“Thank you for the advice!” I called after him, shaking my head. My fingers itched to drag out my phone and listen to him.I was a loner—but not really. I wouldn’t be in an MC if I enjoyed partying alone.
The rain began to pound on the windows and that seemed to be some sort of signal to the universe because the door opened and closed constantly after that as people poured in and packed the seats. I whiled away the hours in a sweet tobacco and caffeine haze with an open sketchbook. I drew the man who’d served me. A couple of the old-timers who’d shown no sign of leaving their table. One of the college kids with bright blue hair. I was feeling more like myself—and maybe also feeling a teeny bit guilty that I hadn’t called Will to warn him about the impending arrival of his mother—when the window to my left fractured.
I’d never been near a plateglass window that shattered, a waterfall of diamonds cascading everywhere. I hit the deck, years of instinct kicking in. Everyone else in the café had the same idea. The sound of gunfire popping off outside made me scramble along to the glass doors to peek out.
“My fucking bike better not get shot up,” I growled, slapping my palm on the floor. My hand burned and there was a streak of blood, but I figured I must’ve picked up a piece of the glass from the window.
On the street nearby, a boxy armored car, the kind used to collect money and transport it for big businesses, was surrounded on all sides by guys on motorcycles. The bikes looked weird. The paint jobs were strange. Plus, three of them were pulling empty metal trailers. I didn’t know the riders. They weren’t Demons and they definitely weren’t fucking Kings. The prez would kill us for doing something this stupid in broad daylight.
The gunfight was brutal. I counted six bikers, and they all had handguns out laying down lead. The men in the truck were shooting. Pure chaos surrounded the small scene, but I didn’t hear the telltale sound of sirens.
Very strange.
One of the bulletproof windows on the truck had enough and shattered. The idiot inside who’d been firing out probably shouldn’t have lowered it to get the muzzle of his gun outside.
The guy in the truck was shouting something at the bikers during the ensuing lull in shots fired, so I pushed open the door.
“Derek Uhlig is going to fucking rip out your guts.” The man let out a sound that was almost a scream, and I realized he was gripping a bloody wound on his arm. “Are you fucking stupid or what?”
The bikers must not have cared because the guard took a bullet to the head.
My stomach dropped all the way to my toes. One of the men robbing the truck reached in the broken window—they must be packing real artillery to smash that glass—and opened the door. Everyone had their helmets on and visors down.
Who the fuck were these guys?
The one directing everything had a distinctive build, but that didn’t help much, since I couldn’t see his face. I couldn’t help but mentally sift through everyone I’d ever seen on a bike in their gear.
Could it be a Demon? I didn’t think so.
He strutted along, shoulders twisting, like he lifted too many weights and was top heavy.
The operation was tight. They had the truck cleaned out in under twenty seconds and were gone on their bikes. The guy who’d snagged my attention was on a BMW. That fact picked at my brain, but there was so much going on with people inside the café screaming and yelling.
Breath wouldn’t enter my lungs for a few seconds. My body trembled as I tried to process everything I’d seen. I couldn’t get over what I’d heard. Who was dumb enough to fuck with Uhlig? There was a dead man on the ground. One in the truck. At leastthirty duffel bags that were probably cash had been hauled out of that truck.
I’m a King. I have a bike. I was here.
Those assholes had stolen money from DerekfuckingUhlig.
“Nope, nope, fucking nope.” I grabbed my wallet out of my back pocket and tossed cash onto the counter, then dumped the glass off my sketchbook and stuffed it in my bookbag before zipping it up. I didn’t even bother grabbing my pencils, just hopped through the broken window and directly to my bike.
My right palm burned as I got on and fired her up, and I was starting to breathe regularly again when I got onto the street. I was about two blocks away when three black SUVs ran my bike off the road onto a sidewalk.
“Fuck my life!” I was surrounded. Vehicles on all sides and the brick wall of a business at my back. I was trapped.
My heart hammered as a door on the SUV to my right opened and a huge guy in a suit carrying the type of gun that could drop a tank aimed it at me.
“Don’t fucking move.”
“No shit,” I snapped back, raising my hands. Blood dripped down onto the sidewalk and the big man watched it.
The sound of sirens getting louder made us both look to the left.
“Get in the fucking SUV.”
“I had nothing to do with this!” I shook my head, hating that I felt fucking scared of these assholes. “I’m a King and those weren’t Kings!”
“Well, we’ll just have to see what your president has to say about this.” A man I had unfortunately run into in the past got out of the driver side of the car and glared at me. He whipped off his black sunglasses and pointed at the back seat. “Now. I’m not explaining myself to New Gothenburg’s finest assholes.” He sat down, slammed the door, and gunned the engine.
