Total pages in book: 45
Estimated words: 42332 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 212(@200wpm)___ 169(@250wpm)___ 141(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 42332 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 212(@200wpm)___ 169(@250wpm)___ 141(@300wpm)
“Thanks.”
I dropped it at the booth and went over to where my other customers had been sitting to clear the table. The kid who bused the tables during the dinner rush went home a couple of hours ago, so it was up to Susan and me to take care of them ourselves since we were the only servers working after ten.
Heading toward the four-top to make sure everything was good with their order, I noticed one of the men had barely touched his burger. He stared out the window, his reflection faint in the glass.
The men’s booth was half-shadowed now, the overhead light casting more glow on the tabletop than on their faces. Two of them leaned in slightly, shoulders angled toward each other. Their voices were low enough that I couldn’t make out words, just the steady murmur of conversation.
As I drew closer, the man who’d done most of the talking so far reached down, his hand disappearing beneath the table. Another leaned back at the same time, just enough to block my view. There was a subtle scrape of something heavy shifting beneath the table, and I slowed without meaning to.
The movement was quick and practiced, completely hidden from my line of sight.
When I got closer, all four of them looked up at me, their expressions neutral. One of them lifted his water. The guy who’d been looking out the window took a bite of his burger.
“Everything tasting okay?” I asked with a smile that felt forced.
“Fine,” the man next to me mumbled.
I nodded, already preparing to step away, when I glanced at the guy by the window again. He was still chewing, but he was watching me now. His gaze held mine a second longer than necessary, like he was waiting for me to react. Except his eyes held none of the usual interest I sometimes got from men. Somehow, that made me even less comfortable.
Heat crept up the back of my neck, but I forced my smile to stay in place. I broke eye contact first, focusing on putting the cap back on the ketchup bottle at the edge of the table. My fingers felt clumsier than usual as I nudged it into place.
“Let me know if you need anything else.”
None of them answered, just watched as I turned away.
I didn’t look back until I reached the counter. When I did, their conversation had already resumed, their heads bent together. But as if he could feel my eyes on him, the man by the window glanced up and caught my gaze. There was no visible reaction on his face, but his intense stare caused me to hesitate for just the briefest moment before I turned away.
The diner slid back into its familiar rhythm, but something inside me stayed the slightest bit off.
I checked on the four-top once more and dropped off their check. Then I headed back to restock napkins. When I came out again, they were already sliding out of the booth.
They didn’t call me over or say goodbye before they walked out. Walking over, I found a stack of bills tucked neatly beneath the edge of the ketchup bottle.
I grabbed the money and counted it quickly, just making sure the bills covered their check. There was enough for a 20 percent tip for me.
When I glanced toward the door, they were already out of sight. I rubbed a tired hand over my forehead and let out a long breath. Only an hour or so more, and I could go home and collapse into bed.
I wiped down their table, clearing the last of the plates and brushing away a few crumbs. There was no reason to continue dwelling on the men, but I couldn’t forget the way that guy looked at me. It left me feeling unsettled. However, it had been a long night, and being tired always made me overthink things.
2
KEVLAR
The surveillance room was cold and still. Exactly the way I liked it. No windows or outside distractions. Just me and the soft hum of a dozen machines, each monitor flickering with quiet footage from around Riverstone. Silent, unblinking witnesses to every movement inside our territory.
One long wall was devoted to the feed rotation of several businesses owned by my motorcycle club, the Hounds of Hellfire. A diner, garage, tattoo studio, bar, and more. The other angles shifted depending on the intel we had. Right now, I had half a dozen loops running on just one location—The Fuel & Flame Diner.
I leaned back in my chair, cracked my neck to one side, then the other, and blinked the grit of too many hours from my eyes. The footage had all started to bleed together—tourists, late-night drunks, and locals passing through. But this wasn't just surveillance.
It was reconnaissance.
Wizard had flagged the place a few days ago. The alert was just a ping for a strange pattern, a low-frequency anomaly that made the hair on the back of my neck stand.