chapter 5
1746 Words
The days bled together at A Place at the Table.
Sage’s body had adjusted long ago to the punishing 4 AM start, but her mind always resisted—especially now. Ever since Sunday night, her usual focus had frayed at the edges.
She’d thought she could shake it—shake him.
But Silas Creed had this way of sneaking into her mornings, even when he wasn’t there.
Tuesday started like any other.
The hiss of the griddle.
The rattle of plates.
The faint gospel hum coming from Bonnie in the back, who always sang low when she was hungover.
But there was something different.
Two new faces took a booth near the window—shaved heads, sunglasses, quiet, but observant. They weren’t regulars, didn’t order anything beyond coffee, and didn’t speak except in murmurs.
Sage brought their drinks with her usual half-smile. “Y’all want menus?”
One of them shook his head slowly. “We’re just waitin’ on someone.”
She left the table with a strange pit in her stomach.
They stayed for over an hour.
And didn’t leave a tip.
---
Wednesday brought more of the same, only this time the tension lingered.
One of the club prospects—Wes, she thought his name was—came in around six. Nervous, jittery, talking fast on the phone and pacing the parking lot like he was waiting for a fight.
When he finally came in, he sat at the counter and whispered, “Text Silas. Tell him someone’s sniffin’ around.”
She froze, coffee pot halfway to the burner.
He looked up at her, eyes bloodshot. “You’ve got his number. I know you do.”
Sage didn’t respond, didn’t nod—just turned, walked into the back, and stared at her phone.
She hated that he was right.
She hated more that she texted him anyway.
[Your boy’s nervous. Guy named Wes. Said to tell you someone’s sniffing around. Not my circus.]
[Be careful.]
That last part made her bite her lip the moment she hit send. Too much. Too personal.
But he replied within seconds.
[Thanks, angel.]
---
Thursday, things escalated.
She came out back on break just in time to hear raised voices in the alley. A man she didn’t recognize—slick suit, polished shoes, definitely not a biker—was standing nose-to-nose with Mason.
“You boys really think the feds don’t have ears in your clubhouse?” the man hissed. “You think your names don’t come across my desk?”
Sage stepped backward so fast her boot scraped gravel.
Mason didn’t yell. Didn’t punch. He just leaned forward and whispered something that made the suit flinch.
Then the man turned and walked away.
Right past her.
His eyes met hers for just a second.
And in that second, she saw something cold. Calculated. Dangerous.
She clocked the car waiting for him—black BMW, out of state plates. No doubt federal or worse.
And that’s when it hit her.
This wasn’t just a club.
This wasn’t just boys with bikes and bruises.
This was something else.
She leaned against the brick wall and exhaled slow.
She should stay out of it.
She should walk away.
But she didn’t.
---
Friday morning, her shift began with sirens.
Not close. But close enough.
And when she stepped inside, she caught a whisper from Bonnie’s nephew—he’d heard from someone who heard from someone that a body turned up near the old mill road.
Sage’s hands shook as she buttered toast.
By nine, Silas walked through the door.
Not for pancakes. Not for flirting.
He just leaned across the counter and said, “Come outside.”
She followed him around back, heart pounding harder with every step.
“Did you hear about the body?” she asked before he even spoke.
He nodded once. “Yeah.”
“You know who?”
Silas looked past her for a long second before answering.
“We’re handling it.”
That was all he said.
But his jaw was tight. His knuckles were scabbed. His shirt had a smear of something she hoped was oil.
“Silas…”
He turned to her. That same look in his eyes—worn, weighted, like he carried too much and was running out of places to put it.
“I didn’t want you pulled into this.”
She crossed her arms. “Too late.”
He didn’t argue.
Didn’t say sorry.
Just nodded, like he knew.
Because he did.
---
That night, Sage lay in bed staring at the ceiling.
She was smart enough to walk away.
Strong enough to survive on her own.
She’d done it before.
But now she’d seen the cracks in the surface.
Now she knew things—dangerous things.
And worse… she was starting to care.
About the club.
About what it meant to him.
About him.
And once you cared, you couldn’t go back.
Not really.
---
Saturday was the only day Sage bothered with makeup.
Not because she felt like she had to — no one in Sovereign Sons territory would dare say a word — but because The Pit Stop felt different after dark.
Gritty.
Loud.
Rough in the way that buzzed like a warning under her skin.
She always gave herself extra time on Saturdays — an hour to breathe, to steel her nerves, to pick out something that said, I see you, but don’t touch.
Tonight, she settled on black jeans, a faded band tee knotted at the waist, and a deep red lipstick she only wore for the bar. Her hair was tied in a messy bun — loose enough to look like she didn’t try, tight enough that no one could grab a handful.
The necklace she wore, small and silver, had been her mother’s.
It was the one thing no one saw — tucked beneath her shirt, resting right against her sternum like armor.
By 3:45, she was locking the door behind her.
By 3:55, she was parking behind the bar.
By 4:00, she was inside The Pit Stop — the heartbeat of the Sovereign Sons on a Saturday night.
---
She started with prep — cutting limes, filling ice wells, checking the taps. The usual rhythm helped her settle. The music was low now, just a pulse of outlaw country playing over the speakers. That would change by eight when the club filled the place.
And it would fill.
Sage didn’t need a flyer to know something was brewing — she could feel it in the air.
Mason was already there, scrubbing down tables like someone had lit a fire under his boots.
“You look… dangerous,” he said with a grin.
She shot him a look. “You offering a tip or just an observation?”
“Just sayin’, if I die tonight, I want it to be by a girl in lipstick like that.”
“Keep talking and I’ll put it in your coffee.”
He laughed and moved on.
---
The bar crowd swelled by 6:30 — regulars, hangarounds, a few faces she didn’t trust.
She poured drinks, dodged hands, cracked jokes with Brick when he leaned over the bar and said, “We might have a late night.”
She didn’t ask why. She just poured his whiskey and kept moving.
By 8:00, the club was in full swing.
Colors filled the room — black vests with gold embroidery, Sons patches loud and proud.
Silas walked in just before 8:30.
He didn’t say anything at first. Just stood across the bar, looking at her like he hadn’t been doing club business all day.
Like the world hadn’t cracked sideways the past few days.
Like she was something good in all the chaos.
“You workin’ or staring?” she asked finally, sliding a pint toward a hangaround.
He leaned in just enough for only her to hear. “I can do both.”
Sage rolled her eyes but felt the heat rise in her throat anyway.
“You okay?” he added.
She nodded, quickly. “I’m fine.”
But Silas watched her a second longer. Then he gave her a slow nod and stepped back into the crowd.
---
By 10:15, a brawl broke out.
Nothing serious — two cagers who didn’t know better, too drunk to read the room. They shoved each other, and one landed hard against the jukebox.
Silas and Brick were on them in seconds.
One got tossed out the front. The other walked himself out before his teeth followed.
Sage didn’t flinch.
She just wiped down the bar and poured another round for a table of club girls who called her Angel and asked if she’d ever thought about riding on the back of a chopper.
“I ride solo,” she said, smiling through her teeth.
But her eyes flicked to the corner where Silas now stood, arms crossed, watching the room like it belonged to him.
---
Near midnight, the vibe shifted again.
Two guys came in that no one knew. Didn’t flash colors. Didn’t order drinks. Just stood by the wall and watched.
Sage clocked it instantly.
So did Silas.
He crossed the floor slow, like a storm rolling in, and got in their space before they even had a chance to blink.
They didn’t raise their voices — but she saw how tight his jaw was. Saw one of the strangers nod and leave without a word.
The other lingered, gave Silas a look that meant something.
Something that turned her stomach.
Then he left.
Sage swallowed hard and turned back to the taps.
But something had changed.
Something was changing.
---
Closing time came like a sigh.
The music faded, the floors cleared, and she leaned on the bar with aching feet and sore shoulders.
Silas stayed behind to talk to Jack.
Sage pretended not to watch them, but she felt every pulse of tension in the room.
Finally, Silas crossed the bar and set his knuckles gently on the counter.
“Go home. Lock your door tonight.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Is something happening?”
He didn’t answer. Just looked at her. The kind of look that said everything he wasn’t allowed to say out loud.
Then he turned and walked into the dark.
And Sage was left standing behind the bar, hand resting on the counter where his had just been, wondering how far down the road she was already.
- Writer
