Page 86 of Feeding Hope
Inside, the damage told a different story than a typical break-in.
Shelving had been tipped, boxes ripped open. Bags of rice and flour lay split across the floor; powder tracked into dirty footprints. Canned goods were scattered, some dented beyond use.
A crate of fresh produce had been dumped and stomped, apples rolling under shelves, tomatoes crushed into the concrete. Powdered baby formula containers busted and tossed on the floor.
Constance stopped just inside the doorway.
“Oh no…” The sound caught in her throat. Everything was ruined.
Frost felt her hand tighten in his and immediately stepped half a pace in front of her, not blocking her view—but bracing her. One of the officers began explaining, but Frost’s focus stayed on Constance, watching the way her shoulders curled inward, how her breathing shortened.
“We’re not sure what they were after,” the officer said. “Mostly vandalism.”
Constance nodded, though her eyes were already moving—counting losses, thinking about families, about tomorrow’s distribution.
“That’s food for the week,” she said quietly. “For a lot of people.”
Frost’s jaw set. He looked around the room again, slower this time, seeing it through her eyes. Waste. Malice. The deliberate choice to destroy something meant for others.
“The food bank has been under threats from thugs trying to extort protection money,” he said calmly. “They knew what this place was.”
The officer hesitated, then nodded even as his eyes said this wasn’t the first time he’d heard this from a business owner.
Seeing Constance’s distress the officer suggested she step back outside, Frost answered before Constance could. “She stays. I’ve got her.”
There was no challenge in his voice—just certainty. The officer accepted it without argument.
As they moved deeper inside, Frost quietly redirected foot traffic, making sure no one tracked more debris through the clean areas, positioning himself between Constance and the worst of the mess when he could. It was subtle. Constant. Protective.
Constance swallowed hard, emotion pressing behind her eyes, but she stayed upright. Steady. Because he was there, solid at her side, helping her shoulder the weight of what had been broken.
Cipher had stepped up behind Frost, hearing the cop ask about the cameras he spoke up. “We just put them up yesterday. We haven’t had time to hook them up.”
He saw Frost look back at him and Cipher didn’t blink. He didn’t want the video to go to the cops. The chapter took care of their own and Constance had become theirs whether she knew it or not.
“Hopefully they won’t come back. “The officer told them. “Get those cameras working just in case they do.”
“First thing officer.” Cipher told the cop in a bored tone. One that said convincingly that he had things handled.
Once the cops left Cipher opened up the laptop he’d brought with him. Cuing up the video he stood back where Frost and Constance could watch it.
The video started off just showing the interior of the shop. Shadows moved outside the door, then the glass door shattered as a metal trash can flew across the door as glass sprayed across the floor.
Three males burst through the broken door moving quickly across the room ransacking the place. Boxes were turned upside down, dumping out the canned items on the ground.
They watched as one of the thugs ripped open the containers of dry baby formula and tossed them to the ground.
Constance covered her mouth with a hand wanting to scream as the video continued to roll. She’d seen the aftermath but now watching it happen in real time was worse. With every shelf being slammed to the ground she got angry, watching the thugs smash, stomp, and rip open bags boxes and bags she got down right pissed.
She listened as Frost and Cipher barked orders into their phones, telling someone to bring sheets of plywood and tools to board up the front of the store. When Frost hung up, Constance gave a small, tight-lipped smile. “Thank you… and I’m sorry for all the trouble.”
Frost couldn’t stand the defeat in her expression. Without thinking, he pulled her into his larger frame, wrapping her in a protective hug. “It’s gonna be fine,” he murmured, his lips brushing her temple. “You’re not alone, sugar.”
The scent of her clean soap, faint perfume, the smell was something uniquely hers, filled his head, grounding him. He held her a moment longer, letting the warmth of her body sink against his, she didn’t pull away; instead, she leaned in slightly, the softness of her weight settling against him.
His hand brushed the small of her back, a gesture meant for comfort, but the way her hair tickled his face and the subtle warmth of her breath on his neck made itimpossible to ignore the pull between them. For a heartbeat, the chaos of the outside world—thugs, threats, the hum of the city—fell away, leaving just the two of them in the quiet hum of the place.
When he finally stepped back, their eyes met, lingering a little longer than necessary. No words were spoken, but the space between them had changed, charged in a way neither of them could pretend to ignore.
