Page 7 of Ruthless Desires, Vol. One (Ruthless Desires Series Extended Editions #1)

Elliot

November

I’ve always looked forward to Friday mornings with Rhett and Ol, but as time passes, I find myself even more excited to walk into our regular coffee shop. My conversations with Wren usually aren’t long, but they’re one of the highlights of my week.

Maybe that’s a little pathetic. I’m twenty-eight years old, and one of the best parts of my week is talking to a barista I barely even know. But… well, this is the life Rhett, Oliver, and I chose. Our jobs require a lot from us—as do our side plans.

It’ll be worth it, though. Ever since tragedy struck when we were all seniors in high school, we’ve been working our way toward the one thing that will help the sting of our loss fade: revenge.

Today, the coffee shop is busier than normal. Ava and Wren are rushing to keep up, so we aren’t able to have our normal leisurely conversation. I swear I see a glimmer of disappointment in Wren’s eyes, but it vanishes quickly enough that I’m not sure if I imagined it.

Once we’re seated, I lean back in my chair and sip my coffee. Wren has introduced me to a lot of different beans as the shop has cycled through a variety of specialty coffees. Normally, I like routines. Stability. Reliability. But I’ve been having fun trying out different drinks here.

Once we all have our drinks, we settle in at our usual table. I keep my coffee in my hands, the warmth from the mug seeping into me and replacing the November chill.

A couple teens pass by on the sidewalk outside, and I can’t help my smile. It didn’t happen often, but every once in a while, Oliver and Rhett would convince me to skip school, and we’d fuck around in town, just blowing off steam.

We never went far—Rhett had to be back to pick his little sister up from school—but those days were some of my better memories of my childhood. Rhett and Ol had a way of knowing when I was reaching my limit with my responsibilities. They took it on as their personal mission to find ways to let me forget about it all on occasion.

“Remember that one day we snuck out and got ice cream at Annie’s?” Oliver asks, his eyes tracking the teens.

I shudder. “To this day, I don’t think I’ve ever seen your mom look so furious.”

It’d been early on in the school year—mid-September at the latest—and Oliver had begged us for ice cream. So we went to a local shop, only to run into Meredith and Oliver’s little sister, Maria. Maria had been having a bad mental health day, so Meredith had let her skip school and decided to get her a nice treat. But when we showed up…

Well, let’s just say that when Oliver pointed out that if Maria could have the day off then so could he, I saw murder in his mother’s eyes.

“I still think she should’ve let me skip,” Oliver says.

Rhett cuts him a hard look. “You weren’t being bullied by your classmates.”

Oliver’s eyes soften, and he holds Rhett’s gaze for an extra second. “Not then, no.”

Rhett looks away, studying the pedestrians and cars as they pass by outside. His body is rigid beneath his black suit, his jaw tight.

Some memories are better left untouched.

Oliver adjusts his tie. “I wonder if Maria remembers the ice cream shop incident. We’ll have to ask her at lunch.”

After coffee, we meet Meredith and Maria for lunch. It’s our way of making sure we get to see them—and a way to check in with them. They think we all work in finance together, and it needs to stay that way. But we have to watch our backs, and that means making sure they’re safe. They both put up a fuss about the security systems we had installed in their homes, but I also know they were secretly relieved. It’s the only way Oliver can sleep at night, too.

“Oh, there’s no way she forgot.” I grin. “She gave you shit about it all the way up until graduation.”

“Ugh, remember when she tried to do the same thing when she was in high school?”

Rhett smirks. “And you caught her halfway to the shop?”

“But I didn’t tell on—” Oliver stops abruptly at a harsh voice filling the shop.

“I asked for butter toffee,” a middle-aged man at the counter snaps. He’s holding a to-go cup in his hand, and he’s glaring at Wren like she just murdered someone. “This is vanilla.”

“Oh, shoot.” Wren reaches for a new cup. “I’m so sorry. I can make you a new one, shouldn’t take more than a minute or two.”

“Why couldn’t you just get it right the first damn time?” he demands.

Wren falters. “I—um. It was an accident. The vanilla and butter toffee syrups are right next to each other, and they’re a similar color, so I must’ve mixed them—”

“Seriously?” he spits out, causing Ava to glance over from where she’s working through a long line of cars in the drive-thru.

“Accidents happen,” Wren says gently as she works on his new drink. “But I’m putting together—”

“Oh, don’t give me that bullshit. You’ve got one of the easiest jobs on the fucking planet. How hard can it be to make a coffee right?”

“This guy is a piece of work,” Oliver mutters. He’s watching the man carefully, his hands clenched into fists. No doubt, he wants to go up there and deck this guy.

I know I do.

Wren sets the half-finished drink on the counter and crosses her arms. “You wanna try that again?”

The man jerks his head back. “Excuse me?”

“I’m not making you another drink if this is how you’re going to treat me. You can either calm down, apologize, and accept the fact that I’m human and make mistakes, or I can give you a refund, and you can leave.”

Oliver and I exchange a quick glance, and his expression reflects exactly what I’m feeling: pride. We’ve seen Wren handle her fair share of rude customers over the past few months, but she normally takes it instead of standing up for herself. I get it—it’s easier to just do what the customer wants and get them out of your hair. But this isn’t the first customer I’ve wanted to throw out.

The man scoffs. “Uh-uh, you don’t call the shots around here.”

Wren smiles brightly—too brightly—her eyes flashing with annoyance. “Refund it is.”

“Excuse me?” He stands straighter, taking a step toward the counter, and it sets off a million alarms in my head.

“Hey.” I’m standing before I can stop myself. “Back off, man. It’s just a coffee.”

Wren’s eyes widen, and I hope I’m not making this worse for her. This guy has made a whole scene out of a wrong drink, and now everyone in the shop is watching.

“Why don’t you mind your fucking business?” he spits out at me. “This is none of your concern.”

“Don’t care. Say one more rude thing to her, and I’m throwing you out of here.”

Wren ducks her head as she taps away at the register, probably issuing the guy’s refund.

“You don’t have any authority here,” he tells me smugly as he turns back to Wren. “And, quite frankly, you don’t even deserve the minimum wage you’re making. I mean what are you, stu—”

“That’s enough.” I take his arm and yank him toward the front.

“Have your shitty drink back,” the guy snarls, and before I realize what he’s doing, he flings the to-go cup at Wren.

Shit.

Wren jumps back with a yelp. The lid pops off, and some of the coffee lands on her torso and arms, but most of it falls onto the floor.

In the corner of my eye, I see Rhett and Oliver jump to their feet. In a flash, Rhett is in front of me, meeting us halfway to the door. He grabs the guy by the back of his neck and hauls him toward the front.

“Hey! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” the man shouts. “This is assault! I have an excellent lawyer. I’ll press charges against you if you don’t—”

Rhett throws him out the door before he can finish the sentence. The guy stumbles and almost falls, but he catches himself and straightens. He whips around, and it looks like he’s about to barrel right past Rhett to get back inside, but then he freezes. Rhett’s frame is taking up most of the doorway, and I can only imagine the glare on his face.

Knowing Rhett’s handling that, I turn to face Wren. Oliver is already behind the counter, grabbing paper towels from the hand-washing sink. “Are you hurt? Did he burn you?”

Fuck. This is all my fault.

I don’t think Oliver’s words register in Wren’s mind. She’s staring after Rhett, a mixture of shock and awe shining in her eyes.

“Hey. Wren.” Oliver brushes his fingers across her cheek, the light touch making her blink rapidly.

When she finally meets his gaze, her eyes widen with realization. “I’m—I’m okay. It was just drip coffee with flavored syrup. He asked for a lot of cream, so it cooled it down a lot.”

“That’s something, at least,” he mutters.

Wren’s gaze falls to Oliver’s hands as he continues cleaning her up. She tracks his every movement as he moves to her apron, trying to soak up the liquid.

“You don’t… I can do this,” she mumbles.

“Let me help you. You’re shaking.”

“Of course she’s shaking,” Ava says, closing the drive-thru window as her last car pulls away. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine.” But Wren still sounds shaken. “It only hurt for a couple seconds.”

“You should still put ice on it,” Oliver says. “Just in case.”

“I—I’ll be fine. It’s not that big of a deal.” Her eyes meet Oliver’s, a wobbly smile playing across her face. “Thank you. But you shouldn’t be back here. The floor is slippery.”

He looks like he wants to protest, but he must think better of it because he nods and steps back into the dining room.

I lean against the counter, gripping the edges. “I’m so sorry. I escalated things and pissed him off, and I wasn’t fast enough, and—”

“No.” Wren places her hand on my arm, her touch making me lose my breath. “This isn’t the first time I’ve had a customer get pissed off like that. He’s the type. It wasn’t you. I… I appreciate you helping.”

Rhett steps back into the shop, and when I scan the sidewalk outside, the guy is gone. Rhett’s face is hardened, but when his gaze lands on Wren, his expression softens. He doesn’t utter a word, but the question is apparent in his eyes.

“I’m okay,” Wren says, but her smile is forced. “I promise. I’m sorry you guys got caught up in this.”

“Happy to help,” I tell her.

“I’m…” She rubs at the back of her neck, her gaze dropping to the floor. “I gotta get the mop. But, um, thanks again.”

We take the cue and back off, heading to our table and sitting down again. When I glance at Rhett, I narrow my eyes. I know that look. He’s got a plan brewing in that head of his.

“What?” Oliver asks him.

Rhett’s eyes darken as he stares out the window. “We’re burning his house down.”