Under Lock And Key

Faye's POV

"Why do they always park out there for so damn long?! Why not just come inside right away?" I mutter, staring out at the familiar black SUV sitting in our parking lot like it owns the place...

"Because they're probably plotting some more illegal shit," Michael says, matter-of-factly, not even glancing up as he smooths out icing over one of his cakes. "But why don't you fess up already? You're only bothered because you secretly love it when they come in here." He snorts, as I shoot him a sharp glare. 

"Don't fucking start this, Mike," I snap. "I just don't get why they always come here — to this rundown café, of all places — every single week, at the same damn time. They park up, sit out there for what feels like forever, do whatever shady exchange they're doing, then finally drag themselves inside to place an order." I lean back against the counter, still watching the motionless vehicle like it might suddenly explain itself to me.

The tinted windows give nothing away, but I already know who's in there. The same three men who've been showing up like clockwork for the last three months! 

Michael smirks, placing the last cake out in the display case. "What is there to figure out? They're probably just running from the law or dealing drugs. Either way, you know that they're hot, and I know you're obsessed - and I don't blame you either!" He giggles, as I roll my eyes at how ridiculous he sounds. 

"Please." I retort, though I can feel the heat creeping up my neck from his statement. "They've got to be criminals, you got that right, Mike. And I'm guessing not the fun kind — probably real dangerous ones." 

"Uh-huh," he says, barely hiding his grin. "Dangerous, and yet you're the one who bolts in to the back every time they come in, leaving me to handle them! I'm not complaining though... but something tells me they don't swing for my team!" He grumbles, as I sigh at his words. 

Before I can fire something back at him, Sandra's shrill voice cuts out through the air. "Are you two done slacking off? We have customers to deal with!" She doesn't wait for an answer, disappearing out back for what must be her seventh cigarette of the hour.

Sandra is our boss, but only in the most technical sense of the word. Michael and I refer to her as The Wicked Witch of the Rest, a nod to the café's name: The Sunny Rest, but don't let the name fool you; this place is as depressing as it gets. Most of our customers only show up for Michael's cakes, which, frankly, are the only thing keeping Sandra's doors open. 

Not that she'd ever admit it... 

Michael dreams of running his own bakery in New York City someday, and I hope he makes it because he's certainly talented enough. He's promised me a job when he does too, and I fully intend to hold him to that! 

"Don't even think about it," Michael warns as I make a break for the back door seeing the SUV door swing open for the first time outside.

"What?" I say, feigning innocence.

"You're not hiding in the kitchen again, Faye. It's getting ridiculous! Just get over it and take their order like a normal person!" He pushes me back towards the cash register, blocking my escape route with his body. 

"Mike, please! Don't be a bitch!" I plead, my voice barely above a whisper. "I can't deal with them today. They're terrifying, and you know they're up to no good." I argue, as he snorts on a laugh, seeing their figures grow closer to the door. 

"Bitch is my middle name sweet cheeks, you're on your own this time!" He concludes, before the doorbell jingles and he darts in to the back of the shop - stranding me all alone. 

I turn around painfully slowly, my eyes widening at the three guys as they each step inside - seeming twice as big up close... 

The air in the place seems to shift as they enter, their presence drawing every ounce of attention in the room — at least, mine.

They're massive, all of them. Broad shoulders, chiseled jawlines, and enough tattoos to start a gallery between them... 

Their tailored clothes cling to muscles that wouldn't look out of place on a magazine cover, and they carry themselves like they own everything - and everybody at that!

I shrink down behind the counter, pretending to clean something on the floor with an imaginary cloth. 

Maybe if I keep my head down, they'll go straight to sit down, that way I can buy myself some time to convince Mike to take their order... 

"Are you going to take our order, or should we come back later?!" one of them barks, snapping me from my racing thoughts as I shoot up to stand to my full height - evidently flustered. 

I glance up and meet the gaze of the one speaking. He's got a shaved head and a look that could turn water to ice. My stomach starts to flip as I babble for a response. "Oh, uh, yep - yeah, sure. What can I get for you?" 

"Our usual," the blonde one says with a grin, his expression far more playful than his friend's. He proceeds to wink, and I can feel my cheeks burning with sheer embarrassment.

"She doesn't know what our usual is, idiot," the third one growls from the back of the pair. His voice is far rougher, deeper, and laced with annoyance compared to the other two, startling me as I instantly dread hearing him speak again...

My eyes dart back to him, and I immediately wish they hadn't. He's the most intimidating of the group, with dark eyes that seem to see right through me and tattoos that creep right up his thick neck. His jaw clenches as he speaks, and for a moment, I can't look away - completely and utterly captivated by his terrifying beauty. 

"Three black coffees," Shaved Head interrupts, snapping me back to reality. "And three slices of cake. Whatever you think we'll like." He concludes, as I fumble to scribble it down on a nearby notepad, my fingers trembling with the pencil as they watch me. 

He tosses a few crumpled bills out onto the counter and I fumble to pick them up, my hands seeming to not work the way they should as I drop some of them down on to the hard floor...

"N-No problem," I whisper, struggling to keep my voice steady.

"And just keep the change for yourself, gorgeous," Blondie adds, flashing me another grin before they make their way over to a booth in the back - leaving me hot and bothered by the exchange.

I glance down at the money. Fifty dollars for a fifteen-dollar order? I should probably follow them and say something, but my mouth is dry, and my brain seems to have short-circuited.

"So you actually survived?" Michael says, appearing at my side with a smirk. "And look — you even got called 'gorgeous' that wasn't so bad!" 

"Stop it, I can't believe you just threw me to the wolves like that!" I hiss, grabbing the cups to make their coffees. 

My hands are still shaking, and Michael laughs as I nearly drop one of the cups on my way to the machine... 

"Relax. They're harmless really. Well probably." He studies the cakes in the display case, tapping a finger against the glass. "What did they ask for? One of my cakes I bet?" He smirks, as I nod quickly. 

"They told me to pick," I mutter, already second-guessing every decision I've ever made.

"Perfect. They're getting my new Biscoff cake. It's divine. Trust me." He slices three generous pieces with the confidence of someone who's never had a recipe fail... 

"I hope they like Biscoff," I say, my stomach twisting with nerves at the thought of them hating it. 

"They'll love it," Michael declares. "And I'll bring them their coffee, since your hands are basically useless right now. You can take the plates.” He snorts loudly as I hiss for him to be quiet, terrified that the trio would somehow hear him from across the room. 

He winks, watching me finish up the order before grabbing the tray and weaving his way out and through the tables with practiced ease. 

I follow behind him with the plates, though my steps feel heavier the closer I get to their booth... 

When I settle the cakes down, all three men turn their attention to me. Blondie gives me an approving nod, while the others just stare.

"Do you want a tip or something?" the one with the tattoos snaps out rudely as I refrain from gasping at his words. "We already gave you one did we not?!"

I flinch, realising that I've lingered by the table for a little too long. "S-sorry!" I stammer, retreating so quickly that I nearly tripped over my own two feet.

Michael was already waiting for me back at the counter, his wicked grin practically splitting his face.

"Real smooth," he says, barely holding back his laughter.

"Shut up, that's the first and last time I deal with them!" I groan, burying my face in my hands to hide my reddening cheeks.

Just lock me up already...