Page 19 of Heat (The Royal HArlots MC, Quebec City-Canada #1)

Chapter Eighteen

Diamond rolled her bike to a stop outside the roadside diner. It was one of those places that felt untouched by time with neon lights still buzzing faintly even in daylight, chrome trim gleaming like someone cared, and the scent of bacon wafting all the way out to the parking lot.

The Harlots rolled in behind her one by one, their engines a staggered, rumbling symphony. Fourteen bikes. Fourteen women. A trail of road dust and long miles clinging to their boots.

As Diamond swung her leg off her Harley, Nova let out a low whistle.

“This place is a step back in time,” she said, pulling off her helmet and shaking loose a tangle of dark hair.

“Hell, it’s a whole different era,” Stix added, stretching with a groan that cracked her back.

Diamond pushed the door open, and they were immediately enveloped by warmth and nostalgia.

The soft hum of a jukebox in the corner spilled out a rock ‘n’ roll classic from the ‘50s.

Chrome fixtures and bright neon lights framed the cozy space, bouncing off the black-and-white checkered floors beneath their boots.

Inside, the diner buzzed with a gentle chaos: clinking plates, the hiss of a griddle, and the low murmur of conversation. It was the kind of place where the coffee was always hot and the waitresses called you “hun.”

Diamond inhaled deeply. Burgers, bacon, syrup, and coffee—it hit like comfort, curling warmly in her chest. It smelled like home, or as close as they got these days.

A waitress barely older than twenty bounced toward them, her ponytail swinging. “How many?”

Diamond offered her a polite smile. “Fourteen.”

The girl’s eyes went wide. “We don’t have a booth big enough for fourteen.”

She looked around helplessly, then offered, “If you don’t mind splitting up…”

“Whatever gets us seated, we’ll take it,” Nova said with a shrug.

Three booths opened quickly, and the girls piled in, red vinyl creaking under worn denim and leather. Jackets shrugged off. Elbows bumped. Laughter rolled.

Diamond slid into a seat at the end of the row, her back to the window so she could see the door.

Outside, their bikes sat like loyal beasts in a neat line, chrome glinting in the morning light. Across from her, Stix was already flirting with the waitress making the girl uncomfortable, and Nova was organizing coffee like a general deploying troops.

“Coffee all the way around for these three booths,” Nova said, tapping the table. “And you can do a classic breakfast times fourteen. Split the difference between bacon, sausage, and ham.”

The waitress blinked, then nodded and scribbled with the focus of someone who knew better than to argue.

Diamond smirked at Nova’s efficiency, then leaned closer, her voice dropping low. “Once we eat, we need to meet up with Shark and the N. Ontario Chapter. The sooner we get the package back to Quebec City, the better off we are.”

Nova didn’t miss a beat. “Copy that. We’ll eat, ride, and be gone before noon.”

The food arrived in waves. Plates stacked with pancakes, toast, scrambled eggs, and enough protein to fuel a small army. The girls dove in like they hadn’t eaten in days, conversation flying between bites.

One, still half-asleep, yawned into her cup of coffee, stirring in far too much sugar with slow, lazy circles. Another, sleeves of her hoodie hanging over her hands, stabbed at bacon without once looking up from her phone.

At the far end, Fifi—always dramatic, always telling stories—waved a piece of toast as she talked. “No, but seriously, I thought we were gonna die,” she said, voice rising as she recounted their last stop.

“You always think we’re gonna die,” mumbled Rio beside her in a band tee two sizes too big.

“Melodramatic much?” Stix said through a mouthful of eggs. “Fifi, you do always think we’re gonna die.”

FiFi shot her a look and held up her hands. “Do you not remember the same thing I do, Stix? The smoke? The screaming? The flaming chicken coop?”

“Oh my god, the chicken coop,” someone across the booth groaned, and the table broke into laughter again.

Stix snorted, wiping syrup off her mouth with a napkin. “I remember it a little differently, that’s all.”

But FiFi was already gearing up.

It had started with a simple route change. A shortcut, Nova claimed. A dirt road that wound behind a series of rundown barns and broken fences, somewhere in rural Ontario. The sun had been setting, painting everything in gold, and Fifi had just relaxed—right before all hell broke loose.

First came the smoke.

Thick, black plumes curling into the air from a shed behind the last house on the road. Then a scream—sharp, high-pitched, and utterly non-human.

“What the hell is that?” Fifi had yelled, skidding her bike to a halt.

Before anyone could answer, a figure came running out of the smoke. A man in overalls, wielding a fire extinguisher in one hand and dragging a flaming tarp in the other.

Then the coop exploded.

Okay—notexploded—but it definitely fell from its perch in the tree, which raised a lot of questions Fifi still didn’t have answers to.

The structure hit the ground in a shower of feathers, ash, and angry clucking.

A chicken launched itself into the air like a feathered missile and dive-bombed Stix’s helmet.

“I WAS UNDER ATTACK,” Fifi said loudly, now at the table, gesturing wildly with her fork.

“From a chicken,” Stix muttered with a smirk.

“That thing was possessed,” Fifi insisted. “Its eyes were glowing.”

“They were not glowing.” Nova chuckled.

Fifi stared at Nova. “I saw smoke and fire and?—”

“You screamed like a cartoon character and fell into a pile of hay bales,” Nova said helpfully.

Fifi huffed. “And did I not manage to get the extinguisher from the guy and put out the flames?”

“You sprayed me with it,” Stix snarled at her friend.

Fifi slapped the table, struggling not to laugh. “You were on fire!”

“I had a spark on my boot!” Stix said, shaking her head.

Laughter rolled again, and even Diamond cracked a smile behind her coffee cup. Fifi folded her arms, chin lifted. “Point is—we survived.”

“Barely,” Stix said.

“And that chicken’s probably still telling its friends about us,” someone added from the next booth.

Diamond said nothing, but her gaze drifted to the window again, toward the horizon. Chickens, smoke, chaos—it was always something. But her girls? They came through it every time.

She let herself lean back for a moment, soaking it in. The sound of her girls teasing, eating,living.It wasn’t peace exactly, but it was something close. A pocket of calm before the road pulled them forward again.

The waitress circled back, topping off mugs with practiced ease.

Outside, a pack of bikers thundered past, the roar of engines swallowing the quiet for a beat. One girl turned toward the window, watching the blur of chrome and leather disappear down the long stretch of highway.

“That’ll be us later today,” she murmured, dragging the last piece of her pancake through syrup.

No one disagreed.

Diamond checked her watch, then pushed her plate aside. “Alright. Finish up. Tip well. Helmets on in fifteen.”

Nova gave a mock salute, already tossing cash on the table.

The warmth of the diner clung to them as they filed back outside, but the chill of the wind and the weight of the day ahead were waiting. Business didn’t stop for breakfast.

And the road was calling.