Page 21 of Smooth Sailing

Only to have a man slip through.

Then another.

And another.

And a last.

Suddenly occupying the elevator with four large, rough-looking men, I opened my mouth to scream and lifted the Mace to press, but the second guy through, a very tall, brawny man with lots of wild, wavy, thick blond-brown hair and a massive beard, came at me.

Quick as a flash, he caught the wrist of the hand in which I was holding the Mace, and he redirected the aim away from him (or any of them). He then squeezed my wrist firmly, but not painfully, and yanked the canister out of my hand.

Well, that was humiliating.

And alarming.

He then bellied up to me, forcing me to the back of the elevator. He dipped his head down. His dark-brown eyes locked to mine, nothing touching me except his hand still at my wrist.

And he spoke.

“You’re safe. We will not harm you. I’m Hugger. With me are Eight, Muzzle and Cruise. We share a Bosnian problem and we think we can help you out.”

Oh.

Well then.

The elevator doors closed and we started to ascend.

He let me go and stepped back.

I cast my eyes through the men.

Hugger was tall, but one of the others was taller, as in crazy-tall. The final two were also quite tall, one had a man-bun and a hint of a beer gut, the other one was just good-looking (as were Hugger and the crazy-tall dude).

They did not look like the shiny-golf-shirt-and-slacks-wearing gangsters who drank lattes and kept an insidious presence in the courtyard.

They looked like men who didn’t know what golf shirts were, and I would lay money down none of them owned a pair of slacks.

“I’m a brother of the Chaos MC in Denver,” Hugger carried on as the elevator went up. “Eight and Muzzle are brothers of Resurrection MC. Also in Denver. Cruise is a local, and he’s Aces High.”

“MC?” I asked.

“Motorcycle club,” he answered.

That explained the no-slacks-owning.

“And what problem do you have with the Babic?” I asked.

The elevator doors opened.

The three other men filed out.

I stood in the elevator with Hugger.

The super tall one kept his hand on the door so it would remain open.

“We doin’ this?” Hugger queried.

“What does ‘this’ refer to?” I returned.

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