Page 6 of Jacob

Dropping his hands to his thighs, he ran them up and down, finding he couldn’t sit still as the anticipation of seeing her again twisted in his gut. It was either that or the burrito from the last truck stop. As he rubbed his hand along his stomach, his knee jumped so rapidly it collided with the table.

“Quit shaking yourdamnleg,” Dash scolded from the opposite side of the vinyl booth while he scrolled through his phone. “It’s been years.” His friend didn’t look up from his swiping. He seemed oblivious to the nerves gnawing at Jacob’s insides. The man was obsessed with mindless games he downloaded on his phone.

“I know.” He dug his fingers into the jean and muscle to stop the involuntary shaking. “But I gotta start somewhere.”

Odin’s Fury Motorcycle Club, Montana Chapter, the mother chapter, had sent brothers to Ohio to oversee Bowie, the Roughneck Riders club president’s, progress in cleaning his house for the last four years. Ohio was a mess, riddled with tweakers and junkies. Years of bad business had driven the club into the ground, but that ground was valuable. Talks between the Roughneck Riders and Odin’s Fury were leaning toward patching over—a mutually beneficial merger where the larger club would absorb the smaller. Dash and Jacob’s turn in the rotation came, and they were there to observe and report back.

“We coulda’ started later, after a nap,” Dash stated the obvious on a heavy sigh, putting his phone face down as he met Jacob’s eye.

With a quick shake of his head, Jacob rejected the suggestion. “Last time, I missed her at this time.” He tapped his index finger down on the table for emphasis.

Groaning, the older of the two bikers scrubbed his face with his hands. “That was three years ago,” he said before he wrapped his fingers around his blond goatee.

Clad in skinny jeans and a pink t-shirt with the diner logo stretched over her tits, a cute little redhead bopped over to their table. Her shining grin showed she wasn’t the least bit phased by their dirty, leather-clad appearance. Either the bikers came here often or they looked better than truckers.

One more survey around the diner. Taking in the other patrons, Jacob decided they were the most attractive customers she had that morning. His gaze lingered on the swinging door of the kitchen. Hopeful, he ran his tongue over his bottom lip, held his breath, and willed her to come out. Three years. Seven years. It’d all be worth it if she just walked out that door.

Instead, a man wearing dirty chef pants, a long, stained apron, and a hairnet came out carrying a large tray of steaming, freshly cleaned glasses.

Jacob had been a prospect three years ago. He thought he saw her leaving the diner in the morning—shift change, he’d assumed. Later, the next morning, before they left, he found that she’d left him a letter at the desk. The letter he carried in his pocket.

Patting his cut, as though checking to see if it were still there, he recited the letter in his head:

Jacob,

Was that you? I want it to have been you. I’ve missed you.

I’m sorry,

Sparrow

Four sentences. Seventeen words. He couldn’t shake them from his mind. Since that day, since they’d left, he vowed to make it back into the diner and look for Sparrow.

Club business, and disposing of a body, he’d never gotten the chance. He was the son of the VP, he couldn’t put off club business for a woman. He had to do what he had to do. TV, movies, hell, even books made it sound like getting rid of a body was an easy business. Fucking hours. That shit takes fucking hours. The Roughneck Riders prospect had been no fucking help at all. No goddamn lye. He threw up more than he shoveled. He couldn’t swing an ax to save his life. Useless as tits on a goddamn bull.

This time, he wasn’t taking the chance. They’d barely had the keys to the rooms in their hands before he charged toward the diner. And Dash, ever the supportive brother, was hot on his heels. Then again, he might have been there to laugh in his face or mock him. It could go either way.

“You two ready to order?” the waitress asked, popping her gum.

“You got a lollipop girl back there?” Dash asked with a grin, pointing toward the kitchen.

Glaring, Jacob tried to punch him across the table while the waitress looked on dumbfounded.

“Huh?” she asked, tilting her head. Her ponytail bopped along with her.

The odds were against them. Three years? Who worked at a diner for three years? Not Sparrow. Nah, she was too smart for that shit. She was off at school somewhere. She had a better job for sure. She wasn’t still at the diner.Nah. Bad idea. Time to abort. He missed his shot.

“Don’t listen to him. Coffee. To go, and some, I don’t know, club sandwiches,” Jacob said. He’d been crazy to think she’d still be there.

The girl scribbled on her pad and had turned about to leave.

“Hold on.” Dash pretended to look over his menu. “Maybe I don’t want a club sandwich.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. “You said it yourself, it’s been years,” Jacob argued.

The waitress peered between them as though unsure what to do.

Putting the menu down, ignoring him, the older of the two grinned at the young waitress. “Tell me.” He joined his hands over the table. “You know a girl around town with a bird name?”

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