She twirls a strand of red hair around her finger and leans closer, so I can hear her. “You look like you know what’s good here.”
My gaze flicks, unbidden, to the counter.
Marigold’s watching, that knowing smirk twisting something sharp in my gut.
“I know what’s best here,” I say, stepping into her space and pulling the menu close. “You can’t go wrong, but if you want the real deal? Hamburger steak and mashed potatoes.”
She laughs softly, her breath brushing my jaw. “What about the salads?”
I snort. “Wouldn’t know. I like all the shit that’s bad for me.”
I let the double meaning hang thick in the air. Her breath catches, and she shivers, pressing in until her skin is warm against my arm. “I can be really bad for you,” she whispers.
Before she can get any closer, I step back, trailing a finger down her shoulder as I go. “Sure you can, darlin’. Give me your number, and we’ll see just how bad you can be.”
Her friend slides her a pen as if this is a rehearsed routine. She scribbles fast, pressing the napkin into my hand like it’s a promise. “Call me.”
“Sure thing.”
I tuck the napkin in my pocket and turn to find Marigold gone.
My shoulders slump as I head back to the booth, irritation simmering hot and restless beneath my skin.
Joker squints at me. “You don’t have much up here, do you?” He taps his temple. “Trying to make Marigold jealous like that? That’s suicide, brother. Ever seen her when she’s pissed?” He shudders theatrically. “She’s likely to cut your balls off in your sleep and keep ‘em in a jar or some shit.”
“At least she’d be touching them,” I mutter, even as I instinctively shift at the thought.
Savior claps my shoulder. “I’ll give a hell of an eulogy.”
I laugh it off, then sober. “You all notice anything off at the club last night?”
“When?” Joker asks.
“At the fire pit. Shit feels off. I swear someone had eyes on me, but when I checked the camera feed this morning, I didn’t find anything. The perimeter was filled with shadows.”
“Could someone have been hiding in them?” Savior sets his fork down. “No alarms went off last night.”
“Nah. Probably just my fucking head playing games.”
I don’t tell them about the notes or the gifts. Or how the idea of being watched should scare me, but it doesn’t. Because none of it feels like a threat at all. Just a devotion that soaks into my soul.
“We’ll keep an eye out. See if we notice anything off,” Joker says, before diving back into his food.
The sun’s dipping low when we finally head out. I swing a leg over my bike and turn the ignition.
Nothing.
I try again.
Nothing.
“All good, brother?” Pretty Boy asks.
It takes me seconds to spot what’s missing. A slow, satisfied grin spreads across my face as I straighten up. She can act like my stunt didn’t rattle her, but this? This is all the proof I need.
She stole my spark plug.
I pull out my phone with a laugh and call Saint’s Garage. “Yo, Ducky,” I greet. “I’m gonna need a spark plug for my bike brought to the diner. Seems mine has gone missing.”
