"Purple coat," the man barked, stepping deeper into the tavern. "About seven years old."
Chapter II: The Silent Glass
Behind the bar counter, the bartender stopped wiping down the wood with his towel. Along the high-top tables, four burly, bearded riders set their shot glasses down on the polished surface, their quiet conversations dropping into dead, icy silence.
Beneath the table, Maya trembled. Her throat was parched and burning from running through the snow.
Sitting on the floor inches from Dutch’s heavy combat boot was a clear glass of water that the biker had quietly set down for her moments before the door opened.
Moving with agonizing slowness, Maya extended her small, shivering hands, sliding the glass across the floorboards beneath the shadow of the tabletop, pulling it close to her chest without making a single sound.
Dutch watched the man take two more steps toward the center aisle.
Slowly resting his heavy, calloused hands on the edge of the table, Dutch leveled an unyielding, piercing glare straight into the intruder’s eyes.