Page 62 of Brage & Dinah

Keeping an eye on the car, he would have to hope the driver pushed through. Most times, seeing a large group of bikers, people would hang back, afraid of passing them.

The semi shifted. He gritted his teeth. Brikken was going to try and run.

He circled his hand in the air, making eye contact with Viktor riding to the side of him. Patting his stomach, he then dipped his hand in the air, relying on signals, and pointed. They'd need to let the car go past.

The Slag members moved into one lane. He slowed, checking his speed. They were down to thirty-five.

A gray vehicle sped by. Thankful for the reprieve, he locked his brakes and turned his Harley coming to a stop. The others followed him.

Totally blocking both lanes, the Slag members stood in solidarity. The Brikken semi would have to plow through them all to get away.

The space between them shortened. In the distance, black dots appeared on the highway. He inhaled deeply. The approaching Slag members were locked into position.

With an eighty-thousand-pound semi-truck and trailer headed straight toward him, his mind slipped to Dinah back at the clubhouse. Would she be okay on her own if something happened to him? Would she find her happiness? Would the Reed brothers and Moroad leave her alone to live in peace? Would she ever find the family she desperately needed?

The grinding of Jake brakes came through the rumbling of the motorcycles. The tension about dying and leaving Dinah on her own eased, replaced with a hyper-awareness of the situation going down.

The fifty-man Brikken crew pinched between the Slag riders surrounded the semi and slowed. Brage's hand tightened, and he stretched his fingers, fighting the urge to grab the pistol at his back.

He glanced at Roar and the men blocking the lanes, making sure no upcoming vehicles distracted the meeting. They only had minutes, if not seconds, to make their presence hit the other MC hard.

At a stop, one Brikken member got off his motorcycle and stormed toward Brage. He took in the situation and recognized Jett Stanton, the club's president.

"Move the fucking bikes." Jett held a pistol in his left hand.

A few years back, there were rumors about Jett injuring his right hand in prison, leaving it useless. The way he held the gun and the confidence behind his ability to use his left had made Brage doubt the stories.

Brage strode forward. "Recognized your colors, man. Wanted to check in and give our welcome."

"It's not Slag territory." Jett stopped ten feet from him. "Move, or we spill blood."

"Respect, Stanton." He let his gaze travel to the semi. "I don't think you want to risk your load." He stepped toward the truck and swung back around to face Jett. "What's a shipment bring to the club? Twenty...thirty thousand a load every six weeks?"

Jett remained close-lipped. Brage whistled. It would be a huge boost to the pot.

"There're a lot of risks..." Brage clicked his tongue. "Between what? Tacoma and Northern California?" He looked Jett straight in his dark eyes. "A lot of fucking risks along the way."

"Is that a threat, Olden?" Jett's gaze narrowed.

"Just a friendly observance." Brage held up his hands and backed up a step. "Be careful on your route. There's a lot of hidden dangers out there. The Feds and shit get wind of your load, you'll be gripping prison bars with both hands instead of your Harley."

He turned, giving his back to the Brikken president. Confident all Slag members covered him, he threw his leg over his motorcycle and revved the motor. Signaling the men, he looped across the lanes and rode off.

In his side mirror, the other Slag members came up from behind and mixed as one solid group. They'd travel together for ten miles and get off the Interstate, making a loop before getting back on the interstate.

For now, they were safe. Brikken wouldn't leave their cargo. And, Slag succeeded in bringing more attention to themselves and away from the Seattle Chapter.

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