Free Web NovelChapter 115: Chapter 115 - Seduction
Malcolm looked at the hand, then shifted his eyes to Cyborg without touching it.
"When can we get back to the road."
Cyborg’s mouth curved, entertained. "Tomorrow. Mechanics will get to the vehicles tonight."
Pauline’s lip moved at the corner, amused rather than offended, her eyes staying on Malcolm like she had found something worth noting.
Marco pushed off the bar and stepped into closer with a grin already set, rolling his shoulders like he was about to close a deal. He swept one hand out, pointing around the room, then back at them, catching eyes as he went.
"Look around," he said. "This is the Route."
He pointed toward the bar. Winked at Waldo. "Drinks that don’t taste like fuel."
Then the stage. "Entertainment that doesn’t involve running for your life."
He gestured wider, pulling the whole place into the pitch. "Hot food. Clean water. Music every night. Beds with real sheets."
His eyes landed on Iyisha and the other girls, his smile easy, practiced. "And a show later that’ll make you forget where you came from. I promise."
Cyborg watched him with clear approval, a satisfied look crossing his face. "See," he said, amused. "Told you."
Marco laughed softly, tapping the bar once like punctuation. "But first," he said, pointing toward the inner corridors, "you eat. Trust me. The chef can make you want internet again just to rate him 5 star."
Cyborg nodded, grinning, already turning. "Come on."
He turned and started walking.
No one followed right away.
Iyisha hesitated, her feet staying planted as her eyes swept the space ahead, then back toward the bar, the exits, the people who were not looking at them but felt aware all the same. Waldo shifted his weight. Lauren lingered. Brix stalled, overwhelmed by the noise and movement.
The Route pressed in on all sides.
Then Malcolm moved.
He stepped forward without a word and followed Cyborg into the narrower passage.
That broke it.
Iyisha went immediately, falling in at his side, her shoulder nearly brushing his arm. The others followed in his wake, one by one, drawn forward by the simple fact that he had decided.
They moved deeper into the building, past the bar and stage, the music dropping away behind them. Walls closed in and the noise thinned, laughter cutting off as doors and partitions swallowed the sound.
The restaurant sat on the other side, bright and orderly, tables spaced cleanly, people seated and eating like this was scheduled and expected. Inside the doors, the sound changed completely. No bass. No shouting. Just cutlery, low conversation, a piano playing slow and steady in the corner.
No one moved.
Iyisha’s hand tightened on Malcolm’s arm. The smell of food hit hard enough to make her stomach twist, and that alone made her distrust the place more.
Cyborg did not look back. He pushed the door open and stepped inside.
Malcolm followed.
That was enough.
Iyisha went with him, crossing the threshold fast, her eyes already moving, counting tables, exits, the space between people. Waldo and the others trailed behind, less certain, heads turning, hands restless.
A server approached immediately, posture straight, expression calm, like they had been expecting them. Menus appeared in their hands, clean, intact.
"Inside or outside," the server said, gesturing toward the glass wall. "Your choice."
The chef appeared from a side corridor in a clean white coat, sleeves rolled, smiling wide as he moved straight to Cyborg and clasped his forearm like they had been expecting each other.
"You came in heavy tonight," the chef said, clearly pleased. "Didn’t know you were bringing guests."
Cyborg laughed, relaxed. "Didn’t plan it. Feed them well."
"Of course," the chef said, already nodding. "Anything they want. House takes care of it."
Lauren pulled her arms tighter across her chest and leaned toward Iyisha, her voice low and tight. "What if we are the meal?"
Iyisha’s stomach turned as she looked around and saw other customers already eating, forks moving, faces loose and happy, the piano playing like nothing in the world had ended.
"I don’t think so," she whispered, though the words felt thin as Mary’s voice echoed in her head, the Route takes everything from you, and suddenly the question formed sharper, luxury in exchange for what resources, food, labor, their bodies?
The chef laughed at something Cyborg said and walked back toward the kitchen, leaving the smell of cooked food hanging in the air.
Cyborg returned to the table and grinned when he saw their faces. "This is free," he said. "For Malcolm’s friends."
Waldo blinked. Lauren stiffened. Iyisha looked up slowly.
"I would take everything you have if not for my best friend," Cyborg added, then pulled Malcolm closer with an easy arm around his shoulders.
Iyisha froze and stared at them, her mouth parting before she could stop herself, best friend?
Cyborg caught her look and laughed. "Yeah," he said. "If I have one, it is him."
Iyisha’s eyes flicked back to Malcolm, disbelief and irritation mixing as she watched him accept it without comment, the piano still playing, plates beginning to arrive like nothing had shifted at all.
Malcolm did not react to it at all. He did not smile, did not correct it, did not acknowledge it in any way, and that was what made the heat rise in her chest, sharp and immediate, because that title should have been hers, and the thought hit so fast it startled her.
She pressed her palm to her forehead, fingers digging in as the realization hit.
How ridiculous that sounded?
Why did she need to contest anything that belonged to Malcolm?
When did she start measuring herself against the people in his life?
When did she start believing she was the only person he remotely cared about?
And why did the existence of this man suddenly make her feel smaller? Less special?
She stayed there a second too long.
When she peeked through her fingers, Malcolm was already a few steps away, standing near a table by the window, waiting. Everyone else had stopped because he had stopped.
She felt her face heat as she dropped her hand and walked toward them, the embarrassment easing with every step she closed, because the moment she reached his side, the tension inside her loosened.
He had waited.
That was enough.
Whatever she had imagined losing settled back into place, steady again, as she took her seat and realized she had never actually been left behind at all.
Plates arrived one after another and the table filled fast.
Steaks were set down first, thick and perfectly cooked, juices bleeding into the plates. Mashed potatoes followed, smooth and rich, asparagus laid neatly beside them like the world outside had never fallen apart. Dessert came without being asked for, dark chocolate cake still warm, the smell alone enough to make Iyisha feel unsteady.
For a moment, no one moved.
Iyisha stared at the food, her thoughts slipping, the question forming without words, who are we to be here, where are we really. It felt like being caught in a beautiful mistake.
Waldo exhaled slowly. Lauren sat rigid, arms tight around herself. Brix looked overwhelmed, eyes darting. Marybeth leaned back in her chair, watching the room instead of the plates, her jaw tight, like she was counting costs instead of courses.
Servers moved in and out, refilling glasses, clearing plates as soon as they were finished, resetting the table with practiced ease. The piano kept playing, steady and calm.
Cyborg watched all of it with a satisfied smirk. "You are in for a night," he said.
More dishes disappeared. The table looked untouched again.
"You have only scratched the surface of the Route," he continued, voice easy. "After tonight’s show," he added, smiling wider, "you might never leave."
