39. Brick
39
brICK
Lunch rush at Black Dog hits like clockwork. The bell above the door chimes every thirty seconds. Each booth fills, empties, and fills again. Behind the counter, Maddox helps sling plates while Ryder works the grill.
“Order up!” Ryder slides two plates onto the pass.
Lucy, our weekday waitress, grabs them without breaking stride. “Table six is asking about those cinnamon rolls again.”
“Tell them tomorrow.” I tally a check, making changes for Mrs. Foster. “Our baker’s out sick today.”
I know it’s a lie. Rowan isn’t sick—she was terrified when we left her this morning, eyes too bright, hands fidgeting with her mug. Something scared her, but she wouldn’t say what.
The rumble starts distant, then grows—a rolling thunder of engines approaching in formation. Not just one or two bikes. A dozen, maybe more.
The diner falls quiet. Conversations cut mid-sentence as heads turn toward the windows.
“What the fuck?” Maddox mutters, coming up beside me.
Outside, motorcycles line up along the curb, cutting off traffic. Black bikes, riders in matching cuts, a snake insignia coiled on their backs.
“Vipers,” I breathe.
“Here?” Maddox’s eyes narrow. “Matthews said we had two weeks. Also, weren’t Teller’s men supposed to provide twenty-four-hour surveillance?”
“Now’s not the time to ask questions, brother.”
The door swings open. First through is a mountain of a man with a bald head, tattoos crawling up his neck. Two more follow, flanking the door.
Then he enters.
Even without the cut, I’d know who he is. The snake tattoo curling up his neck. The confident stride. The aura of command that makes even our regulars shrink in their seats.
Cypher. President of the Vipers MC.
Behind him, a young woman with electric blue hair enters, her face downcast. Multiple piercings line her ears and eyebrow. She wears black from head to toe, but there’s something familiar about her features that nags at my brain.
“Stay cool,” I murmur to my brothers as I step forward. No point pretending we don’t know who they are. “Can I help you, gentlemen?”
Cypher’s smile never reaches his eyes. “Kane brothers. Heard you run the best diner in town.” His gaze sweeps over our customers. “Quite the operation you’ve built here. Be a shame if something happened to it.”
I notice his right hand doesn’t leave his jacket pocket. Fuck.
“We’re just trying to run a business,” I say evenly. “Whatever beef you think you have with us?—”
“Oh, I know exactly what beef I have with you,” Cypher cuts me off, voice dropping so only those nearby can hear. “You and your Cerberus friends have cost me millions. Taken out my best people. But that’s not why I’m here today.”
He jerks his chin, and one of his men produces a photograph, sliding it across the counter toward me.
“I’m looking for someone.” Cypher’s tone shifts, something almost vulnerable flickering across his face. “My daughter.”
I glance down at the photo, and my blood freezes.
Rowan.
Not exactly as I know her—her hair is different, styled in an elegant updo I’ve never seen on her. Her expression is cooler, more distant than the woman who shares my bed. But it is unmistakably her.
“Never seen her,” I lie, sliding the photo back, grateful for years of undercover work that taught me to keep my face neutral. “What’s she got to do with us?”
“See, that’s the curious thing.” Cypher takes the photo, tucking it into his jacket. “My sources tell me she’s been spotted in Wolf Pike. And if you’ve hurt her…”
Behind him, the blue-haired girl flinches. Now that I’m looking closer I see it—the same bone structure and full lips as Rowan.
They must be sisters.
Holy shit. Rowan isn’t just connected to the Vipers. She’s Cypher’s daughter. The fucking princess of the West Coast’s most notorious MC.
Suddenly, everything about her clicks into place.
She’s been running from her father. From the man standing in our diner, ready to kill us all.
“Look, man, we don’t know your daughter,” Maddox says, edging closer to the baseball bat we keep under the counter. “But we’d appreciate it if you took your club meeting elsewhere. You’re scaring our customers.”
Cypher chuckles, the sound utterly devoid of humor. “My apologies. Didn’t mean to disrupt your…business.” His eyes flick to the blue-haired girl. “Emma, why don’t you look around? See if anything seems familiar.”
Emma lifts her head, eyes darting around the diner. When her gaze lands on the chalkboard menu behind the counter, something shifts in her expression. The daily specials, written in Rowan’s handwriting, seem to confirm something for her.
“I don’t see anything, Dad,” she says, voice soft but steady.
Cypher’s eyes narrow. “Look harder.”
“I told you, she’s not here.” Emma’s shoulders straighten, a flash of defiance crossing her features. “Can we go now?”
The resemblance to Rowan in that moment is striking—the same stubborn lift of her chin, the same fire beneath a calm exterior.
Cypher grabs her arm, fingers digging into her skin. “You’re lying to me, Emma.”
“Hey,” I step forward instinctively. “Take it easy.”
His cold eyes snap to mine. “Family business. Stay out of it.”
“Not in my diner.” I keep my voice level. “I don’t care who you are—you don’t manhandle women in here.”
Tension crackles through the room. The other Vipers shift, hands drifting toward waistbands where guns undoubtedly wait. I’m acutely aware of the civilians still frozen in their seats, the innocent people who have no idea they’re sitting in the middle of a powder keg.
“Maddox,” I say without taking my eyes off Cypher, “why don’t you call Teller? Let him know we’ve got visitors.”
Maddox nods, reaching for the phone.
“I wouldn’t do that,” Cypher warns, pulling Emma closer to his side. “Things might get…messy.”
“Already are,” Ryder speaks up from behind the grill, where I know he keeps his Glock taped under the counter.
Cypher studies each of us in turn, calculation written across his features. Then, his gaze returns to the chalkboard menu, lingering on Rowan’s handwriting.
“You know,” he says, almost conversationally, “my Leona always had a gift for baking. Used it to cover our operations for years. The best front we ever had.”
Leona?
Another piece of the puzzle slots into place. She changed her name, her identity, and everything except those skills she was born with.
“Interesting place, Wolf Pike,” Cypher continues, releasing Emma to trace his fingers along the counter. “Small towns, everybody knows everybody’s business. Except when they don’t.”
He pulls out his phone, taps the screen, and turns it toward me. Security camera footage plays—grainy but clear enough. Rowan entering our house. Rowan kissing Maddox on the porch. Rowan on the back of Ryder’s bike.
“Seems my little girl’s been busy.” His voice drops to a deadly whisper. “Living with the same men who tried to destroy her family. Who would’ve guessed she had that kind of betrayal in her?”
“Dad—” Emma starts, but falls silent at his glare.
My mind races, connecting dots at lightning speed. Matthews said Cypher believed we were still working for Cerberus and still targeting his operation. But this—this is personal. This is about his daughter sleeping with his enemies.
“Whatever you think is happening here,” I say carefully, “it’s not what it seems.”
“No?” Cypher chuckles. “Let me explain what I see. Three men who cost me millions, who killed my people, now keeping my daughter as what? A pet? A hostage? A whore?”
The last word ignites something primal in my chest. My fists clench at my sides.
“Don’t,” Maddox warns under his breath.
But it’s too late. One of the Vipers has moved toward the high school kids’ booth. Another blocks the main exit. The bald mountain stands near the kitchen, effectively cutting off our access to the back door.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Cypher says, pulling a gun from his jacket. “You’re going to tell me where my daughter is. Then you’re going to die—quick if you cooperate, slow if you don’t.”
“Dad, please,” Emma begs, grabbing his arm. “Let’s just go.”
“You.” He pushes her toward one of his men. “Keep her outside. This isn’t for her eyes.”