The unease immediately erases from his face at my change of subject. “Yeah, I could do that.”
SHE’S GHOSTING ME
VIKING
The fifties-inspireddiner is packed full of morning goers getting their breakfast. Booths line the walls in faded reds and blues. The vintage checkered floor’s scuffed up from the countless biker boot treads in here. No doubt they’re nursing wicked hangovers with the thick sludge that passes for coffee in this place.
A chrome-trimmed counter runs the length of the room. Its row of stools is already full of cuts I recognize and locals with tight shoulders. Steam curls up from once-white mugs and fresh plates filled with heaping portions. The smell of bacon grease and burnt toast fills the air, assailing my senses.
Most of the crew was still parked out front of the motel, probably tucked tight behind the thick curtains, sleeping off their late night of bad decisions and chasing tail. They’ve got plenty of time to roll out of bed and sort their shit before our meeting tonight. Meanwhile, it’s already got my back up after the exit we made. Thanks to Harlow’s little performance, I’ll need to smooth things over before we head back home.
I catch an empty table in the back and bee-line from the front door, skirting around a kid half hanging out of a boothand an older couple arguing quietly over the crossword puzzle in the newspaper.
The vinyl seat squeaks when I slide in. The table’s coated with old menus and local pictures under an epoxy coating. A scrapbook to keep you entertained while you eat.
The waitress nods her approval and gestures that she’ll be over in a sec. I’m in no hurry, but could definitely use a better cup of coffee than what was available at the motel’s front desk. That muddy water barely qualified as caffeine.
My phone’s been silent since I checked in with Josie last night. Not a peep this morning. No response to the few texts I left her last night before conking out. I flip it face up on the table, like staring at it hard enough might make it light up. She could be busy, those cupcakes taking up her evening and making her rush out the door this morning, but I hate not knowing. It’s splitting my focus, and I don’t need that right now. Not with everything on the line.
“Hey sugar, you want a menu?” the waitress asks, pad in hand.
“No, I’m good. I’ll take coffee with cream, two eggs over easy, bacon, and toast.”
“You got it. I’ll be right back with your coffee.” She turns on her heels in her thick orthopedic shoes, hustling to the next couple of tables to check in before disappearing behind the counter.
I tap my phone screen again, hopeful that I missed something during my quick exchange to order breakfast. Nothing’s changed. I check to make sure I have service out here. All the bars are nice and thick, taunting me with their ability to put a text through if there was one to be had.
The damn woman’s just ignoring me.
That realization is heavier than it should be. I hate leavingJosie and Haley alone, especially when they’re states away, when getting back quickly isn’t possible. I’m about ready to call in reinforcements, ask Pierce to pop over and see what the hell is going on, but a shadow clouds the table.
“Mornin’,” Silas mutters, letting Harlow slide in before him.
I grunt my greeting, eyes tracking them as they settle across from me. “Just you two?” I ask.
“Nope. You get me, too, Pres,” Chopper says, looking rough. He drops into my side of the booth, the bones of it groaning under the added weight.
“Good night?” I laugh and flag down the waitress for a few more mugs of coffee.
“Great, night.” He smirks. “That is after you assholes left. Really fucked up the mood there for a bit.”
I shift my focus across the table, letting his words hang like a jury’s judgment. Harlow couldn’t look any less concerned for her part in last night’s early departure, her nails drawing all her attention as she inspects her chipped polish like it’s a matter of life and death. Meanwhile, the man I was counting on to have my back only made the situation worse.
It would have been better for me to walk into that meeting alone. Not that we got anywhere before shit went sideways.
“Four coffees.” The mugs clank against the table, sloshing dark liquid dangerously close to the rim. “Y’all want something to eat, too?”
Orders are called out before she leaves again, nonslip shoes squeaking against the tile. The noise in the diner builds, almost too loud for any sort of productive conversation. But it’s also the perfect camouflage to discuss this evening’s meeting.
This trip is starting to feel like a big waste of fucking time. I don’t know why I thought I’d get something out of it. Anyman worth getting advice from on how to take the club straight wouldn’t be here this weekend when the town’s full of degenerates and dirty dealings.
The road feels like it’s narrowing down to a T. I’ve got two options: drop the club and figure out what the hell my life looks like on the other side, or buck up and make sure none of us get nabbed and that our product’s locked up nice and tight without a big flashing sign pointing back at us on runs. Either way, there’s no clean exit, but the answer’s clear, and I fucking hate it.
“So, we gonna talk about your conversation with Patch? Or are you finally done with this bullshit idea you’re holding onto?” Si doesn’t beat around the bush. He’s direct and way too fucking observant, but that’s what makes him damn good at what he does.
My frustrated sigh pulls everyone’s attention. “We need a solution for the club, but me stepping down and leaving ain’t fucking it.”
Si’s mouth quirks, but Chopper looks like I’ve pulled the rug out from under him. He wasn’t at the table last night, doesn’t know I hadn’t let the idea of going straight go.
