The Peñas are known for these kind of intimidation tactics.
They’re probably still pissed about the deal going sour. It could always be the Road Rebels or Hellrazors testing boundaries, especially with Wheels being on the run and so quiet in recent months, but if I were a betting man, my money’s on the former.
The Peñas have decided to move forward with this escalating feud.
I turn fully toward the car, shoulders squared, making it clear I see them. Just so they know I know about them and I’m ready for whatever they’ve got.
The car sits where it is, the engine still purring. The mystery person behind the wheel keeps watching, but they see me like I see them.
After a long moment, I turn and walk inside, slamming the door.
Let them watch.
When they’re ready to make a move, they’ll find out what happens when you come for a Steel King.
10
SILVER
Spencer Medlock strollsout of Wheaton University’s main building, backpack slung over one shoulder, completely oblivious to the fact that he’s being watched. His Honda Civic chirps when he unlocks it then tosses his things in the backseat.
As soon as he starts the engine, his music blears from the speakers, the heavy bass obnoxious and disruptive to the otherwise calm street.
It wouldn’t surprise me if the kid’s deaf by now from all that fucking noise.
I’ve been doing my homework for a couple days now. Ever since Solana’s breakdown, I’ve taken it upon myself to find out exactly who was involved in the situation. I started with the basics, thinking like a twenty-something-year-old and logging on social media to scope out profiles.
Instagram, Facebook, whatever profiles I could find.
I browsed friends lists, tagged photos and locations, even the school’s pages. But I couldn’t find anybody named Kel anywhere.
Was this friend of hers not even enrolled at Wheaton U?
When my social media browsing turned up nothing, I went even more basic. I might not’ve found this Kel asshole online, but I had the address Solana had me pick her up from.
I turned up to the small bungalow style home that resembled more of a frat house thanks to the patchy lawn and red plastic cups ditched in the yard.
Still no Kel anywhere.
But that’s how I came across Spencer.
Apparently Spencer lived in the house too, coming and going as he pleased. I watched the scrawny, rubberneck douche I saw parking his car in the drive with the profile online that I dug up on Solana’s friends list.
Then I tailed him to school.
As he gets in his Honda and drives off, bass still bumping, I follow him once again. I keep three or four cars between us at all times to avoid any suspicion.
He drives halfway across Wheaton to what’s known as the downtown area—generous to call it that when it’s only a few blocks of shops and restaurants. Wheaton’s maybe got five thousand more people than Pulsboro, but it’s still small enough that most know each other.
He parks near a corner store. I cruise past, doubling back to park half a block down. He checks his phone before heading inside.
I give it a beat or two, then follow, crossing the street in my aviator shades.
The store’s the typical small market that sells a little bit of everything from energy drinks to lottery tickets and toilet paper.
Spencer grabs a bag of Funyuns and some gum, then takes out cash from the ATM in the back.
My phone buzzes in my front pocket. I take a quick peek to find Logan’s name on the screen. I already know why he’s calling.
