Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
Ryder
The morning air feels off.
That’s the first thing I notice when I head downstairs from our apartment to the bar area.
The place smells of disinfectant and last night’s whiskey, sunlight slicing in through the front windows.
No tension. No blood in the water. Just another quiet day in a town that pretends nothing bad ever happens.
I don’t buy it.
I move through the bar the same way I always do. Chairs stacked. Tables wiped. No signs of trouble. That doesn’t mean anything. Trouble doesn’t announce itself. It watches. Waits. Learns your habits.
I roll my shoulders, already tight, and spot Arlo as he enters to start his shift.
“Mornin’, boss.”
I grunt in response and stop on the other side of the bar.
“Hey, Arlo, have we had anyone unusual come in here recently?”
“Unusual?”
I offer him a one-shouldered shrug. “Anyone seem… off? Asking too many questions?”
Arlo stills.
“Depends on what you mean by questions.”
I lean in, forearms braced on the bar. “I mean, has anyone had you feel a little weird?”
Arlo exhales slowly. “Yeah.”
“When?”
“Yesterday afternoon. Before the dinner rush.”
My hand curls into a fist. “What’d he look like?”
Arlo frowns, thinking. “Not local. You can always tell, you know? He had… city eyes.”
“City eyes?” I repeat.
“Yeah. Like he was watching everything instead of enjoying himself.” Arlo hesitates. “Didn’t drink much. Just asked questions.”
“What kind of questions?”
“Who owned the place now. How long you’d been in town. Who was usually around after closing.”
My blood goes cold.
“Did you answer him?”
Arlo straightens. “I didn’t say shit. Just told him new ownership doesn’t talk business with strangers and that he should enjoy his beer or leave.”
Good. Smart man.
But it doesn’t matter.
Because Cole never needs much.
“Did he give a name?”
Arlo shakes his head. “No. He paid cash. Left a decent tip.”
Of course he did.
I push back from the bar, pacing once, then again. Every instinct I’ve ever trusted is screaming now, loud and clear. Pressure first. Information second. Fear last.
I pull my phone from my pocket and head for the back hallway, the one spot in this building where the walls don’t listen. The door swings shut behind me with a soft click, and I just stand there, staring at the scuffed floor, jaw locked.
Then I call Rhea.
She picks up on the second ring.
“Tell me,” she says. No greeting. No bullshit.
“A man was in my bar yesterday. Asking about ownership. Asking who’s around after closing.” I drag a hand down my face. “It has to be Cole.”
“Fuck,” Rhea mutters. “Okay. That lines up.”
My chest tightens. “So it is him.”
“Yes,” she says without hesitation. “Cole crossed into the region two days ago. Rented a truck under a burner name. He’s been keeping his distance, but he’s definitely circling.”
The words settle into my bones.
“How many?”
“As far as I can tell? Just him for now. But you know Cole. He doesn’t need backup to make a mess.”
I close my eyes, jaw flexing. “He never did.”
“Just be smart,” Rhea continues. “Double security. Don’t move against him first. And whatever you do, don’t let him think he’s found leverage.”
I hang up without saying goodbye.
The hallway feels narrower now.
I turn and head upstairs, my steps slowing despite myself as I reach the guest room. The door’s closed. Aurora’s probably still asleep.
She’s too soft for this world. Too open. Walking around as if kindness isn’t a liability.
I tell myself I’m protecting her because it’s the right thing to do.
Because she didn’t ask for this.
Because she’s just passing through.
Because I don’t let my past bleed onto innocent people.
Coyote Glen doesn’t deserve this, and nor does Aurora…
By midmorning, The Hollow starts doing what small-town places always do when something changes hands.
It fills up with opinions.
They come disguised as drink orders and casual hellos. People who haven’t set foot in a bar before noon suddenly find reasons to hang around. Coffee cups turn into beers. Beers turn into conversations that stop the second I look their way.
I’m wiping down the bar when the bell rings again.
Mayor Judith Hartwell walks in confidently. Same as she always does when she ‘pops in’ somewhere that isn’t technically hers but still falls under her watch.
She looks polished to the point of exhaustion. Tailored coat. Hair pulled back tight enough to sting. Her smile belongs on campaign flyers. Everything about her says control.
Her son trails in behind her with the eyes of a pissed-off teenager.
Beau Hartwell. Seventeen. All elbows and restless energy, skateboard tucked under one arm, notebook jammed into the pocket of his hoodie. He looks around the bar as if it’s a poem waiting to be written… or a system waiting to be dismantled.
Finn spots them first.
“Well, if it isn’t Coyote Glen royalty,” he says easily from behind the bar, grin already in place. “Mayor Hartwell. You slummin’ it with us today?”
Judith arches a perfectly shaped brow, but there’s a flicker of amusement there before she can stop it. “Judging by the crowd, Mr…?”
“Finn,” he supplies. “Just Finn. Can I get you something? Coffee? Tea? A scandal-free mimosa?”
I shoot him a look.
He ignores it.
She hesitates, just a beat too long to miss.
“One drink,” she says finally. “Something simple.”
Finn beams as if he’s just won a civic award. “You got it.”
She turns her attention to me while Finn works, eyes sharp but curious now that she’s decided to stay. “I thought I’d see the place for myself.”
I straighten, calm as I can be. “Mayor Hartwell.”
“Judith,” she corrects automatically, then pauses. “Jude. Everyone calls me Jude.”
Everyone except the people who don’t want to cross her.
“You settling in all right, Mr. Callahan?”
“So far,” I say. “Town’s been… welcoming.”
Behind her, Beau’s already wandered a few steps away, eyeing the pool table, the scarred wood, the way Zane’s leaning against the far wall nursing a coffee.
Zane catches my eye and gives me a subtle nod. He’s clocking everything. Exits, people, the mayor’s posture, Beau’s drifting attention. Same way I am.
Jude’s gaze flicks to the bar.
“Coyote Glen values quiet,” she says. “We don’t tolerate scandal. The Hollow’s always been a quiet place. It wasn’t meant for a lot of attention, even if it’s under new management."
“I don’t run a scandal,” I reply evenly. “Just a bar.”
She studies me a beat longer than necessary. “Bars have a way of becoming centers of influence.”
Finn slides her drink across the bar. A light whiskey, barely kissed with ice.
“Influence is just community with better lighting,” he says cheerfully.
Zane snorts despite himself.
Jude actually laughs. She takes a sip, considering. “You make a decent pour.”
“High praise,” Finn says. “I’ll put it on the wall.”
Behind her, Beau snorts.
She turns sharply. “Beau.”
“What?” he says, unapologetic. “I like it. Feels real. Not like the Chamber of Commerce brochure.”
His eyes land on me then, curious and sharp in a way that hits too close to memory.
“You ride?” he asks, nodding at the faint ink peeking out from my sleeve.
“Sometimes.”
His mouth quirks. “Yeah. Thought so.”
Zane shifts his weight, arms crossing, protective without being obvious.
Jude exhales and finishes her drink.
“We’ll be keeping an eye on things,” she says, returning her focus to me. “I expect you’ll do the same.”
“You have my word.”
That earns me a nod. She sets the glass down, already done with the visit. Control reasserted.
She turns toward the door.
Beau hangs out half a second longer, glancing toward the back alley, already imagining himself there. Skateboard propped against the wall, notebook open, probably scribbling something angry and brilliant.
Then he follows her out.
Zane pushes off the wall and comes closer. “That went… better than expected.”
Finn grins. “She smiled at me. I’m basically on the town council now.”
I don’t smile.
Because charm doesn’t stop pressure.
And the town just made it clear that it’s watching us.