Chapter 10: Threshold of Reckoning
The front door didn't swing open gently this time; it was shoved hard against the interior wall with a sharp bang that rattled the pie display cases. The tall man in the trench coat stepped inside first, his hand resting casually inside his coat pocket. Behind him, the broader man hauled the canvas-wrapped case through the threshold, his eyes darting quickly through the darkened interior of the diner.
""Place is closed, gentlemen,"" Jax said from the center booth. His voice cut through the shadows with the suddenness of a gunshot.
The two men froze. The tall man pulled his hand out of his pocket slightly, letting his coat fall open to reveal the dark steel silhouette of a shoulder holster. He squinted through the dim light, trying to make out the shapes of the two weathered bikers sitting motionless in the center of the room.
""We're looking for the woman,"" the tall man said, his voice smooth, cold, and entirely devoid of local accent—the polished cadence of a corporate fixer who spent his life cleaning up messes in concrete back alleys. ""And the kid. Word is, they had a visitor this afternoon. A man on a motorcycle.""
Crow stood up slowly from his booth. He didn't rush; he rose with the deliberate, menacing grace of a timber wolf standing up in the brush. At six-foot-two and two hundred and fifty pounds, Crow blocked the aisle leading toward the kitchen with absolute physical dominance.
""You must have taken a wrong turn at the interstate,"" Crow said, his voice a gravelly rasp. ""This is a local stop. We don't serve city slickers after dark.""
The taller man didn't flinch. He took another step forward, his polished leather shoes clicking sharply on the linoleum. ""Ray Kelly spent years accumulating paperwork that doesn't belong to him, and it certainly doesn't belong to his widow. We want the ledger, and we want it now. Otherwise, things are going to get very uncomfortable for everyone involved.""
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Jax slid out of his booth, standing tall and square in the center of the aisle. He reached into his vest pocket and pulled out the frayed, sun-bleached biker patch Ray had left behind, tossing it casually onto the nearest table where it landed with a soft, dusty thud.
""Ray's ledger isn't here,"" Jax said, his voice dangerously quiet. ""But his brothers are.""
