Chapter Two
As soon as Noah slid inside his car, he locked the door. His hands trembled as he started it, positive he’d felt eyes on him. It had to be Toro. He was the only person Noah could think of that would watch him from the shadows.
Damn it. All Noah had wanted was a night to forget his problems, to hang out with his best friend and brother, although Quinton had been a pleasant surprise.
The fact he was a father honestly didn’t bother Noah. Why should it when he had no plans to take things any further? They’d had fun with their little game, and it had been a nice distraction.
So why had he agreed to have breakfast with the hunk? Living under the constant threat of a beatdown had to have eaten away at some brain cells, but he couldn’t deny how attracted he was to the guy.
Breakfast was harmless enough. Afterward, Noah would be on his merry way to figure out his funeral arrangements. Then again, there might not be enough of him left to bury.
When he parked, Noah got out and discreetly glanced around but didn’t spot anyone watching him. Then again, Toro could be anywhere. Spotting someone, even in a small town, wasn’t as easy as the movies made it seem. Toro could be hiding anywhere. The possibilities were endless.
Noah was living a double life that Layne and Harris knew nothing about, though it wasn’t by choice. Now he was going to pay the ultimate price for it.
A large cherry-red pickup pulled in next to Noah. He waited for Quinton to join him before they headed toward the diner entrance. Noah was too nervous to eat but needed to at least have some toast. If he didn’t, he would soon feel queasy from drinking on an empty stomach.
Quinton held the door for him. The man was so tall that Noah didn’t have to duck under his arm.
He stepped inside the nearly empty diner and took a deep breath. If Toro was looking for him, then why not enjoy a last meal and good company?
Soon none of it would matter.
They took a seat halfway down the row of booths. Quinton waited until Noah slid in before he took a seat across from him. Quinton’s smile was soft and sweet, causing Noah’s insides to flutter.
He tucked his hands between his knees. “I don’t think we can get a bowl of pretzels here.”
It was still dark outside, and with the dim lights in the diner, all Noah could see was his reflection.
How could Quinton smile at him when his reflection showed stark fear? Didn’t the guy see it, or was the lighting too low?
Noah’s gaze flicked to the men seated in the last booth, looking half awake. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw a teenager sulking across from an older man, maybe father or uncle, who was scrolling on his phone. The adult was either ignoring him or oblivious to the kid’s attitude.
Noah turned back around when Quinton tapped his foot against his. His gray eyes appeared more gunmetal than steel like they had in the bar, darker from the lighting inside the diner.
“You seem lost in your own head, cub.”
He pulled at the soul patch under his bottom lip, watching Noah closely, as if trying to guess what was on his mind.
The guy could guess for the next hour, and he wouldn’t come anywhere close to figuring it out.
“I think the lack of sleep is catching up to me.”
Noah sat up straight and placed his hands on the table. “So, what do you want to use as a reward for our game, or are we finished playing?”
“Hang tight, Noah.”
Quinton stood and walked behind the counter. That was the first time he’d said Noah’s name, and Noah liked how it sounded in such a deep, honeyed voice.
Quinton spoke too low to Roman, the owner and cook, for Noah to make out what they were saying.
With a nod, Quinton returned with a small plate that held two pieces of French toast. “Roman said to let him know what we want to order. He’s not coming out right now since he’s busy groping his mate.”
Noah glanced at Quinton, embarrassed he’d only caught half of what the guy had said. His attention was on the way Quinton meticulously cut the French toast into even cubes.
“Now we have our reward.”
He stabbed a cube then handed Noah the fork. Cinnamon and vanilla wafted toward him, making his stomach rumble.
“I heard that,”
Quinton’s eyes gleamed with gentle warmth and amusement. “But you can’t eat it until you answer my question honestly.”
“Can I at least have a cup of coffee?”
Noah’s mouth tasted like stale beer, and so had the small burp he’d just let out.
“How do you take it?”
Quinton stood again, reminding Noah just how tall the man was. His bulk shouldn’t allow him to fit inside the booth, but he’d somehow managed.
“If you keep running to get everything, you might end up on Roman’s payroll.”
He chuckled, but the emotion behind it wasn’t there.
Quinton’s eyes said he’d heard the hollowness.
“Just cream.”
Noah was uncomfortable with the way the man’s gaze seemed to burrow right into him.
When Quinton walked back behind the counter, Noah squinted to see out into the darkness, still feeling like he was being watched. It might have been the darkness, along with the quiet of the night, that spooked him. Toro might not even be out there.
“Excuse me?”
one of the men in the last booth called out.
Quinton turned and looked at the guy. “Yeah?”
“If you’re done with your break, I could use some service over here. Haven’t been waited on in half an hour,”
he complained with a bite to his voice.
Noah’s gaze darted from the angry customer to Quinton, wondering who in their right mind would talk crap to a guy the size of a small mountain.
It was also early morning in a small town. The guy should consider himself lucky the diner was even open at the late hour—or early hour, depending on how you looked at it.
“What do you need?”
Quinton asked as if he really worked there. He brought Noah the cup of coffee he’d poured from the carafe, a small bowl of creamers in his other hand.
“For starters, my coffee needs refilled,”
the stranger grumbled. “You could do your job and clear away these dishes, too.”
Had the guy not seen Noah and Quinton enter the diner not ten minutes ago? Maybe he assumed Quinton had just started his shift since he kept going behind the counter.
Whatever the stranger thought, that was no excuse for being a jerk. Noah had been to plenty of restaurants with slow service, but getting an attitude only made the server work more slowly.
He placed his hand over Quinton’s, unsure how the giant would react to such rudeness. Noah felt the thick tension in the air, but thankfully Roman entered the dining area, a shorter, slimmer man following.
The twink had kiss-swollen lips and a dazed look in his eyes. Since Noah really didn’t know Roman—only that he owned the place—he could only guess the slim man was his boyfriend.
Or a hookup.
“Talk to my customer that way again, Hank, and I’ll be forced to tell your wife you’re really not at work at this hour but hanging out with her enemy’s husband.”
Hank glanced at Quinton. “My bad. I thought Roman hired another server.”
“You know damn well to come to the window or just yell for me if you need something until my servers show up at five,”
Roman snarled.
Quinton slid into their booth. “Glad to see you didn’t eat your reward,”
he said as if the tense moment with Hank had never happened.
So, Noah pretended as well. He took a sip of his coffee and groaned. “There’s nothing better than freshly brewed.”
“What’s on your mind?”
It took a second for Noah to realize they were playing their game. “Since Roman doesn’t serve alcohol, what’s the consequence if either of us fail to answer?”
The side of Quinton’s mouth curved into a smile. “The other has to pay for coffee.”
His smile spoken volumes of something other than coffee.
Something much more interesting and possibly carnal in nature. Some kind of wicked pleasure.
Noah might’ve protested out loud if that had been the case but wondered what it would feel like to kiss Quinton’s full lips.
“I already told you I’m just tired,”
he replied, handing the fork across the table.
“That’s one round of coffee you have to buy.”
Quinton grabbed the fork, but his gaze never left Noah’s.
“You’re saying I’m lying?”
“Through your teeth.”
Quinton hovered the piece of French toast at his lips. “Ask so I can take a bite. I’m starving.”
Noah wasn’t sure he wanted to play this anymore. It had been a lie at first, but exhaustion was really starting to set in, so would the delayed truth count?
“Why are you so interested in me?”
Noah had seen plenty of hot guys in the bar, and better-looking twinks than him, since they were the “type”
Quinton seemed interested in.
Not that Noah was putting himself down. He was genuinely curious to know what Quinton saw in him.
“I’m not sure what you’re asking.”
Of course not. Quinton probably never had an insecure day in his life. “ You’ve never been in the middle of a conversation or caught someone’s eye and wondered what that person thought of you?”
Noah couldn’t be the only person who had done that.
“You two decide what you want for breakfast?”
Roman asked when he stopped at their table.
“Noah can go first,”
Quinton offered. He looked a little intimidating when he folded his arms over his chest, those thickly honed muscles popping out.
“Some toast would be fine. Thanks.”
Noah smiled at Roman, his mood spiraling downward.
What was he doing with Quinton? The guy didn’t want to be friends, yet Noah had allowed himself to believe the lie. It was clear from Quinton’s attention he was interested in more.
Like the way he was eyeing Noah at that very moment. This had been a huge mistake.
And there was the infamous panic that always set in. Noah wondered when it would strike. He was surprised it hadn’t already happened.
“Excuse me.”
Noah wasn’t sure which man he was saying it to. He got up and made a beeline toward the exit.
* * * *
Ryker stepped out of the side door of Fearless Fox at closing time, the hairs on his body instantly rising.
The temperature had dropped since he’d arrived but was still comfortable enough.
Killian stepped out of the side door not too long after him. From his brother’s stance, he felt it too.
“Just wait until the humans clear out,”
Ryker said under his breath as they stood there. It wasn’t necessary to speak any louder with their heightened senses.
A threat was somewhere close. Not only had his hairs risen, but his bear was softly growling.
Killian strode leisurely to his motorcycle, acting as if he was unaware of any problems. Ryker did the same.
“You know damn well I kicked your ass the last game,”
Ryker stated. It wasn’t a performance. Things had gotten heated between him and his brother. Two large wolf shifters had inserted themselves to stop things from getting too out of hand.
“You cheated.”
Killian jabbed a finger in Ryker’s direction with a growl. “I saw you bump the table to make the ball roll that last inch to drop into the side pocket.”
“I didn’t bump the goddamn table!”
Ryker forced himself not to close the distance. Not to knock the shit out of his brother for calling him a cheater and a liar.
Killian gave a slight nod.
Ryker felt it too.
Whoever it was had grown closer.
“Admit it,”
Killian snarled then rounded his bike, heading toward Ryker, who had his back turned away from the dumpster not ten feet behind him.
“Don’t walk up on me if you’re not prepared to get your ass handed to you.”
Ryker removed his leather and draped it over the seat of his motorcycle. “ It’s been a good minute since you’ve felt my right hook, bro.”
Killian bared his canines in the nearly empty parking lot as he advanced toward Ryker. The only vehicles that remained—aside from their bikes—was Jake’s pickup and someone’s SUV.
The owner more than likely had too much to drink and hitched a ride with a friend knowing Jake wouldn’t have it towed.
“Admit you cheated.”
Killian’s voice had grown deeper, indicating just how pissed he was.
Ryker hadn’t cheated. “Admit you’re a sore loser,”
he countered.
Killian slammed his palms into Ryker’s chest. He purposely stumbled backward, bringing himself closer to the dumpster.
His brother landed a right hook. Ryker once more staggered back but not intentionally this time.
With a deep snarl, Ryker attacked, going for blows with Killian. Normally, Hyett would be the voice of reason. But he was at home with his mate. Something about stacks of laundry, but Ryker hadn’t been listening.
Killian struck him with a lucky punch. Again, Ryker’s stumble wasn’t deliberate, but it put him in the perfect position to pivot around the dumpster and grab hold of the person hidden behind the container.
Killian stood at Ryker’s back, his anger coming off of him like heat off of pavement.
“Toro.”
Ryker grabbed the vampire by his shirt front. “I thought I smelled something putrid and decaying. Why are you watching us, maggot?”
“It’s not always about you, Ryker,”
Toro sneered. His teeth were slightly stained with blood and the metallic scent of his breath told Ryker the vampire had recently fed.
“Your donor better have volunteered.”
“What are you doing in Midnight Falls?”
Killian demanded.
Ryker was still stuck on Toro’s feeding. Vampires, in general, were lowkey and bedazzled their donors, wiping their memories clean afterward.
Toro derived some sick thrill from his “meals”
being fully aware fangs were about to sink into their jugular. He not only fed off of their blood but also their terror.
Even though he wiped their memories when he finished feeding, his method was sadistic.
“I don’t have to answer any of your questions.”
He yanked backward, freeing himself but leaving ripped fabric in Ryker’s fist. “I really liked this shirt.”
He narrowed his eyes.
“What are you doing in this town?”
Ryker repeated Killian’s demand. Uncurling his fingers, he let the scrap of fabric fall to the ground.
Roughly two months ago, Ryker and his family had moved to Midnight Falls, leaving behind their old lives, as well as old problems.
Nothing good could come from Toro being there. Aside from his inhumane feeding habits, the vampire offered his services to preternaturals who needed a problem taken care of.
Ryker was willing to bet Toro was in town to fulfill a bargain.
“As delightfully nauseating as this reunion has been, I have matters to attend.”
Toro used his inhuman speed to disappear before Ryker could find out what the vampire was up to.
“We need to tell Dad and Hyett that Toro is in town,”
Killian ground out.
As Ryker pulled out his phone, his brother grabbed the torn piece of shirt off the ground.
“If Toro becomes a problem, we’ll give this to the cops so they’ll have his scent.”
Ryker really hoped it didn’t come down to that.