"LUKE!"

Lauren’s scream tore through the café.

The box in Luke’s hands slipped and struck the storage-room floor. He had been kneeling beside the lowest shelf, counting the remaining bags of coffee beans, but the fear in her voice wiped every other thought from his mind.

He jumped to his feet and ran.

"Miss Lauren?"

His shoulder struck the storage-room door as he shoved through it. After rushing across the kitchen and nearly losing his footing on the freshly cleaned tiles, he stumbled into the main room with his heart hammering against his ribs.

At first, nothing appeared out of place. The chairs remained tucked beneath the tables, warm afternoon light shone through the front windows, and the display case hummed behind the counter.

Then he noticed Lauren crouching behind it. One hand covered her mouth, and her wide blue eyes remained fixed on the entrance as all color drained from her face.

"Miss Lauren?"

Luke took a step toward her, but she immediately shook her head.

"Stay back," she whispered.

Before he could ask what was happening, something struck the café door from outside. The thick glass rattled inside its frame, and a second blow landed even harder. Metal slammed against the lock with a sharp crack that echoed through the empty café.

Lauren flinched and ducked lower behind the counter.

"He followed me," she said.

"Who?"

The third strike tore the lock loose.

The door burst inward, ripping free from one hinge before crashing across the floor. Its metal frame struck the nearest table and sent cups, napkin holders, and a vase of artificial flowers scattering across the tiles.

A man stepped through the entrance wearing a black hoodie despite the warm weather. The hood had been pulled low enough to hide most of his face, though Luke could still make out the dark stubble along his jaw and the ugly smile beneath it.

A crowbar rested in his right hand.

Without thinking, Luke moved between him and the counter.

The man stopped and looked him over. "So it’s true. She brought you home."

Luke recognized the voice.

He had heard it two days earlier during the weekly supply delivery. One of the deliverymen had kept asking Lauren whether she lived alone. Even after she tried to end the conversation, he stayed near the counter until Luke returned from the storage room.

The man had seemed annoyed when he saw Luke, but Luke had dismissed it.

Now that same deliveryman stood inside the café holding a crowbar.

"You need to leave," Luke said.

His voice sounded steadier than he felt.

The deliveryman laughed. "You’re telling me to leave?"

He stepped over the broken door, crushing a fallen cup beneath his boot.

Luke’s mouth went dry as he compared the man’s build to his own. The intruder stood several inches taller and had much broader shoulders. His hoodie stretched over thick arms built from years of carrying heavy packages, and even without the crowbar, the physical difference between them would have been obvious.

As far as Luke knew, neither of them possessed an innate ability. Size, reach, strength, and experience would decide the fight, and the confidence in the intruder’s smile made it clear he believed every advantage belonged to him.

"You really think you can protect her?" he asked. "She feeds you for a few days, gives you a warm bed, and now you think you’re the man of the house."

Luke curled his hands into fists. "Miss Lauren doesn’t belong to anyone."

The deliveryman’s expression tightened.

"You brat. You don’t have what it takes to take care of a woman like Lauren."

"You don’t get to decide what she needs."

Beside the counter, a wooden mop leaned against a bucket. It was not a spear, but the handle was long enough to give Luke some distance from the crowbar.

Keeping himself between Lauren and the intruder, he edged toward the wall and grabbed it.

The deliveryman laughed again. "You’re going to fight me with that?"

Luke wrapped both hands around the handle and planted one foot against the cleaning head. When he pulled, the plastic joint cracked beneath the pressure. He twisted harder, and the lower attachment snapped off, leaving a jagged point at the end of the wooden shaft.

Some of the amusement disappeared from the deliveryman’s face.

Luke stared at the broken handle. He had expected the joint to give way eventually, but it had taken much less effort than it should have. His arms had barely tightened before the thick plastic broke.

He had been noticing changes all morning. Heavy boxes felt lighter, his bruises were fading too quickly, and his body responded faster whenever he moved. Until now, Luke had blamed the difference on regular meals and two nights in a real bed, but after breaking the mop so easily, that explanation no longer held up.

The deliveryman recovered from his surprise and raised the crowbar.

"A stick is still a stick."

Luke pointed the jagged end toward him. "It’s long enough to keep you away from Miss Lauren."

The man’s eyes narrowed. "You think she wants you here?"

"I know she doesn’t want you."

His answer wiped the smile from the deliveryman’s face.

Lauren’s rejection had already angered him, but seeing Luke in her home had pushed him over the edge. The hatred in his eyes made that much clear.

The deliveryman looked toward the counter. "Come out, Lauren."

She remained hidden.

"I said come out."

Luke shifted to block his view.

The man glared at him. "You’ve been an eyesore since the first day I saw you here. Before you showed up, she smiled at me. She talked to me. Then you started hanging around, carrying her boxes and acting like her loyal little dog."

"She was being polite."

"She liked me."

"No, she didn’t."

Lauren’s voice came from behind the counter. Although it trembled, every word carried through the café.

"I asked you to stop coming inside after your deliveries. I told your supervisor about the questions you kept asking me. I never encouraged you."

The deliveryman tightened his grip on the crowbar. "You embarrassed me."

Lauren lowered herself farther behind the counter but kept speaking.

"You frightened me."

"I was trying to take care of you!"

"No. You wanted to control me."

The crowbar crashed into the edge of a table, splitting the wood beneath the blow.

"You think you have a choice?" he shouted. "Once this brat is gone, you’ll stop acting like you’re too good for me. I’ll make you understand."