Control
846 Words
Alexandra:
The engine beneath me growled like it had something to prove. She was loud, loyal, and just as mean as I was. When we tore into the parking lot, tires skimming blacktop, the Siren's Syndicates followed in a tight V-formation. Chrome and thunder, steel and fire. Every head inside that diner probably snapped toward the windows before the first boot hit pavement.
Good.
Let 'em look.
I parked last, slow and deliberate. Not because I liked to make an entrance, also I f*****g do, but because watching the world from behind gave me control. A second longer to size everything up. Who was watching. Who was armed. Who was twitchy. Who had something to hide.
The heat pressed down like a goddamn fever outside, baking the scent of oil, asphalt, and old grease into my skin. I could smell cigarette ash, hot rubber, and last night’s mistakes lingering in the air.
I unstrapped my helmet and swung a leg over the bike, boots hitting ground with a practiced thud. The chain at my waist clinked against my gun, a low reminder of weight I carried for more than just style. My girls—Elle, Bex, Wyn, and Kandi—fanned out like a pack of wolves in leather. Eyes scanning. Voices low.
We didn’t dress for attention. We were the attention.
My gaze flicked to the street.
A black-and-white cruiser sat across the way. Empty.
Nope.
Scratch that.
One of the windows caught movement. A booth in the corner. Two men. Cops. The one with too much hair gel was waving fries around like he was reenacting some courtroom drama.
But the other one...
He wasn’t moving. Wasn’t eating. Wasn’t talking. Just watching.
Me.
Blue shirt, sleeves rolled. Badge clipped to his belt, forearms planted on the table like he owned the truth and was waiting for me to confess to something.
He didn’t smirk. Didn’t leer. Didn’t do what every other man with a badge or a hard-on usually did when they saw me walk up.
He looked like he was trying to figure me out.
Like he’d been waiting for me and didn’t know why.
That? That was dangerous.
I turned away before he could think I cared.
"Luce still dark?" I asked Elle without looking.
She flicked her lighter. Took a drag. The flame lit her cheekbones like a sinner’s halo.
"Yeah," she muttered. "Two days now. Something’s off."
My jaw ticked. Luce wasn’t the type to vanish without a heads-up. Not unless she was dead or bleeding.
"We eat," I said. "Then we go look."
Inside, the diner fell silent the second we stepped through the door. Classic. It always took a minute for the civilians to recalibrate when they saw us—when they realized we were women, sure, but not the soft kind. Not the safe kind. Not the kind they could underestimate.
I scanned the booths, the counter, the exits. The cop was still in the corner. Still watching. My mouth curled just slightly.
Let him watch.
Let him wonder.
We grabbed a booth near the back, the girls slumping into the red vinyl like queens claiming thrones. I moved to the counter. Didn’t need a meal. Just coffee. The kind that scalded your tongue and woke up the past.
"Black," I told the server, voice flat.
As the cup filled, I turned.
My eyes met his through the window.
Still there. Still watching.
There was no hunger in his gaze. No flirtation. Just intensity. Like I was a case file he hadn’t solved yet. Like I didn’t fit into the neat little world he knew, and that rattled something.
I lifted my cup in a silent toast, took a long sip, then pushed out the door again. The sun slapped me like a jealous ex, but I didn’t flinch. I walked back to my bike and leaned against the seat, leather biting into my shoulders.
I could feel his eyes still on me.
So I looked back.
This time, I didn’t smile.
I stared.
I let the moment stretch, my coffee warm in my palm, my heartbeat calm and controlled. One second. Two. Three.
He blinked.
I didn’t.
Game, set, match.
Kandi popped out of the diner behind me, chomping on a piece of gum like she wanted to start a fight.
"He’s cute," she said, nodding at the window.
"Too clean," I muttered.
"You like clean."
"I like control."
She smirked. "You gonna f**k the cop or fight him?"
"Maybe both."
She let out a low laugh. "That’s our girl."
The girls filed out behind her, loaded with food and mouths full of noise. My family. My saucy sirens.
And behind them, through that glass, the golden boy was still watching.
We kicked our bikes into gear, tires squealing on pavement. My heart thrummed like a war drum as we peeled out of that lot. I didn’t look back.
Didn’t need to.
Because I knew he was still there.
Burning the sight of me into his memory.
And maybe I was doing the same.
- Writer
