“Miss, you can’t just ask for discounts,” he said loudly. “Rules are rules.”
The girl’s lower lip trembled.
“I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I didn’t mean to… I’ll put it back.”
She reached for the rice, her hands shaking so badly she almost dropped it.
That was when a deep voice cut through the noise.
“Don’t.”
The word wasn’t loud.
But it carried.
The supermarket went strangely quiet as a man in a black leather jacket stepped forward from another checkout line. He was tall, broad-shouldered, his jacket worn and creased like it had seen a thousand miles of road. A silver chain hung at his neck. His beard was streaked with gray, and his boots thudded softly against the tile as he walked closer.
A biker.
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