It’s like someone sucked the joy right out of the air around us. The happy atmosphere from a few minutes ago now replaced by a tension so thick it’s like a weight on my shoulders.
No one moves,fuck, I’m not sure anyone evenbreathesfor the next few seconds.
“Should we go?” Ash says, barely audible, not wanting to draw anyone’s attention. Especially not the bikers over the road who’ve positioned themselves to face what’s coming.
I shake my head. “No.”
While Ash’s got his gaze fixed on me, I have a clear view of everything: the smirks being exchanged by the four Feral Beasts,and the unmistakeable sight of Lynx Harper—president of the Wild Wolves MC—sat astride his gleaming black Dyna as he rides towards us. Three others ride with him, but he holds all my attention.
Well, himandhis bike.
It’s a beauty. From the custom handlebars to the detailed wolf I know is etched onto the petrol tank. It’s not the first time I’ve admired it.
Or him.
Because as hot as his bike is, Lynx Harper is a million times hotter. Tall, built, with jet-black hair and scruff. The two of them together make my pulse race and my stomach clench. It’s a wonder I’m not drooling right now.
Ash kicks me under the table, hard enough to make me hiss.
I give mywhat the fuckeyes and he rolls his in return.
“You arsehole.” He jabs a thumb over his shoulder. “We’re gonna get caught up in a biker brawl, all because you’ve got a thing forcriminals.”
He’s not wrong. On either count.
Well, maybe about getting drawn into their fight.
“We won’t.”
Ash mutters something I don’t catch, both hands clutching his pint as if that might save him, but I notice he doesn’t move either.
I’m not the only one with athingfor a bad-boy biker. He just won’t admit it.
He turns slightly, watching as the four Wild Wolves come to a stop outside the pub and turn off their engines.
The sudden silence is deafening, and I swear you could hear a pin drop for the two seconds it lasts.
“The fuck you doing here, Birch?” Lynx snarls the words, voice rough and deep and so fucking sexy, even with the death glare he’s sporting. If I was on the receiving end of all that, I’m pretty sure I’d be both hard and terrified right now.
None of the Feral Beasts so much as flinch.
The blond one, Birch, turns and leans back against the table they’re sat at. “Just passing through.” He holds out a hand, gesturing around them. “It’s a nice day. Thought we’d stop for a drink.” He talks like they’re old friends, like he can’t see the way Lynx’s hands curl into fists or his murderous expression.
Lynx’s gaze snaps to the four almost empty pint glasses on the table. “Looks like you’re finished, so do everyone a favour and fuck off.”
With the worst timing in the world, Kira, one of the servers at the Old Bell, comes out the side door to collect glasses. She’s small, dark haired, and very pretty, and she’s also in a world of her own and doesn’t notice the standoff happening right in front of her.
But they notice her.
Kira went to school with us, we’ve known her for years, but even if we didn’t, I’d still hate the way two of those sat at the table leer at her. Hungry, like they want to eat her right up and they don’t strike me as the type to ask permission first. One of them grins, rubs a hand over his groin, then reaches that same hand out to make a grab for her arse. As terrified as I am to get involved, I can’t sit here and do nothing while some wanker tries to feel her up.
“Kira!” I yell at the exact same time as Lynx shouts, “Stop!”
She yelps and jumps a mile, dropping glasses onto the grass, but takes a reflexive step back, successfully evading any wandering hands.
Blood drains from my face as I feel everyone’s gaze snap my way.
Everyone’s but Lynx’s, that is.
