He pulls me up.
My legs barely cooperate, but I move. Arson clears a path. Piston blocks the closest biker with a look that promises violence.
The bell above the coffee shop door jingles as we spill outside into the cold air.
I suck in a breath as if I’ve been underwater.
My whole body is trembling.
Tony keeps an arm around me, steering me toward the SUV while Arson and Piston flank us. They scan the streets with lethal intensity.
Through the window, I see the Bushrangers still trapped in a swarm of curious journalists.
For now.
“They found me,” I whisper, my voice barely there.
Tony squeezes my shoulders. “Sweetheart, they found fabulous chaos and walked straight into it.”
But I don’t laugh.
Because I know that next time, they won’t be so easily distracted.
Once we’re in the SUV, I expect Arson to drive off, but he doesn’t. Instead, he pulls out his phone.
“We’re outside, and Zara is safe,” he says when whoever is on the other end answers. “Yeah, all six of them tried to corner Zara in the coffee shop. Her friend Tony caused a distraction so we could get her out.” He’s silent as he listens. “They’re still here. The journalists have them trapped for now.” Silence. “You’re sure you want to do that? Okay, we’ll wait here.”
“What’s going on?” Piston asks.
“The club’s coming. Chrome wants to confront them. This should be interesting. Bush is on his way, too.”
“What? Why? What if they see him?” I ask in a panic.
“Bush is hoping they do see him. He wasn’t going to keep hiding. That’s not who he is,” Arson tells me. “It’s better we control the narrative. Besides, they’re about to learn that we weren’t buying their schtick. They tried to tell us that they weren’t here to cause trouble. They thought they had us fooled. Bush’s presence proves otherwise. We won’t give them time to regroup.”
I fully expect to see the Bushrangers escape the coffee shop before the Demon Dawgs show up, but the roar of motorcycles grows louder as the Demon Dawgs arrive. At the same time, the Bushrangers try to extricate themselves from the women inside. The Demon Dawgs arrive in a large group. A dozen or so men stalk past the SUV and aim for the coffee shop. Piston and Arson both open their doors before Arson turns and pins us with a look.
“Don’t leave this SUV. I’ll lock it when I get out. It’s bulletproof, and the windows are tinted. They can’t see you in here.”
I nod while Tony gives him two thumbs up. Arson shakes his head before stepping out and locking the doors. He rounds the hood and joins the other men on the sidewalk. When I see Bush, I can’t look away. He’s standing at the front of the group, nearest the door. Next to him is Chrome. Bush is focused on the men inside, but he spares a single look over his shoulder to the SUV. I feel his eyes on me even though I don’t think he can see me. The calm expression on his face relieves some of my fear. Some, but not all.
Chrome opens the door to the coffee shop, but instead of going inside, he shouts something. I don’t hear his words over the sound of the traffic going by. However, I think he’s calling out the Bushrangers. They come pouring out, which confirms my suspicion.
I’m shaking again—but this time I’m inside the safety of the Demon Dawgs’ SUV.
Tony grips my hand in the back seat while we watch through the tinted windows.
Outside, the street has transformed into something out of a war movie or a documentary on biker wars.
The Dawgs form a loose circle, leather cuts and broad shoulders boxing the Australians in. The pedestrians have scattered. Even traffic seems to hesitate in the street to watch.
At the center stands Chrome.
He looks calm. Too calm. Arms folded over his chest, stance relaxed, but there’s nothing soft about him.
The Bushrangers’ president actually smiles at first, spreading his arms like he’s greeting old friends. I can’t hear the words, but I can read body language. Mock warmth. Fake reunion.
Then everything shifts.
