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Just as I get my laptop set up though, my stomach gives a rumble. I haven’t eaten since breakfast and walked around the neighborhood all day. There’s a diner on the far side of the motel, so I figure I can grab a quick bite before returning to work.
The diner, bathed in a warm glow, hums with the low murmur of conversation between a few truckers and the clinking of cutlery against ceramic plates. A cranky, old waitress approaches, silently ushering me over to a slightly sticky table.
“Can I just get the burger,” I ask. She rolls her eyes before leaving to put in my order.
There’s a commotion at the door and I glance over, spotting three men walking inside. Their gazes sweep the place before landing on me.
My eyes widen and I watch them stride towards me. The one in front has striking blue eyes and a steely look that makes my stomach flip. The two flanking him look as though they could be his brothers, with the same sharp, chiseled jawlines and the same sloping nose.
They walk with confidence, taking up all the space around them as they move.
The three men stop at my table, standing over me. The one in front, ostensibly their leader, leans in. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing here,Princess,” he drawls. “But this is our neighborhood.”
These must be the Crimson Blades everyone was talking about. “I’m here to do work,” I tell them. “That’s all.”
His eyes bore into mine. "We don’t know who you are, or what you want," he growls, his voice laced with warning. "But if you know what’s good for you, you’ll leave."
A nervous gulp catches in my throat as their imposing figures loom over me, thick tension in the air.
2
CALEB
“The Serpents are getting restless again,” Dominic says as he knocks the cue into the balls on the table. “Heard from Hutch that they approached him yesterday.”
The back room of Dave's Bar is glowing under neon signs, the quiet hum of conversation from the other room blending with the clink of the billiard balls. The scent of stale cigarette smoke lingers in the air as my brothers stand around the worn table.
I keep an eye on them from my seat at a nearby booth. I’m an observer tonight, content to sit on the sidelines as I work on a new logo for our bike shop.
A flicker of concern creeps into my mind. Serpents sniffing around is never a good thing but sightings of them have increased lately. My mind races, wondering if there’s more going on than we know about.
“What did they say?” Bastian demands, echoing my own thoughts. “What were they after?”
“Hutch said they asked him a bunch of questions,” Dom replies, not taking his eyes off the balls as they bounce around.“Asked if he was interested in making some easy money, if there were any complaints with how we run things, that sort of shit.”
“Don’t understand why they’re suddenly everywhere lately.” Bastian grumbles as he leans against his cue to wait for his turn. “We haven’t had to deal with their shit in years.”
“We can deal with it,” Dominic reassures him, sinking the three-ball into the corner pocket. “They’re trying to intimidate us though. I wouldn’t worry. They know we run this place.”
Dominic’s easy dismissal of the Serpent Syndicate does little to quell the unease inside me. It’s only when I see a few mentions of vague incidents on Nextdoor that I relax. “There’s not much chatter online,” I tell my brothers. “A few complaints about harassing people here and there but not much else.”
“I’m not worried,” Bastian says, leaning over the table. “But if they don’t stop trying to make trouble, they’re going to learn why the Crimson Blades run this place.”
Bastian always worries easily. After everything we’ve been through, I don’t blame him. He tries to look out for us, even taking up the mantle of leader of the Blades.
“The bike shop’s new logo is done,” I say, trying to change the subject. “What do you guys think?” I turn my laptop around and the two of them saunter over, leaning in to see.
“That looks weird,” Dominic frowns. “What’s that supposed to be?”
Bastian rolls his eyes, pointing at the screen. “It’s vintage, you dumbass.” He turns to me “I like it,” he adds, ruffling my hair.
I shove his hand away. There’s only two years between each of us, but they treat me like I’m much younger sometimes. “Quit it. And yes, it’s supposed to look vintage. Like those old ads from the 50s and 60s.”
“Do you really think a new logo is going to help the shop?” Dominic asks. “I mean, we’re barely scraping by already.”
“I think the new logo can’t hurt,” Bastian says, reaching out to grab his beer and taking a swig. “We need to do something to stand out.”
“It’s because no one is riding bikes anymore,” Dominic points out, plucking his own beer from the table. “I still think we ought to go into auto repair. Money is probably better in that.”
