The bar wasn't packed, but the sounds of the small biker gang around the pool table made the establishment feel smaller. They were laughing now, and obnoxiously so. You couldn't help but look over again.

Ghost was the quietest out of the four. His concentration was narrowed on the game rather than the rowdiness.

He prepared to take the shot but hesitated. Ghost's eyes met yours before he quickly looked down again. He thrust his pool stick forward, pocketing a solid.