Page 4 of Kane's Kingdom

I don't move, and his smile changes into something less friendly and more honest.

"You've had some bad luck lately."

"I've noticed."

"The town's changing. Old King's dead, things were bound to change."

There it is, landing cold despite the heat already building inside the cafe. King Calhoun has been in the ground three weeks, and half the town still says his name quietly. Thirty years at the head of Kingdom Come MC taught people habits.

I set the coffee pot on his table hard enough to make the cup jump.

"What does that have to do with my window?"

"Maybe nothing."

"Then finish waiting for breakfast somewhere else."

He leans back. "Men come into a place like this, they look around. See who pays who, who owns which road, which sheriff looks the other way."

My skin prickles.

"Men?"

Lyle's smile thins. “Businessmen. The river makes this town useful. Always has. Product comes up, money goes down. But moving anything through a town takes cooperation." His eyes drift toward the broken window. "People cooperate better when they feel protected."

"You offering?"

He shakes his head. "Not me."

"Who?"

He smiles again. "Does it matter?"

"Yes."

"No. What matters is everybody watching."

The cafe goes silent without anybody admitting it has. Lyle lowers his voice.

"Your daddy wore Kingdom Come colors thirty years. King stripped him and let him die anyway. Men hear that story, they figure the club won't lift a finger for what he left behind."

My grip tightens on the edge of the table.

"Don't talk about my father."

"You're the softest club-adjacent target in Ransom, Bella. That's not an insult. It's arithmetic. This place gets squeezed and nothing happens, every shop from here to the highway understands the new arrangement."

The screen door opens behind me. The room goes still.

I don't have to turn around to know who walked in.

My body knows before the rest of me catches up. It's an old betrayal. One I've spent years teaching myself to ignore.

Boots cross the floor behind me, slow, heavy and unhurried. Lyle's face loses color.

I turn to find Kane Calhoun standing inside the door.

He's bigger than I remember, though that's impossible. He was already six-three when I was sixteen and stupid enough tomemorize his hands over the open hood of my first car. Those hands hang loose at his sides now, with tattooed knuckles, thick fingers, a silver ring on his right hand and a chain disappearing beneath his black shirt.