THE SHADOW UNDER TABLE THREE
Chapter I: The Bursting Door and the Hunt
The heavy glass door of the roadside roadhouse flew open with a violent shove, rattling the frame as an icy winter draft swept across the linoleum floor.
Marching in with hurried, aggressive strides was a man in a dark utility jacket, jeans, and muddy boots. His eyes were wild, darting across the booths with predatory focus as he scanned the dimly lit room.
"I'm looking for a little girl," the man demanded, his voice sharp and demanding, cutting right over the low drone of the neon beer signs.
Hidden beneath the thick wooden tabletop of booth number three, curled into a tight ball, was seven-year-old Maya.
Dressed in a faded purple winter coat with dirt smudged across her cheeks, Maya held her breath in pure terror. Her small hands gripped her knees, her wide, tear-filled brown eyes locked onto the boots of the man who had been chasing her for three miles through the freezing woods.
Sitting directly above her at the table, leaning his broad frame against the wooden backrest, was Dutch—the battle-hardened president of the local motorcycle club. Dressed in a thick leather cut over a dark henley, with his salt-and-pepper beard resting across his chest, Dutch didn't flinch. He slowly raised his heavy, calculating gaze toward the intruder.