BIKER PRESIDENT'S CURVY SECRET OBSESSION

BLOCKED PHONE

"Just a plate of scrambled eggs and a glass of tap water, please," I say, handing her the plastic menu without even bothering to open it.

"And do you happen to have a public Wi-Fi password I could use?" I ask, holding up my dead phone so she understands my problem.

"The network is written on the chalkboard above the register, but it is pretty slow during the morning rush," she tells me, jotting down my order with quick strokes of her pen.

"I will have those eggs out for you in a jiffy," she promises before turning around to drop the ticket off at the kitchen window.

I thank her softly and type the password into the settings menu of my phone so I can finally connect to the internet and bypass the cellular block Mark placed on my account.

The little Wi-Fi symbol pops up on the screen, and my device instantly floods with dozens of missed emails and automated calendar alerts.

I ignore the urgent emails from my office because I know I cannot show up for work today, and I open my internet browser to search for cheap bus tickets.

I scroll through the local transit schedules and find a route that heads two towns over, pricing the one-way ticket at exactly twenty-five dollars.

It will wipe out most of my remaining funds, but it will get me far enough away from Mark's penthouse to buy me a few days of hiding while I figure out a permanent solution.

I write the departure times down on a paper napkin with a pen from my purse, feeling a tiny spark of hope ignite in my chest as I realize I might actually survive this terrible nightmare.

The waitress returns a few minutes later and sets a steaming plate of yellow eggs in front of me, along with a tall glass of ice water.

"Here you go, honey, enjoy your meal," she says, placing a small paper check face-down on the edge of the table before walking away to check on another customer.

I pick up my silver fork and take a bite of the eggs, chewing slowly because my stomach is still tied in anxious knots from the stress of the morning.

The food is plain and a little rubbery, but I force myself to eat every single bite so I have enough energy to carry my heavy duffel bag out of the motel.

I finish the glass of water and wipe my mouth with a paper napkin, mentally preparing myself for the long journey ahead of me.

I pick up the paper check and read the total printed at the bottom, relieved to see the meal only costs six dollars and fifty cents just like I predicted.

I grab my wallet from my purse and slide my personal debit card out of the leather slot, deciding to save my physical cash for the bus fare just in case the station machines are broken.

I stand up from the booth and smooth the wrinkles out of my coat before walking up to the front register near the door.

The same waitress walks out from the kitchen and steps behind the counter, typing my order total into the old electronic till.

"Everything taste okay for you?" she asks, taking my debit card from my outstretched hand with a polite nod.

"Yes, it was perfect, thank you," I reply, offering her a genuine smile as I wait for the transaction to clear.

She swipes the magnetic strip of my card through the side of the machine and waits for the digital screen to process the small payment.

I drum my fingers nervously against the counter, calculating exactly how long it will take me to walk from this diner to the bus station downtown.

If I leave right now, I can grab my bag from the motel room and catch the noon departure without running into any issues on the road.

The credit card machine suddenly beeps loudly, emitting a harsh, sharp tone that echoes through the quiet restaurant and makes me jump.

The waitress frowns and looks down at the digital display, tapping a few buttons with her finger before swiping my card a second time.

The machine rejects it again, buzzing with that same loud, angry beep that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up in alarm.

I freeze in place, staring at the small plastic card in her hand while a sickening sense of dread drops heavy into my stomach.

"Declined," the waitress sighs. "Sorry, honey, it says the card is flagged for fraud."