He is a walking, breathing threat.
"Step back, sir!" Buzz Cut yells, resting his hand on his holster. "Federal operation!"
The giant continues his steady approach without blinking. Halting right in front of the agent holding me, his gaze drops to the handcuffs on my wrists. A muscle feathers in his cheek.
"You're blocking the road," the giant says. His voice carries a heavy, gravelly weight that makes the very air feel thicker.
"We have a suspect in custody," Buzz Cut says, puffing his chest out. "Move your truck."
The giant shifts his gaze to me.
The world drops out from under me. Panic fades into buzzing static. His eyes lock onto mine, pinning me in place under cold, terrifying focus.
"State your name," he commands.
"Mia," I squeak. I clear my throat. "Mia Carlson."
His heavy brow dips. "You're the auditor."
"I… yes. I was hired by Peak Wilderness Outfitters."
He turns back to the agent. "She's employed by the Broken Halos Motorcycle Club."
Buzz Cut laughs, producing a nervous, ugly sound. "I don't care who she works for. She's going to federal prison."
Stepping closer, the giant invades the agent's personal space with the ease of a man who owns the pavement beneath his boots. "You're three miles outside city limits. You didn't clear this with the Sheriff. You didn't clear it with us."
"I don't need permission from a biker gang to enforce the law."
"You do when you're on this mountain," the giant says softly. "This isn't your jurisdiction. And she isn't your prisoner."
"Is that a threat?"
"It's a correction." The giant looks at the cuffs again. "Take them off."
"Or what?"
The giant moves with blinding speed. One massive hand shoots out, grabbing the agent’s wrist hovering near his gun. A violent twist produces a sickening pop. Buzz Cut drops to his knees in the slush with a strangled yelp.
The other agents draw their weapons.
"Don't," the giant warns, his expression utterly bored. "Fire a shot here, and none of you leave this mountain. My brothers are two minutes out. They lack my manners."
The roar of incoming motorcycles echoes off the canyon walls.
Buzz Cut wheezes on the ground, clutching his ruined wrist. "You're making a mistake. Obstruction of justice?—"
"She's under Broken Halos protection," the giant states.
Reaching into his pocket, he produces a small universal key. He doesn't wait for the agent to move; he crowds directly into my personal space, his chest a wall of solid muscle against my shoulder. He grabs my bound wrists, his massive hands dwarfing mine, and clicks the locks open. The metal clatters to the slushy pavement, and the relief is instantly replaced by the searing heat of his skin against my bruised wrists. My gaze drops to the metal falling away from my bruised skin.
"Universal," he murmurs. His thumb rubs over the red mark on my wrist where the metal bit in. Rough, calloused heat presses against my freezing flesh. My breath hitches, a sharp prickle of fire racing straight down my spine.
"Get in the truck," he commands.
"I can't just leave my car," I protest, though my voice lacks conviction. "And… are you kidnapping me?"
He pins me with that calculating stare. "Would you rather go with them?"
