Page 3 of Razor

“You want a table for one?”

She grabs a plastic menu and makes for the opposite direction from the bikers.

“Ma’am.”

She stops, and I point to the table beside theirs.

“I would prefer to sit over there if it’s not too much trouble.”

“Trouble.”

She sighs. “Honey, the trouble would come if you were anywhere near that crowd. Take my advice and head to the opposite end and hope they don’t notice you.”

“I’m good.”

I don’t wait for permission and head with purpose to the table beside theirs. As I approach, two of them facing me raise their eyes, their silverware hovering in mid-air as they assess the stranger.

“Morning.”

I nod my head, noting the club name on their jackets.Satan’s Fury.Perfect.

One of them lowers his silverware and nods to the guys opposite, who turn, their interest obvious as they search my expression.

“You’re not from around here.”

I sense the mood darken, and it appears the server has urgent business in the kitchen because she is nowhere to be seen.

“You got that right.”

I take a seat in my booth facing them, my expression blank, controlled, hard.

“Word of advice: leave.”

The nearest one says, his eyes narrowing, his warning intended to send me running.

“I have business in town. I’ll leave when that’s taken care of.”

“Business?”

They share a guarded look, and I sigh inside.Fucking bikers.

I search for the server and groan. “It appears my custom is not required.”

“Dorothy has seen this all before.”

The first biker sneers, “Strangers come here and don’t understand our ways. They ask questions and receive an answer they didn’t want.”

He leans forward, his gaze deadly. “So, if your business is asking questions, I will save you the trouble and advise you not to ask.”

This time, I lean forward and relish the moment of panic in the one nearest to me because it’s pretty damn obvious I’m the measure of them, and my tone is gruff as I hiss, “I will ask all the fucking questions I want, and I will ask them of one man only.”

They stand, forming a circle around me, and their expressions are intimidating as the first biker hisses, “What man?”

“Your president, Sultan.”

“What the fuck!”

They crowd closer, an obvious move designed to overpower should they need to, and one of the men who has remained silent until now lowers his voice.