Allegiance - Chiah Wilder Page 0,16
the house for the restaurant that morning. The condo was small, and the open floor plan eliminated any places for a couple of bikers to hide. And there was no way anyone could fit into the closet in her bedroom. The walk-in was filled to the brim with different chef uniforms, fancy dresses for her catering business, and enough shoes to open a footwear museum.
Walking out of the bedroom, she opened the French doors and stepped out onto the balcony. She stared out at the ocean, letting the darkness of the night envelope her. The lights along the coastline glittered under the moonlight, and she caught a few people walking hand-in-hand along the boardwalk. The waves rolled in with their soothing sound, and the tension that had had a stranglehold on her since the two men entered the bistro fell away. She took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. Since she was a little girl, she’d always loved the ocean. Salty air, lacy waves washing ashore, squawking seagulls, breakers crashing against the pillars of the piers, and the seeming endlessness of the Pacific hugged and comforted her every time.
Felicia’s voice pulled her out of her musings. “Hey, have you eaten anything?”
“Not since this morning.”
Felicia clucked her tongue. It was something she did when she disapproved of a behavior.
“All right. I’ll get off the phone and grab something from the fridge. You don’t need to hound me about it. The next thing you know, you’ll be telling me Tank could have fixed me a sandwich and brought it to me on a silver platter.”
“It would be a start. And I bet he’d do it.” Lena could hear her best friend smile on the other end of the line.
I bet so too.
“Thanks for listening. I almost feel normal again.” Lena giggled. “There’s a bottle of white wine calling my name in the fridge, so I better get to it.”
“Don’t forget the sandwich, or you won’t be any good in the morning.”
“True. We’ll talk soon.”
Lena went back inside, walked into the kitchen, and made herself a sandwich with whatever was in the fridge—which happened to be cheese, tomato, and bacon, and a large glass of white wine finished it off. While she ate standing at the kitchen counter, she browsed her phone for extra security measures for the bistro and her home.
The thugs did one thing that she’d never forgive them for: they took away her sense of security.
A few days later, on a day with a bright sun in a cornflower-blue sky, Lena drove along Imperial Avenue, breathing in the briny air. Of all the routes to town, this one was her favorite, even though it took her several miles out of her way. The winding road wove around multi-million-dollar mansions layered into the rocky hillsides overlooking the ocean before curving around the bluffs, giving drivers and passengers alike front-row seats to the rocks, the beach, and the crashing waves, with ocean as far as the eye could see. Lena never tired of the view—it was breathtaking and humbling at the same time. This drive was her go-to place when the stresses and fears of life weighed too heavily on her. After what happened the night before, Imperial Avenue was the perfect antidote, and she didn’t have to pay a therapist a fortune for it.
A Mustang convertible pulled out of a space in front of the bistro, and Lena cruised into it. Grabbing her purse, she rushed into the eatery.
Customers filled every table in the small space, and there was an impressive line behind the cases displaying a colorful assortment of cookies and cupcakes. Decorating cookies was another way in which Lena relaxed, and early that morning, she’d baked dozens of them.
“Bad night?” Adalyn had asked when she saw the stack of baking sheets in the sink.
“The worst. One of the cases in the front shattered.” Lena hadn’t given too many details, not wanting to involve the employees in the drama. The business was hers, along with all the responsibility—good and bad—that came with it.
“Give me a sec and I’ll help out,” Lena said as she rushed back to her office. After securing her purse in the safe, she donned an apron and slipped behind the counter.
The following hour was a blur of baked goods, parchment paper, boxes, and ribbons. But by the end of it, most of the cookies and all the cupcakes were gone. The croissant sandwiches had also disappeared. She was happy, but the memory of the