The diner across from my clinic is packed when we arrive. Ranchers, truckers, a few locals—the usual lunch crowd.
Shadow parks his bike right out front, impossible to miss, and holds the door open for me.
We slide into a booth near the back, and I'm hyperaware of the looks we're getting.
Shadow doesn't seem to notice—or doesn't care.
He orders coffee for both of us, and his hand finds mine across the table.
"You did good today," he says. "With that bull."
"You did better." I lace my fingers through his. "Where'd you learn to handle cattle like that?"
"My grandfather had a farm. Small operation, nothing like Sharp Shooter. But I spent summers there as a kid, helping with the animals." His thumb traces circles on the back of my hand. "Before I found the club, I thought I'd end up a rancher. Work the land. Simple life."
"What changed?"
His expression darkens slightly. "Life. Made some bad choices. Ended up in trouble. Phantom gave me a chance when I didn't deserve one. Been with the Saints ever since."
I want to ask more, but the waitress appears with menus.
We order—burgers and fries, classic diner fare—and I'm about to ask Shadow about his family when the bell above the door chimes.
Banshee and Spur walk in.
My stomach drops.
Banshee's eyes land on us immediately, and his grin spreads wide. "Well, well. This is interesting."
Spur's more subtle, just a slight raise of his eyebrows as they approach our booth. "Shadow. Doc. Afternoon."
Before I can say anything, they're sliding in—Banshee across from us, Spur next to Shadow, effectively boxing us in.
"Didn't know you two were... friendly," Banshee says, his tone all innocence even though his eyes are dancing with amusement.
Shadow's hand tightens on mine. "We're having lunch. That a problem?"
"No problem at all, brother." Banshee leans back, still grinning. "Just wondering if Phantom knows about thisfriendly lunch."
The temperature at the table drops about twenty degrees.
"What Phantom knows or doesn't know is between me and him," Shadow says, his voice dangerously quiet.
Spur clears his throat. "Easy, brother. Banshee's just making conversation. No judgment here." He glances at me, expression softer. "Doc's a good woman. Anyone can see that."
"Damn right she is." Shadow's possessive edge is clear now.
Banshee's grin fades slightly.
He exchanges a look with Spur, and something unspoken passes between them.
"Heard you were asking Rogue to run plates yesterday," Spur says, changing the subject. "Something going on we should know about?"
Shadow hesitates.
I can feel the tension in his body, the war between keeping me safe and keeping club secrets.
"Just checking on something," he finally says.
