Cain moves first, her shoulder brushing the frame as she slips inside. Lolita goes after her. I’m last, one hand on the cold metal, eyes scanning the lot behind us before I step in. Inside, the diner’s gutted. No tables, no booths, just a bare linoleum floor and the smell of mildew layered with something chemical. Light slants inside from gaps in the boards, striping the walls in thin bars. And in the middle of it, the guy is waiting.
He’s younger than I expected, maybe twenty, but wiry and sharp-eyed, the kind of kid who’s learned how to read people fast. He’s not startled. He’s not scared. He’s got that half-smile people get when they think they’ve already won.
“Ladies,” he says, hands still in his pockets.
Cain’s voice is flat. “Empty them.”
He chuckles. “You’re a long way from your gym.”
My gut tightens again. The air feels thicker now, and not just from the boarded windows and stagnant air.
Cain’s already moving when the kid pulls his hands free from his pocket. Steel flashes in his right hand, a compact switchblade with a narrow, needle-like point. She doesn’t give him time to flick it fully open. Her boot catches his wrist, hard enough to send the blade clattering to the floor. It skids toward me.
Movement explodes in my periphery. The back door bangs open and two more guys step in, bigger, older, both wearing that same loose, cocky body language that says they’ve done this before.
Lolita cracks her neck and grins. “Guess we found the friends.”
The first one lunges for Cain, catching her around the middle. She twists, slamming an elbow into his ribs. The kid dives after the knife, but I hook it with my boot and send it sliding the other way, into the shadow under a tipped-over fridge.
The third guy comes for me. He’s got fifty pounds on me easy, all in muscle, and a scar dragging his lip up into a permanent sneer. I sidestep, but he’s fast for his size, his arm hooking around to shove me against the wall. Concrete grinds my shoulder blade, pain sparking down my arm. I jam my palm into his throat, not enough to crush his windpipe, but enough to stagger him back a step. It’s enough space to get my blade out. Its black handle and thin edge are a familiar weight in my hand.
Cain takes her guy down with a knee to the groin followed by a headbutt that makes my own teeth zing just watching. He drops, gasping. She kicks him in the side for good measure.
Lolita’s locked with the second big one, trading blows like neither’s worried about bruises. She catches him in the temple with a right hook, but he only snarls, swinging back. Blood blooms along her cheekbone where his fist landed, but she doesn’t flinch.
The one on me lunges again. I let him get close enough to think he’s winning before I slash low, just above the knee. He goes down half a step but not enough before his fist comes up, catching my jaw.
White heat explodes across my vision. I taste copper. I shove him back, spin the blade in my grip, and drive it into his side, lowand angled. His breath hitches in a short, shocked gasp. I wrench it free and step back before his hands can grab me. He folds, blood pooling quickly on the dusty concrete.
Cain grabs the kid by his hoodie and slams him against the wall. “How many more are out there?”
He spits at her feet. “Enough.”
She smiles, but it’s the cold kind that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Wrong answer.” She shoves him toward me. “Katana.”
I know what she’s asking without words. But the kid’s still breathing, still got that spark in his eye like he thinks we won’t do it even after spotting his buddies on the floor.
Lolita wipes her mouth with the back of her glove. “We should move. More could be coming.”
Cain nods once. “Leave him.”
The kid grins as we step over the downed bodies, but it’s forced now, shaky around the edges.
“Tell Seranno, he’s on our radar now.” I toss over my shoulder.
Outside, the light’s gone gray-blue, the long Atlantic City shadows stretching like they’re reaching for us. We’re all breathing hard, boots scuffing through gravel as we make for the bikes.
Cain swings a leg over hers, her voice clipped. “This just went from recon to war.”
I fire mine up, the engine’s rumble vibrating through my bones. She’s not wrong. The day started with questions and ended with blood. And in between, every damn thing Serrano’s name touches feels closer.
The ride back drags the dulling light from the lowering sun along with us. Shadows stretch between buildings, softening edges, pooling in alleyways. The vibration of our bikes seeping through my boots and into my bones, lingers long after the kill and even longer after we cut them off in the clubhouse lot.Cain’s first through the side door, her boots hitting the tile like a warning. The clubhouse smells like beer, leather, and a hint of cigarette smoke that never really leaves.
Quinn’s behind the bar, glass in one hand, rag in the other. Her gaze sweeps us once, sharp as a knife. It catches the blood on LC’s shirt and the smear down the side of Lolita’s jaw. Quinn’s gaze snaps to the torn sleeve at my shoulder, the smear of blood across my lips, and whatever she sees there makes her mouth set even harder.
“What the hell happened?”
Cain doesn’t bother softening it. ““Found Serrano’s boys. Three of ‘em.”
