No plates.
Windows tinted so dark they swallowed light.
It slowed near the tavern.
Then it stopped.
My heart thudded once. Hard.
The passenger window didn’t roll down. No one got out.
But I could feel them looking at us.
Testing our response.
The SUV idled for ten seconds.
Then twenty.
Then the driver’s door opened.
A man stepped out.
Not the bodyguard.
This one was leaner, wearing a dark jacket, hands in his pockets like he was just out for a stroll.
He looked up at the tavern.
And smiled.
Saint’s voice was a whisper behind me. “That’s not Thorn.”
“No,” I murmured. “That’s muscle.”
The man walked to the tavern door and tried the handle.
Locked.
He leaned in close to the glass like he was peering into a shop window.
Then he did something that made my blood freeze.
He lifted his hand and tapped the glass twice.
Like a knock.
Like a warning.
Rylie gasped behind me.
I turned fast. “Rylie—back. Now.”
She scrambled back, shaking.
Sheriff Tate’s hand went to his weapon.
Havoc moved toward the stairs.
