Brotherhood of Cain (Werewolf/Mafia)

Chapter Thirty-Nine: Love me, Daddy

*I'm sorry for publishing this one a day late. To make it up to you guys, another chapter will be out tomorrow! :)*

"I hate to advocate drugs, alcohol, violence, or insanity to anyone, but they've always worked for me." - Hunter S. Thompson

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Ethel's POV 

 Plenty O' Pancakes was a small diner that specialized in—wait, you guessed it—pancakes. They had it all; silver dollar pancakes, blueberry pancakes, chocolate pancakes, and if you slipped one of their cooks a ten they'd drizzle everything.

The door rang as I stepped into the heated diner, eyes scanning the room. On the left was a long checker top bar where you got a clear view of the stoves while the right side was filled with cheap booths. An older black guy sat at the bar reading a newspaper and sipping black coffee, a bored looking waitress making idle chat with him.

I paused when I settled on the man in the last booth at the very end of the restaurant. Tall, black-haired, scruffy, a nine o' clock shadow covering his jaw, dressed in some old jeans and a black sweater. He glanced up at the bell, finding me standing by the door, steady hazel eyes locking on my form.

The air slipped from my lungs. Would he remember me? Would he run over and embrace me? Cry and tell me how much he loved me? Beg for my forgiveness? Ask for another chance?

"Evelyn?" he called out.

I breathed again, striding over to the booth despite the anger unfurling in my stomach. The rat bastard! Though I'm sure I looked like a walking storm, feet heavy and features a little too tense. His hand fell to his hip—his gun.

Chill out.

I took a seat. "It's Ethel."

His hand eased from the gun but he kept his hands in his lap, ready to reach for his weapon in a seconds notice. I placed my hands on that table, purposefully showing him that I had nothing to worry about. He caught the move and those eyes of his, green entwined with a honey brown, did all smiling his lips weren't.

"I'm Niklaus Kahn," he introduced himself.

I slipped out of my trench coat in a move that was surprisingly smooth despite my nerves. "I know. I have your number."

"What was the information you had?" Cutting right to the chase it seemed.

"Take your hand off your gun." I looked over to the waitress, raising a hand. She blinked a pair of tired eyes at me, snatching two menus and coming over. "I'll take two pancakes, don't forget the chocolate syrup, and a Coke please. Thanks."

She didn't even glance at Niklaus, turning away silently and heading off towards the kitchen.

"Excuse me?"

I looked back at Niklaus, noticing the tensing in his shoulders. The big dog didn't want to listen to orders. Tough. "Take your hand off your gun, you're making me nervous. My trap stays shut when I'm nervous."

He raised a black eyebrow. "Something tells me not a lot makes you nervous, 'specially not my gun. Your clothes aren't expensive, durable but cheap, so you probably don't have a pot to piss in. Means you probably don't live in a nice area, so you'd be use to the gunshots, the thugs."

"That's a lot of "probably's"," I noted. "You know what they say about making assumptions."

Niklaus relaxed, leaning back into the booth. "You're not asking for money, snitches always ask for money." Who woulda ever thought I'd be associated with snitches?