Ruthless Spring

Amarie lets out a snort before heading in the other direction, our discussion forgotten.

One of the other waitresses rushes over to the man, apologizing as she starts to pick up the pieces of glass. I cringe, watching as a piece cuts her finger.

Why the fuck didn’t she get a broom?

Because she’s weak.

She was afraid the man would create a greater scene if she just took those few seconds to grab the broom.

Is that how I look?

Running and jumping every time one of the Costas tell me to do something.

I don’t even have to answer the question, because I already know the answer.

Yes, I look that damn pathetic.

But that’s going to change soon, I tell myself. If I’m going to die anyway, why not do it with some of my dignity. It’s not as if I’ve always been this weak. Once, I had a backbone and determination. It was the prime reason I was targeted by sick men growing up. They always wanted to break that something in me.

And you’re already taking steps to not be such a pushover. Look at what happened with Maximo.

I turn away from the scene, moving back over to the bar as I stupidly hype myself up, telling myself that things will change soon.

After the other night…

I kick the thought out of my head as quickly as it appears.

I grab my drinks from the bar, turning to head back to one of my tables, but I pause when movement at the door catches my eye. There’s something off….

Typically, there’re four men standing just inside the door, and I know for a fact that there’re another four just outside, making sure that no unwanted guests get in.

I’ve grown used to the guards' faces, but tonight two out of the four are unrecognizable.

Unease moves through me.

My gaze seeks out Enzo and I find him immediately this time. He’s watching me and his head tilts to the side slightly before he focuses his gaze to the door where I was just looking. My suspicions are confirmed when his whole body tenses up so hard I can see it from across the room. He says something but I can’t hear from this distance. I watch as he pulls his phone up to his head and he continues to speak.

Suddenly, he’s rushing in my direction and I find my feet moving to meet him halfway. His hands lock around my arms, strong and tight, the second I'm within reaching distance, and I don’t protest.

“Come with me,” he barks and I nod sharply just as the first gunshot rings out.

This scene has become too familiar in the last couple of weeks and as screams wrack through the room, I try to block them out, letting Enzo drag me into the back hallway and into the office.

“Use this,” he says, passing me a gun that he pulls from under his coat. “Shoot first.”

And then he’s gone, the office door clicking locked behind him.

You’ve been through this before, calm yourself.

I take a deep breath, reminding myself that this isn’t the first time I’ve been in this situation and if I don’t die here, it won’t be my last time either.

The office already gives me creepy vibes from the last manager who was dealing drugs under the Costa’s nose, the first shot in this war with the cartel.

I keep my ears peeled.

My body goes cold when I hear a footsteps coming down the hall. They stop right outside the office door and I click the safety off the gun, pointing right at the door.

If they come in, shoot.

There’s no sound for a moment, and I think they’ve gone in the other direction until the door suddenly bursts open.