Cousins In Love: An Alpha Bad Boy Romance (Book 3) by Lisa Lang Blakeney Page B

whispers quietly. "What the hell is it?"
    The voice speaks again.  
    There's a low, callous timber to it. It's familiar and frightening. And when I hear it for the second time my blood runs ice cold.  
    "That one there, dumb ass."
    I pray it isn't, but I think that I know that voice.  
    Shrek.
    "Let's get out of here, Sloan," I speak quietly.
    "Not until you tell me why right now," she says while looking around the room frantically for the cause of my distress.
    "Don't turn your head!"
    Sloan's eyes bug out.
    "What. The. Hell. Is. Going. On. Dammit?!"
    "He's here," I whisper with a voice dripping in fear.
    "Who's here?"
    "The guy who attacked me."
    "Where?"
    Sloan is about to pivot her head once again, until I move across the table and firmly grab her forearm to stop her.
    "I said stop turning your head. He knows what I look like, Sloan, and I have no idea what he looks like. Only his voice. We have to get out of here ... now."  
    Sloan nods her head finally in realization. She knows more than anyone how my life was turned inside out after the assault, and she definitely knows just how frightened I am of my attacker. It's the sole reason why I immediately picked up and moved in with my aunt.  
    Like a guardian angel on my shoulder, Roman's face pops into my head. If he were here, he'd know exactly what to do and what to say to make me feel safe. Of course, if he was here, there's also the chance that he would put himself in harms way, and I definitely don't want that either.  
    While my man is a badass, Shrek is no joke either. He's a drug dealer, a woman beater, and bottom of the barrel scum. I've always imagined that a beast like him, with virtually no conscience, must drink snake venom for breakfast. Certainly not a hot cup of civilized coffee from Java The Hut. What on earth is he doing in a coffee shop filled with college kids?
    Coincidence or not, contemplating why Shrek may be in the same coffee shop as me is not what I should be doing right now. Right now I need to concentrate on getting the hell out of here. Quietly and cautiously. So that's what I'm going to do. That's what I'm pretty sure Roman would advise me to do.
    I think carefully about that. I've learned a lot these last few months talking to Roman about his many adventures when fixing issues for clients. Sticky situations he's found himself in. One of the first things he taught me was to always be diligent about assessing my surroundings as quickly and quietly as possible. Whether I felt I was in imminent danger or not.
    I notice that there are two doors to Java. The glass double doors in the front and the single glass door side entrance that leads to the small parking lot. I don't know what Shrek looks like, but his voice came from the direction of the front door, and I can see with my peripheral vision that there are two large, plainly dressed men in sweats and sneakers sitting near that door. The stature of the guy in the gray sweats seems slightly familiar, and it very well could be Shrek, although I couldn't swear to it in a line-up. But just the slight peek I did get of him is setting off all sorts of inner alarms and red flags. My gut is telling me to get the hell out of here fast. Another lesson Roman has been trying to teach me.  
    "Listen to your gut Duchess and not your head."
    I look to my left and make the decision that Sloan and I could probably exit the side door undetected if we're careful. Luckily I have on Sloan's oversized, dark blue hoodie, which acts almost as a shield of sorts. I look just like any other random, nondescript college student.
    I pull the hood up, grab my latte, and try to leave as casually as I can without bringing any attention to myself. Java is bubbling with patrons, and Shrek seems to be quite engrossed with something he's either watching or reading on his cell phone.
    "Now," I speak softly to Sloan. "And walk casually."
    As we start moving to the door my cell phone rings.  
    "Hell," I fuss as I fumble to