Chapter 3: An Uneasy Alliance
Jack’s gaze lingered on the blonde woman for a long, uncomfortable moment before shifting back to Nal. The silence in the diner stretched thin, broken only by the hum of the refrigerator behind the counter and the steady patter of rain against the glass. Jack reached into the inside pocket of his dark blue suit, his movements slow and transparent, and pulled out a slim manila folder. He laid it gently on the laminate table, right beside the white coffee cup.
“Family matters are delicate, Nal,” Jack said softly, his voice carrying an implicit threat. “Especially when the people involved don't know the whole story. I can make your afternoon very complicated, or we can have a quiet conversation outside. But make no mistake, I am not leaving without answers.”
Nal didn't look at the folder. Instead, his eyes remained fixed on Jack, reading every micro-expression, every subtle shift in posture. The younger biker leaned forward, his long brown hair falling across his face, ready to intervene at the slightest provocation. But Nal raised a single, weathered hand, halting his associate.
The blonde woman looked down at the manila folder, then up at Nal. Her voice was barely a whisper, filled with a sudden, panicked realization. “Who are you people? If you’re dangerous, I shouldn’t be here. I just… I just need someone to help my mother. She’s fading fast.”
Nal turned his head slowly, looking at her with eyes that had seen too much of the hard world. The harshness in his features softened just a fraction. He stood up from the booth, his broad frame towering over the table. He towered over Jack as well, though the man in the suit didn't flinch.
“What’s your name?” Nal asked the woman.
“Clara,” she answered, her lower lip trembling. “Clara Sterling.”
“Clara,” Nal said, his tone resolute. “Sit down. Finish your coffee. Jack, you wait outside in the rain. Give us five minutes, or I won’t just ignore your paperwork—I’ll feed it to you.”
May you like
Jack stared at Nal, testing the waters, looking for any sign of a bluff. Finding none in the cold, unyielding gray of the older biker's eyes, Jack gave a stiff, mocking nod. He turned on his heel and walked back toward the door, the chime ringing out sharply as he stepped out into the dreary afternoon storm.
***
