Page 12 of Hollow Forest

I might not know their exact menu by heart, but I jumped in by grabbing tickets and brewing espresso. Ivry buzzed by, dropping off a wooden box of recipes. I flicked through to find the seasonal ones and began to craft a Frost on the Pumpkin, which was essentially their version of a pumpkin spice latte. It used a homemade puree, white chocolate, and a generous dash of spices.

“Hey, that looks perfect,” Jez said with an enthusiastic smile as she grabbed the drink to take with the plate of muffins to a table.

Lord have mercy. Those muffins had cream cheese in the center and pepita seeds baked into the top.

I was starving.

Note to self, eat more before work.

Otherwise, I was going to spend my money as soon as I made it to buy food here. I told myself there might be day-old treats to take home, but I knew in my heart that these would sell out.

Taking the next ticket, I poured hot water into a to-go mug and plopped two spiced black tea bags inside. A movement caught from the corner of my eye made me stiffen. I angled my body to watch the couple waiting at the pick-up section of the counter.

The way he held her bicep made my stomach flip.

Everyone else moved about, carrying on with normal activities. The baristas continued their rhythm of serving. The customers were invested in their personal business. It was only because I knew the signs of domestic abuse, that I recognized the fear in the woman’s face. Her gaze was pinned on the floor. Her body radiated with a fearful energy. She was talking quietly, but I didn’t need to hear the words to know she was trying to appease the brutal fucker holding her arm in a bruising vise.

Just like my step-daddy used to bully my mom.

“Carlo! Buongiorno, amico. Come stai?” a friendly voice boomed.

The man dropped his hold and turned, all smiles and warm greetings as he shook hands and bro-hugged the newcomer.

The woman shrank behind him, trying to make herself small. Forgettable. Unnoticed.

I saw it all.

It took everything in my power to turn my back on the scene and focus on the line of tickets. I scanned them as my hands automatically began the next drink. Sure enough, there was a blended hazelnut cooler and an iced coffee for a Carlo. I bumped that ticket toward the front of the queue and began to work on the order.

I can do something about it.

Maybe it was just a bad day. They could be silently arguing about something. But when I brought the beverages to the pick-up area, the panicked look hadn’t vanished from the woman’s face.

It made my gut twist the controlling way the man, Carlo, took both drinks and forced the woman toward a table near the front window. After another half hour of discreet glances, my mind was made up.

This was the release I needed.

I was going to help her, because no one had helped my mom until it was too late.

Chapter 5 – Samantha

Iwasn’t some mastermind serial killer. I was just a girl who practiced until the art was perfect. Hell, the basic information I’d acquired came from the stint of watching true crime episodes on Netflix back in the day, and I improved on it with each kill. I was smart, and I kept things simple. This was my favorite form of stress relief. Luck was on my side. It was as if the universe wanted me to get rid of the scum. They were never high-profile targets or people who would be missed, which helped.

And ridding the world of bad apples was great practice for taking out the six men who killed my sister. Five were gone, and Antonio Ferretti would die this Halloween.

I leaned against the shovel and pushed the sleeve of my red hoodie up my arm. Unfortunately, it had taken almost a week to make my move. I never struck in the heat of the moment. Ever since that fateful day at the café, when I saw the terror Carlo invoked on his girlfriend, Amy, I’d been watching the couple. I learned their routine. I memorized the details of Carlo’s life. My one regret was that Amy had suffered for the last five days.

I couldn’t unsee what had happened during that delay.

But this right here wasn’t something that a hobbyist killer just rushed into.

“I think I covered my bases,” I mused, whacking the end of my shovel against the lump on the ground.

Metal hitting skull was a delicious sound.

The lump groaned.

“I just have to get your truck back later and check to make sure I didn’t leave any hair inside it,” I huffed.