I nod, grab a bottle of water from the cooler, and make my way to the front, but my eyes keep sliding toward the windows.
The tinted truck is still there.Engine still running.Driver still inside.
“You see that truck before?”I ask casually, nodding toward the glass.
The kid shrugs.“People come and go.”
“You got cameras?”
He nods toward the corner.“Yeah.My boss is paranoid.”
Good.
“Do me a favor,” I say, dropping cash on the counter.“You see that truck do anything weird, you call the King’s clubhouse.Ask for Riot.”
His eyes widen.He’s not stupid.“That serious?”
“Just keep your eyes open.”
He nods.“Yes, sir.”
I walk back outside, unscrew the cap on the water, take a long drink while leaning against my bike like I’ve got all the time in the world.The truck’s driver finally moves—reaches for something in the front seat, then pulls out a phone.At least by the lighting it looks like a phone.
I can’t make out his face in detail through the tint, but his posture is tense.The tint is dark but not blacked out thankfully.
My whole body goes alert.
I could walk over.Tap on the window.Ask what his problem is.
Or I could play it a different way.And sometimes patience is key.Sometimes making a different play is the way to win a battle.
I tuck my water into the saddlebag, swing back onto the bike, and start the engine.The rumble fills the night again, comforting in its familiarity.I pull out of the lot slow, deliberate, passing in front of the truck.
Up close, I catch more details.The paint’s dusty but not neglected, tires decent, no obvious identifying stickers.There’s a faint shape hanging from the rearview—maybe a cross, maybe a small chain.Not enough to pin anything on.
But when I pass, the driver’s head turns, tracks me.
He’s watching.
Yeah.Okay.
I pull onto the road, ride about a half mile, then check my mirrors.
Headlights.
Same distance.Same speed.Matching every move I make.
“Alright,” I murmur, the thrum of the bike vibrating through my palms.“Let’s see what you’re about.”
I don’t turn back toward town.Instead, I take a side road, one that curves into a narrow stretch through trees and dips down into a low grade.Not a good place for a random truck to just happen to be going at two in the morning.
The headlights follow.Not close, but present.
My pulse kicks up for all the right reasons this time.Adrenaline.Focus.Instinct.
After years in this life, you learn to tell when someone’s trailing you by coincidence and when they’re doing it on purpose.
This has purpose.
