Chapter Forty-One
The heavy wooden doors of the clubhouse swung open, letting in a cool breeze that swept away the lingering scent of stale beer and floor wax. The lunch rush had finally died down, and the main bar was quiet, save for the rhythmic hum of the neon beer signs and the quiet clink of glasses as I wiped down the counter.
I was exhausted, my shoulders aching from a long shift, but it was a good kind of tired. For the first time, I felt like I was finding my footing here. I wasn't just a guest or a liability; I was contributing.
The front door chimed again, and I looked up, expecting a prospect or a local regular.
Instead, a group of three men in dark, tailored suits walked in. They stood out like neon lights in a dark room. The entire bar went dead silent. The few patched me
