints.

A couple sipped out of oversized mugs as I walked past. Two people waited in line as a gentleman behind the counter chatted while making their drinks. I got in line, trying to imagine where Bernard would sit. He and his little band of heroes would want to sit together. Knowing his ego, he'd want to be front and center. Yes, the table in front of the window. He'd hide in plain sight.

The man behind the counter slowed as he spotted me. The coffee grinder rumbled as he locked eyes. My reputation preceded me. I'm sure he debated pulling out his phone and clicking the "Human in Danger" button on the HeroApp?. It'd be a matter of minutes before a hero came rushing in, sooner if they knew it was me. LaToya would be irate that I didn't keep a low-profile. Her problem. I reveled in the notoriety that came with being me.

"Here you go. Now, make sure your husband remembers your anniversary. No subtle hints. You tell him how it's going to be, or he's going to the couch."

The woman laughed. "Subtle would never work. Earl needs to be hit over the head." She held up her coffee in a salute and then moved toward the exit.

"Mr. Jacobs, your usual double espresso, no cream?"

The patron wore a suit, probably on his way to a dull office job. He hemmed and hawed as he looked at the extensive list of coffees written on a blackboard attached to the wall. The man behind the counter waited a split second before chiming in suggestions.

"Is it a busy day at work, Mr. Jacobs? You'll want the ‘God, Give me Strength,' but if you're phoning it in today, you'll want the ‘Lazy Man's Sipper.'"

Did he really know his patrons well enough to predict their drinks? The man pulled out his phone, and with a quick flick of the finger, he let out a long sigh. "Give me two large ‘God, Give me Strengths.'"

"Burning the midnight oil again? At this rate, you'll be running the office."

"Chad, if you only knew. That place is a disaster."

Chad? The owner of the Hideout. I knew nothing about him other than his signature, which sat at the bottom of the lease agreement. Their banter continued. Inane chatter between them involving something to do with the patron's career aspirations. I didn't care. It took a few minutes while Chad prepared his drink. It ended with him handing over two large paper cups. Mr. Jacobs paid and gave Chad a nod before leaving.

Let the fun begin.

"You."

"I see my reputation?—"

"Fuck. You."

"A customary greeting for your patrons, or am I special?"

His jaw tightened, and his hands balled into fists. He tried hiding them behind the counter, but there was no way to disguise the anger. It oozed from every pore. Whatever I had done in the past, he took it incredibly personal. I wanted to ask which of the many sins I had committed applied to him.

"Get out." He spoke the words as if he believed they'd move me to vacate the premises. At this point, I caught sight of several patrons looking up from their morning coffee. One wrong move, and they'd reach for their phones. I wasn't in the mood to deal with heroes today. This would be quick.

"I wanted to deliver this." Reaching inside my breast pocket, I pulled out the envelope. "Personally." I set it down on the counter and slid it in his direction. He eyed it for a moment before snatching it.

"You're a plight on Vanguard," he said. "I don't know how you got out. Next time, I hope they throw away the key."

A common threat hurled in my direction. Most likely, it wouldn't be the last time I heard it today. "Lovely shop you have here. I can see why it's a gem." I didn't. But it was only polite to pay the man a compliment for his hard work.

"I'll bid you adieu. I'm sure we'll be seeing more of each other in the future."

The promise of another interaction made him glance at the envelope. I had struck a chord, but he had no idea what lay ahead. I'm sure he summoned the willpower to not tear it open. With a slight bow, I turned and walked toward the exit. Any cameras focused on me would see me acting as nothing but a gentleman. I expected it to reach the tabloids, and they'd spin it into me threatening Chad or commenting on my designer shoes. It came with the territory.

Exiting, I reached into my pocket, checking for the next envelope needing delivery. I had barely made it to the next business when I heard the Hideout's owner cursing at the top of his lungs. It seemed his willpower had wavered.

"One by one, I will take everything you love."