Chapter 10 Save a Tire, Hit a Biker
HART
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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.”
“A push or a punch?”
I shrug. “I reckon both. I only caught the tail end.”
“Well, hell.” Dean rolls up his sleeves. “And here I was tryin’ to stay clean today.”
“Come on now. Don’t get all quiet now.” The headmistress honcho runs his tongue over his teeth. “Weren’t shy when you followed her out of the men’s bathroom like a dog in heat. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”
I feel my brother’s eyes burn holes in me.
“Did you notice when she said no? Or do you need a lesson about consent, big guy? I know it’s a foreign language to some.” I square my shoulders and shift my weight to the balls of my feet, bracing for whatever unfolds.
“That’s not gonna help,” Dean hisses at me, stepping forward. “You gotta get into their heads.”
I’d rather my fist.
“What lady?” Wheeler stretches his neck from side to side, then flexes his fingers as if checking to see if they still work.
I don’t want to answer. I can already hear how this is going to go. But I say her name, knowing damn well I’m about to get roasted like a brisket at a cookout.
My brothers snap their heads at me.
“What were you doing in the bathroom with Jade?” Wheeler tugs at the brim of his hat, casting a shadow from the streetlamp over his eyes.
“We know what he was doing in the bathroom with Jade.” Levi removes his Stetson altogether and tosses it toward the building.
“It’s about time,” Dean shifts his weight from one boot to the other, the heel scraping the dirt.
“Piss off. I wasn’t doing anything with her.”
“They were fuckin’,” Dean says.
“We weren’t fucking.”
“They were fucking. Oh wait, did this guy want to fuck her too?”
I scrub my hands over my face. “If one more person says fuck and Jade in the same sentence, I swear to the Lord—”
One of the bikers clears his throat for our attention.
“Listen, we know my brother gave you a hard time.” Dean thinks he can out-talk his way out of any situation, but I wonder when he’ll realize he digs us into deeper holes every time he tries.
“Here we go,” Beck mutters.
“Can you blame him?” Dean raises his hands. “He’s been in love with that woman since high school.” He presses his hand on his heart.
“I have fucking not.” Why I feel the need to defend myself is a mystery.
I’m always defending myself with these dicks.
“It’s a love-hate thing. Enemies to lovers. Fighters to friends.” Dean is rambling off shit I don’t understand.
“What the hell are you talking about?” The head biker looks as confused as I feel.
Wheeler groans. “Stop quoting tropes from my wife’s books.” He punches the back corner of Dean’s shoulder.
“The fact you know they’re called tropes,” Dean flashes a grin at Wheeler.
“The fact you know what I’m referring to,” Wheeler quips back.
Dean shrugs. “I know you think that’s an insult, but I’ve always been a Beauty and the Beast kind of guy. Ask Libby.”
“Who the hell is Libby?” A biker growls.
“Not the time,” Wheeler snarls at Dean.
Someone ought to. Bringing up his daughter in a biker/cowboy brawl is in bad taste.
Dean turns back to the men as they step closer. “Listen, give him a break is what I’m saying. He’s protective of her. Like in a touch her and die way. Like a grumpy sunshine thing.”
“What the actual fuck?” I snarl.
“Romance tropes,” Wheeler clarifies.
“Make it stop,” I beg.
“The girl next door he’s longed for his whole life.” Dean continues, like any of these guys are interested. “The forbidden girl.”
“I’m going to punch him out bloody cold.” I take a step toward Dean, and Wheeler’s hand presses flat on my chest.
“Later.”
“All they need is to get stranded together. Forced proximity. One bed. And one hot kiss to realize what they already know.”
I hate my brother. I think I hate him more than this biker. I also want to punch him harder.
“You were stepping on his vibe. Breakin’ his macho. Surfing his territory. How about we let bygones be bygones.” Dean’s arms spread open like he’s trying to sell peace treaties out of the back of a pickup truck.
Let bygones be bygones? Does he think that’ll actually work?
He jerks his chin toward me. “He can apologize.”
I scoff.
Biker dick steps forward. “You got a problem with me, cowboy?”
I sigh. “According to my friend”—the word is sour on my tongue, being my brothers are Bronx’s friends, and I hardly tolerate him—“you were pressin’ up on a woman who was clearly tryin’ to get away.
Technically, I have a problem with that.
And that’s less about me, more about you not understandin’ boundaries. ”
One of the other bikers, a tall guy with a face like a dried-out lizard, chimed in, “Vin don’t need no lecture from a guy who thinks a cowboy hat makes him tough.”
“It ain’t just for looks.” Dean adjusts his hat. “It keeps the sun off and the tough guy look on.”
The one with a braided goatee scoffs. “Bunch of cowboys thinking they’re tough because they rode in on horses.”
Levi raises a brow. “You rode in on a motorcycle covered in skull decals. Isn’t that just overcompensating?”
Dean tries to hold in a laugh and snorts.
Vin—is that what they called him?—jabs a finger toward me. “You stepped into my business. That kinda thing comes with consequences.”
I really didn’t. I stumbled in and caught the last ten seconds. Maybe even five. But I’m not going to correct him because I need this fight.
“Alright. Let’s go.”
Vin cracks his knuckles, slow and grinning. I guess he thinks he’s tougher with backup.
“I’m going to take that fancy hat of yours.”
I’m ready to see him try.
“Not the hat.” Dean smooths his finger over the front of his Stetson, so dead serious. “You don’t mess with a Cowboys hat.”
Levi rolls his shoulders like he’s just been waiting for permission. We all are. We won’t throw the first punch—at least, not at strangers.
Vin lunges at me.
The biker crew whoops, and my brothers split into action.
It happens fast. One shove turns into a punch, then a full-on brawl.
Boots scuff gravel, fists fly, bodies crash into bikes, and each other.
Someone gets tackled, someone else ends up rolling across the pavement.
Grunts, shouts, and the crunch of fists hitting jaws.
It’s all the fixings of a barroom brawl.
Then, just as I swing again, a sharp yelp of a siren rips through the noise.
A police siren.
Sheriff Nash.
Why not end the night in jail?