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“WE’VE BEEN WAITING for you and your friend.” The human pit bull Bronx apparently yanked off Jade earlier, glares at me.
His pinched face looks like he swallowed a hornet and liked it.
I can already feel the adrenaline pulsing through my veins.
A cigarette hits the ground, ten feet away from us, beside a row of bikes. The boot of that asshole crushes the glowing end, never taking his eyes off me.
Apparently, he’s looking for another fight.
Bring. It. Fucking. On.
“Uh, not to alarm you, big brother.” Dean elbows my side. “But I think the Sons of Anarchy have summoned you.”
They’re too far away to hear his low tone. Six of ‘em to be exact. A wall of leather, tattoos, and raw rage.
I’m ready. No hesitation. They picked the wrong night to be assholes.
Beck stops chewing his toothpick long enough to mutter, “Either we’re about to get in a fight, or we’ve stumbled into a very aggressive line dance. If we’re being honest, I don’t like either option.”
“I like a good fight,” Levi says.
“I like a good line dance,” Wheeler says.
The bikers climb off their motorcycles, lined up along the no-parking zone on Main Street. Chains rattle as they shift weight, boots scrape the pavement with slow, deliberate menace. Their bikes gleam behind them like steel backup.
One of the younger ones keeps bouncin’ on the balls of his feet. He’s too eager, like a puppy with a switchblade. Another one of them pops his neck—a clear warning.
“What did you do?” Dean taps two fingers against his thigh like he’s keeping time, just waiting for the first note to drop.
One of his guys pounds a fist into his open palm. Classic move. Zero originality.
“I didn’t do nothin’.” Except send Jade straight into this asshole’s hands.
The biker with the goatee adjusts his vest, chin tilted, eyeing each of us.
“I guess in that case, they probably just wanna borrow a cup of sugar,” Dean says. “And by sugar, I mean your face. And by borrow, I mean punch.”
Gus, the local hound dog, howls down the road, like he knows something’s about to go sideways.
“Maybe they’re here to compliment my jeans.” My dry tone laces with amusement.
I needed this tonight. I don’t care how many of them there are, I have enough rage to take on the entire group.
“Thought I’d give you and your friend a chance to say sorry before I rearrange your face. Where is he, by the way?” Asshole’s voice travels the distance.
“Who were you with—”
“Bronx,” I cut off.
Beck scoffs. “Shit. What did you two do?”
“Stopped them from turning a no into a felony.” And I’m going to make damn sure they don’t forget tonight.
“Which means?” Wheeler tilts his head at me, jaw tight.
“He cornered a woman. Bronx gave him an out. He didn’t take it. So he gave him a push instead.”
