Page 57 of Kings Have No Mercy

“That really was your first time on a bike,” he says, sliding the menu across the table. “You did good. You panicked a little at the start. But by the end, you were relaxed and enjoying yourself. Next time we’ll need to get you a helmet.”

Next time.

My insides do another flip, though for a different reason. I pick up the laminated menu with a hint of a smile. “The $9.99 Sunny Side Up burger and fries special is really good. It’s everyone’s favorite.”

“How would you know?”

“So I hear. The waitress mentioned it.”

The suspicion lives on Mason’s face. He reaches for his coke and takes a drink.

We order our food and sit in silence for what feels like an agonizing eternity. Mostly because I’m left questioning if I’ve been more obvious than I thought. If at any second Mason’s going to flip the script and reveal he knows my secret truth—I’ve not only lied about Teysha and the diner, I’ve been lying my entire time with the Kings.

I’m undercover and I’m out for revenge on them.

My mind goes to my little purple book, which keeps all the secrets and truths I’ve discovered over the past couple of weeks.

“I wonder where they’ll stop,” Mason says. The comment’s a thought spoken aloud.

I take the opportunity for conversation. Anything to steer away from any suspicion.

“They’ll probably stop in Portales again. We’re pretty far ahead of them.”

“That’s ’cuz Velma was reluctant to leave. She’d glue herself to Tom if she could.”

I pick up my Diet Coke. “It’s sweet she misses your dad so much.”

“Not really.”

“Do you not like that they’re together?”

He shrugs. “I don’t give a shit either way.”

“Two burgers and fries,” Teysha says, appearing out of seemingly nowhere. She sets down our plates, briefly catching my eye with a subtle wink. “I’ll be up front if you need me.”

I pour salt and pepper on my fries. “You sure seemed like you gave a shit.”

“About… what? Tom and Velma?” He grunts out a short laugh. “You think I left ’cuz I’m pissed Tom and Velma are a thing? How much salt and pepper do you take on your fries?”

“A lot. And yes. That’s what it looked like.”

“Then maybe I gave you too much credit. What happened back there… it wasn’t about no damn relationship between Tom and Velma. Shit between my old man and me—it’s complicated.”

“You’re filling in for him.”

“So what?”

I shrug, finally setting down the salt and pepper shakers. “That’s a lot of pressure. You’re half his age with a third of his experience.”

Mason’s expression hardens into a glare.

“I’m not saying it as a way to diss you,” I clarify. “But it’s the truth, right? You’re younger. It’s a given. It doesn’t mean you’re not doing a good job. All the guys love you.”

“’Cuz you’d know.” He scoffs folding his arms and turning his agitated glare on the diner window. “You really think you’re some expert on the club. Didn’t we just establish you don’t know shit?”

“Maybe. But I know people. And the guys… they respect you. You’ve done a good job. If your father can’t see that, then that’s his problem.”

“I wish it was that simple. Tom’s a selfish prick. Always has been, always will be.”