The roar of the engines wasn't just noise; it was a physical assault. Fifteen high-end, custom-built motorcycles—the kind that cost more than my college tuition—rolled down the sleepy main street of Blackridge like a sleek, black tide of carbon fiber and chrome.
I didn't need to look up from the grease-slicked table I was wiping to know who was at the front. In this town, there was only one man who commanded that kind of silence.
Caspian Thorne.
"Seraphina, honey, get the premium roast ready," Margie whispered, her voice tight with a warning I'd heard a thousand times. Whenever the Iron Howlers—Caspian's elite private security and investment syndicate—showed up, the atmosphere in the diner didn't just change; it pressurized. "And for God's sake, look presentable. These men don't just tip; they buy and sell people like us for sport."
I wasn't interested in being bought. I was twenty, broke, and counting down the seconds until I could escape this town and my mother's talent for attracting the most dangerous men in the state. But I needed the shift pay, so I straightened my apron and braced myself.
The bell above the door chimed, and suddenly the air in the small diner felt expensive. Leather, high-end cologne, and the cold scent of rain filled the space. I kept my head down, pouring coffee for the regulars, trying to remain invisible.
"Seraphina Carter?"
The voice hit me like a low-frequency vibration. It was smooth, dark, and carried the weight of a man used to being obeyed by entire boardrooms.
I looked up, and for a heartbeat, I forgot how to breathe.
Caspian Thorne stood three feet away. He was in his late thirties, his dark hair cut with surgical precision, silver just beginning to touch the temples. He didn't wear a biker's vest; he wore a tailored charcoal suit beneath a leather duster that cost more than the diner itself. But it was his eyes that trapped me—a piercing, icy amber that looked at me not as a waitress, but as a line item on a balance sheet he was currently auditing.
"That's me," I managed to say. I hated the tremor in my voice.
"Your mother mentioned you were working today." He didn't offer a hand; he simply watched me with an unnerving, predatory focus. "I'm Caspian. I've been... overseeing your family's interests for the last few months."
Of course he had. My mother, Lydia, collected powerful men like trophies, never realizing she was the one being hunted.
"Nice to meet you," I lied, stepping back.
As I moved, his hand shot out, catching my wrist. The contact was electric—not a spark, but a surge, like touching a live wire. I tried to yank back, but his grip was like a vice. His eyes narrowed, flashing with a sudden, dark intensity.
"You have your father's eyes," he murmured, his voice dropping so low it was for me alone. "And his recklessness. You shouldn't be here, Seraphina. Not today."
"I have a job to do," I snapped, finally pulling my arm free. My skin tingled where he'd touched me, a heat that wouldn't fade.
A younger man, built like a professional middleweight with sharp, observant eyes, stepped up to Caspian's shoulder. "Boss, the markets are opening in Tokyo. We need to be at the Citadel. Richard's firm is already moving on the short position."
Caspian didn't even look at him. His gaze remained locked on mine. "Jax, give us a minute."
"We don't have a minute. If the margin call hits before we secure the collateral—"
"I said give us a minute." The sheer authority in Caspian's tone made Jax instantly retreat. This wasn't just a businessman. This was a man who moved the world with a whisper.
Caspian reached into his coat and pulled out a heavy, black embossed business card. He pressed it into my hand, his fingers lingering against mine. That same surge of heat raced up my arm, making my heart hammer against my ribs.
"Call your mother," he said, his voice a dark promise. "The debt has come due, Seraphina. And Richard isn't a man who accepts cash for payment."
Before I could ask what he meant, he was gone. The Iron Howlers followed him out like a shadow, leaving the diner feeling cold and dangerously empty.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. A text from Mom.
We need to talk. I'm outside. Please don't be angry, Seraphina. I did this to save us. I love you.
Dread, cold and heavy as lead, pooled in my stomach. When my mother talked about "saving us," it usually meant she had set our lives on fire.
I looked out the window. Caspian was mounting his bike, but he wasn't looking at the road. He was looking directly through the glass at me, his amber eyes reflecting the morning light like a predator who had finally found the prize he'd been tracking for years.
I pressed my hand against my chest, trying to still the frantic rhythm of my heart. I didn't know what a "margin call" was, and I didn't know who Richard was.
But I knew one thing: Caspian Thorne hadn't come to Blackridge for my mother.
He had come for me.