I don't notice them until I do, and then I pretend I haven't. A tray of dirty plates and glasses in my hands giving me a reason to flee into the back of the diner.

Hurrying into the kitchen, I dump the tray down heavily, taking out my phone and checking the time. Sure enough, it's just after ten. Like clockwork, I guess.

"You alright, Mia?" Fat Bob asks, wiping his sweaty brow with a dishcloth then slinging it back over his shoulder. "Lookin' like you've seen a ghost."

"Yeah," I say, voice a higher pitch than normal. "Yeah, fine."

Jenny comes in a second later, chewing gum and looking slightly irritated. "Mia, ya wanted out there, that group of goons are askin' for Luke," she says with a jerk of her thumb, long hot pink nail pointing to the front. "Ya know 'em?"

I know she's fishing for gossip. She thrives on it, but I'm not giving her anything.

"I don't know," I lie.

I'm sure of one thing. If they're here, it means Luke didn't settle what he owes. He never replied to my text, and he's still nowhere to be seen.

Three days have passed, and it feels like a lifetime. Where the fuck is he?

Wiping down clammy hands on my apron, I bring one up to swipe at my hair and face, self-consciously. Heaven knows why, they aren't here for me. At least, I hope not.

Cool air hits me as I walk back out front, legs feeling weak, mouth cotton ball dry.

Vince is leaning casually against the counter, his whole attitude cold, aloof—bored, even. JJ by his side almost a little too gleeful, his beady eyes brightening considerably when they land on me. He tilts his head in my direction, but Miles has already seen me, his mouth set into a tight grim line.

"Not here, then?" Vince asks his voice low.

"No."

"You know where he is then?"

"No. I told you I don't."

Vince smiles, but it doesn't meet those cold eyes of his. He brings himself closer to me, leaning even further forward over the counter, hands splayed.

"The problem here is I just don't believe you. You're not doing yourself any favors here, Mia."

His gaze falls on my dress and he looks me up and down from head to toe, sniffing disparagingly.

"Pity."

I swallow hard, face feeling hot.

"I'm not lying. I haven't seen him in days."

Vince pulls out a cigarette and lights it.

"You can't do that here."

He looks at me coolly, peppering the counter with ash. He doesn't reply, instead; he inclines his head to Miles and JJ.

My eyes widen as JJ slips a wrench from his sleeve onto the palm of a gloved hand and strides over to the windows without so much as a pause.

"What are you—" I say but my voice is lost when he brings his arm back and swings at the glass, a cacophony of smashing, crashing, and shattering as he wields the wrench indiscriminately.

There are screams and gasps as the few customers here scramble to get out, fleeing. My hand flies up to my mouth as I look on, horror-struck, feet glued to the floor.

Miles leaps over the counter in one swift movement until he's so close I'm staring at his black-clad chest. So close, my breathing hitches.

I daren't look up at him as he pushes me aside gently, before pacing up and down behind the counter like a caged animal. He trails a gloved hand along the shelves of glasses as he goes, sweeping them all to the floor, the noise deafening as they smash.

Arms flexing, he pulls the coffee machine over, as if it weighs nothing, the loud thud as it crashes to the floor making me jolt. The slushy machine is next, staining the floor blue, then the tills, the bottled drinks, the fridges…

Jenny comes out and starts screaming so loud I can't even hear any words. Fat Bob peering out from behind her as she freezes in the doorway.

"The hell?" he exclaims. Jenny turns fast on her kitten heels fleeing under Fat Bob's arm, him not quite so quick in turning, as they leg it out of sight. If they have any sense, they'll get out the back and stay out.

Miles and JJ ransack the place in less than five minutes: the windows are smashed, the table and chairs upturned, even the damn ceiling fans are on the floor. They disappear into the back and I hear them crashing around in the kitchen, JJ whooping and laughing.

Eyes unable to take much more destruction means my legs and feet are moving before I can even think. I just need to get out of here.

Vince stops me. Stepping in front of me, tutting. "No. You stay."

I recoil as he brings a hand to my face, stroking my cheek softly with the back of a crooked finger

"I told you I'd be coming for him. This is what happens when your man gets too big for his Goddamn boots. He owes me big. You just wait until I get my hands on him. If you think this is bad, Doll..." he whistles low.

Miles makes himself known, glass crunching underfoot. He looks annoyed as he stops in front of us.

"Are we done here?" he says impatiently, "Cops will be here any minute."

"You sure you don't want to work off his debt? So many opportunities for a girl like you," Vince says, ignoring Miles.

"A girl like me?" I reply dumbly. "What's that supposed to mean?"

There's the faint sound of sirens in the distance.

"Vince! We gotta go, man." There's more urgency in Miles' voice now.

"CCTV?" Vince asks, ignoring my question, ignoring Miles, hand moving away.

"In the office," I whisper as JJ takes off, smashing and hitting things as he goes.

"Mouth shut, when the cops show up, you got it?" Vince warns and it's all I can do to nod my head. He smirks. "You let me know if you change your mind. This place won't be open for a while."

They're gone moments later. I hear the screeching of tires in the lot and then I'm alone, in a sea of destruction, wailing sirens getting closer, the sound of glass smashing ringing in my ears.

***

The cops show up and so do Jenny and Fat Bob. Jenny is uncharacteristically quiet and when she gives her statement; she deliberately leaves out the fact that they were looking for Luke. I think she's always had a bit of a soft spot for him. Her way of keeping his name out of trouble, at least with the cops.

Fat Bob is the same, grunting answers. He was in the kitchen; he tells them. Didn't get a clear look at their faces, fled out back.

Or maybe they both recognize this for what it is.

When it comes to my turn, I'm wringing my hands, telling them as much as I can without specifics, not outright lying, but half-truths. It feels wrong, I'm sure I'm breaking laws here but what am I supposed to do?

I think we're all relieved when they finally leave.

Jenny rings a guy she knows to come and board the windows up; secure the place temporarily, not that there's much left to take even if someone wanted to. Fat Bob grunts about how he needs to get home as it's way past closing. And I... I call Luke.

I need reassurance he's OK, that he's going to sort this out. Vince is right, this place isn't going to be open again anytime soon. We're still not paid up on rent and with this our sole legit source of income... I dread to think. His cell goes straight to voicemail and my head explodes into profanities.

Jenny slopes off after her guy finishes boarding the place over. He's banging on about good for nothin' thugs and how they'll get what's coming to them. Somehow, I highly doubt that.

As a parting shot, Jenny asks me to let Luke know she might have to find other work if this place isn't back up to running in the next few days. I can only nod. Understandable, I guess. 

***

Sweeping and sweeping and sweeping; glass tinkling along into a dustpan, then into a bin. And repeat. There's so much of it, it's endless and I eventually have to stop and sit for a minute, my head in my hands, irritated now that Fat Bob and Jenny didn't stay to help, not that I can blame them. They won't get paid for this. I won't get paid for this.

I hear the door swing open.

"We're closed; if the sign outside ain't a clue."

I lift my head when there's no reply or movement.

He stands in the doorway and for a second I think I might be hallucinating. When I blink rapidly he's still there, standing tall and broad.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" I ask through gritted teeth, getting to my feet. "Get the fuck out."

I point at the door but Miles doesn't move.

"Get the fuck out!" I say again, stepping towards him, glass cracking under my feet. "Haven't you done enough? Get out, get out, GET OUT!"

"Mia," he says softly, like he's trying to tame a kitten. It's the first time he's said my name, and it's like sunlight on my skin, a warm flush running through me. "Let me help."

I laugh, incredulous. "Are you being fuckin' serious right now?"

I half turn away from him but he's walking over to me, reaching out, fingertips on my shoulder.

I shrug him off, away.

"Don't—just don't."

"I'm sorry," he says as if that makes anything better. "I follow orders—you understand?" And I do, more than he knows, but it doesn't change anything.

He stays despite my refusal to engage with him at all and it only infuriates me more.

He doesn't try to talk to me either, working alongside me silently.

My mind seethes with questions.

I'm thinking it over so hard I think my eyebrows might permanently fuse together, clenching my teeth so hard my jaw aches. I don't understand. I don't get it. Why the hell is he here?

I cut myself just when I think I'm about to explode, a large piece of glass slipping through my fingers slicing through the fleshy bit of palm near my thumb, as if it were made out of butter.

The glass shatters on the floor and my hand starts dripping with blood immediately, drops splattering my pink dress, and the floor. "Fuck."

I head for the sink, grabbing a paper towel and turning on the water, rinsing the cut and then pressing the towel to it. Miles approaches, taking my hand wordlessly in his.

I notice grazes on his knuckles, short clean fingernails and how much bigger his hands are than mine.

"Shit," he swears as he removes the paper towel, inspecting the damage. "This is pretty deep."

"There's a first aid kit in the back."

He disappears, returning with the green kit, rummaging for a bandage and padding. He's gentle as he winds the bandage around my hand, a look of concentration on his face.

I'm not so mad at him anymore.

"You're gonna need this looked at," he says as the blood starts to blossom through. "Needs stitches."

"I can't go to the ER," I tell him, panicking. "It'll stop."

He shakes his head doubtfully, running a hand through his hair. "I might know someone. Just give me a minute. OK?"

He waits for my agreement before taking out his cell, taking a minute before pressing it to his ear. It rings for the longest of times.

"It's me," he says eventually his voice quiet as he walks further away.

***

I don't resist Miles' insistence we leave. In fact, I'm almost glad to be getting out of there.

I get my bag from the back, wordlessly; walking through the destruction to the front door. It'll have to wait until tomorrow. Or later today. It's past three in the morning. Worryingly the bandage is soaked through, bright red drops dripping and twisting down my arm.

Miles walks behind me leaning over to open the door. I'm hyper-aware of his proximity, feeling his hand on the small of my back, as we walk out into the cool night air. His touch so light it might have been an accident. My heart flutters in betrayal, anger ebbing into a nervousness.

The street is quiet, the wind blowing my dress up slightly as I try to smooth it down. My car is in the corner of the small lot and I'm expecting to see the sleek black beamer I'm used to but it's nowhere to be found.

Miles starts walking over to a black Mustang instead, unlocking it from meters away so the whole lot is bathed in orange light for a few seconds.

"Where's the beamer?" I ask, curiosity getting the better of me.

"Not here."

"So what's this?"

"It's a car," Miles replies dryly, opening the passenger door. "Get in."

I hesitate. It doesn't seem like a great idea all of a sudden, to go with a stranger.

"Mia, just get in the damn car before I strap you in myself."

The thought is enough to make my tired head spin.

"Fine."

"Just try not to bleed everywhere," he grimaces as he gets in the driver side, slamming the door closed.

The car smells like new and is absolutely spotless. I look down at my white apron and cheap polyester dress smeared with blood and food from a long evening and feel so out of place.

The engine roars to life, loud in the quietness of the night as Miles pulls away. I watch fascinated as his arm muscles ripple with every upshift of the gear stick.

I realize I've been staring, so I avert my eyes to the window as the city passes by. I'm not really paying attention to where we're going and part of me can't believe that I've entertained this.

I don't even know him.

I sit back in the black leather seat, picking at a loose thread on the hem of my dress. Miles slows at a red light and glances over.

"Holding up OK?" he asks, attention drawn to the blood-soaked bandage. "Not gonna pass out on me?"

"Not really. I mean, I'm not really that bad with blood and stuff. I'm fine. Apart from this." I raise my hand. "Sorry. I'm so tired. Where are we going?"

Miles shoots an amused smile my way.

"A friend of mine owes me a favor, so I'm callin' it in."