Richard smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. It was the same smile he used right before he cut off my access to our joint accounts, the same smile he used when he told me no one would ever believe me if I tried to explain what was happening behind the closed doors of our pristine, wealthy marriage.
"Enjoy the diner coffee, sweetheart," Richard said, his tone dripping with malice. He looked at the giant one last time. "You have no idea what you're standing in the middle of, friend. You’re making a mistake that is going to cost you everything you have."
"I've made plenty of mistakes," the giant replied calmly. "You ain't one of them. Door's behind you."
Richard smoothed his lapels, his jaw tight enough to crack his teeth. He turned sharply on his heel and strode out of the diner, the bell jingling cheerfully in his wake.
I watched through the front window as he walked to his black SUV. He didn't get in immediately. He pulled a phone from his pocket, dialing rapidly, his eyes fixed on the diner window. He was making the calls. He was sealing me in.
My legs finally gave out.
I collapsed into the vinyl booth, my hands covering my face as a violent, delayed tremor ripped through my body. I couldn't stop shaking.
"Hey," a small, quiet voice said.
I lowered my hands. The little boy sitting in the booth—the one I had entirely ignored in my panic—was holding out a paper napkin. He had warm, intelligent eyes and was completely unbothered by the tension that had just saturated the room.
"Thank you," I whispered, taking the napkin and dabbing at my eyes.
The giant sat back down across from me, the leather groaning under his weight. His two friends slid into the booth directly behind me, securing my blind spot.
"Eat your pancakes, Leo," the giant said gently to the boy.
Leo obediently picked up his fork and resumed attacking a stack of syrupy pancakes.
The man turned his deep, dark eyes onto me. "You alright?"
"I... I am so sorry," I stammered, frantically gathering my purse to stand up. "I didn't mean to drag you into this. I was just terrified. He saw my car at the gas station down the street. I ran. I just ran. I'll leave now. Thank you for—"
"Sit down," the man said.
It wasn't a request. It was a command, heavy and grounded.
"If you walk out that door right now, he'll have you in the back of his car before you make it to the pavement," the man continued, gesturing slightly toward the window with his coffee mug.
I looked. A second black SUV had just pulled into the parking lot, parking diagonally across the exits, boxing in my rusty sedan. Two men in dark suits stepped out, standing by the bumpers. They weren't cops. They were Richard's private security fixers.
"Oh, God," I breathed, feeling the blood drain from my face. "He called them."
"Who is he?" the man asked, taking a slow sip of his coffee.
"His name is Richard Vance. He’s... he’s very powerful."