1
Shadow
Trouble ain’t the only thing blowing into town tonight.
When I roll into the parking lot of the Shady Lane Motel, the place isn’t just full—there ain’t a free spot to be found. I cruise right up to the glass lobby doors and park my bike in front, blocking the walkway in.
The owner of this one-star establishment, Malcolm, has got a debt payment due, and I don’t give a rat’s ass if it’s rain or shine out there. I’m here to collect, and I’m not leaving unless I have a wad of cash in my pocket or blood on my hands. I’m ready for whatever the night brings.
I get off my bike and head inside, ignoring the security bell that chimes to alert everyone in the lobby to my arrival. A few heads turn, mostly panicked-looking tourists carrying overstuffed suitcases.
A storm has been threatening our county for the last two days. The winds picked up this afternoon, and now the news is calling for voluntary evacuations before this tropical storm turns into a full-blown hurricane. That means a shitload of traffic on the roads and a lot of people in my way.
Although I don’t have time to waste, if I want Malcolm to pay back what he owes my club, I need to let him at least check in the low-rent guests who’ve decided Shady Lane Motel is a better option for riding out the storm than wherever it is they’re coming from.
I saunter through the lobby and pretend to scan the dusty pamphlets on the decades-old rack of brochures until everyone’s taken their room keys and left. The keys are the old-fashioned kind, real metal keys on cheap plastic rings with paint chipping out of the room numbers. Shady Lane ain’t a place people with money—or any better options—come to stay. And I’m anxious to get what I came for and get the fuck out.
Once Malcolm and I are alone, I crack my knuckles loudly and wander over to the front counter.
“Shadow.” His voice is overly enthusiastic, but there’s fear underneath the fake warmth. Guys like Malcolm think if they act like we’re friends, what’s about to go down will happen in a friendly way.
I’ve got the scars on my face and knuckles to prove I won’t hesitate to get a little un-friendly if that’s what it takes to collect on a debt. I nod at him and tap two tattooed fingers on the ancient counter where a paper cup of coffee is leaking a watery brown liquid onto the already stained Formica.
“Business is booming,” I say in a low voice, lifting a brow. “That’s good for you.”
Malcolm shrugs, and a slight sweat breaks out on his upper lip. I notice him look up at the wall, where grainy gray images from the security cameras show hallways full of customers unlocking rooms, stockpiling ice, and shoving loose change into the vending machines.
Most of the local stores closed hours ago. If Malcolm’s smart, he’ll lock the front doors and hunker down. But I know Malcolm. He’s anything but smart.
“You believe this shit?” He motions toward the windows as if I’m here to talk about the fucking weather. “You need a place to stay, Shadow?” he asks. “I’m all sold out of rooms, but maybe we can work something?—”
I silence him by slamming a fist down on the counter. “The only thing I need from you, Malcolm, is three grand. In cash. Every dollar of it. Now.”
I watch the same screens Malcolm was staring at just a minute ago. Doing the math in my head fast, I know that a shithole like this selling out for the night—assuming he didn’t jack up the rate just to squeeze the people trying to escape the storm—means he’s definitely got what he owes me and then some.
Now the question is whether he’s gonna hand it over easy. It’s been a minute since I had to collect the hard way, and I roll my neck to loosen it just in case.
“Yeah, I… Right. Sure thing. I know. I got it.” Malcolm’s flustered and stalling for time.
I draw in a deep breath, and the stale stench of Malcolm’s body odor, coffee breath, and something that reminds me of damp carpet fills my lungs. Thunder cracks outside, and all of a sudden, the rain is coming down hard. Sheets of it blur the windows and coat the glass doors behind me.
Fuck.
Searing-hot anger, fast and powerful, floods my chest. I knew I should’ve driven my truck today and not the bike. Riding back to the compound through this is gonna be a pain in my ass. A bigger pain in the ass than getting Malcolm to hurry up and pay me.
Before I can reach across the front counter and grab this asshole by the throat, the front door opens, that tinkling of the chimes breaking my attention. A woman, her long, drenched hair plastered against her face and back, crosses her arms over her chest and makes a beeline toward the front counter.
She looks at me and gives me one of those polite, I-didn’t-mean-to-cut-in-line smiles. “Um, hi, hello.” She glances from me to Malcolm like she’s not sure who she should talk to. “Sorry, are you busy? I can wait. I just had to get inside. This storm is like something out of a nightmare.”
Malcolm looks at her like he’s drowning and she’s just come by driving a rescue boat. “No problem at all,” he says, way too fucking cheerfully. “What can I do for you, miss?”
I almost interrupt him. Keeping me waiting is a problem. Not having my money ready for me is also a problem. The storm is nothing compared to the destruction I’m going to lay on this guy’s face if he doesn’t have what I came here for.
But the money Malcolm owes me—the debt I’m here to settle—ain’t because I’m running a legitimate business. Neither one of us needs a witness when he hands over an envelope filled with cash, so I cool my temper enough to step back from the counter and wait.
God, I fucking hate waiting.
Unless Malcolm was lying to me just now, Shady Lane’s sold out too. Yet Malcolm’s making a big show of tap-tap-tapping into his goddamn keyboard, looking for a room for this chick. I don’t even think they have a computerized guest-management system. For all I know, he’s banging away nonsense into nothing.
