Page 98 of Claimed By the Biker Brothers

Without hesitation, I join him. Diesel too.

There’s a junction up ahead. The riders slow down. They don’t see us yet. They’re too busy looking both ways before they turn right.

“Get them!” Knox says.

We empty our clips into the three riders.

POP-POP-POP-POP.

The projectiles fly with vengeance fueling their path. Only one or two miss their mark. The rest pierce through our attackers, blood spraying out. They fall and roll over, tangled with one another. Their motorcycles slide gruesomely along the pavement.

“Fucking pricks,” Diesel says, panting as he rushes over to make sure they’re dead.

Knox and I stand on the street corner, our breaths ragged as our minds catch up to all this insanity. My heart is racing. But the rage within me is damn near impossible to contain. It happened fast. There was no time for thinking. We had to survive, and then we had to fight back.

“Now she knows who the fuck she’s dealing with,” Knox says. “Fucking Marlo.”

“Yeah, they’re hers,” Diesel mutters as he walks back with a handful of wallets. “I recognize two of them. Hood rats. They had no business riding motorcycles in the first place.”

“She’s trying to influence public opinion,” I conclude. “Making it seem like the Rogue Riders are turning against one another.”

Knox turns back. In less than a minute, we’re back at our bikes, putting our helmets on and getting ready to roll out of here. The cops will soon respond to a bunch of frantic 911 calls, and the last thing we need with the crooked DEA people hanging over our heads is questions regarding our involvement in a drive-by shooting that left a bunch of folks dead.

“It’s getting uglier,” I say, turning the key in the ignition. The sound of my Harley awakening is enough to soothe my senses, albeit partially.

“It’s going to get even worse,” Diesel warns us. “They were either tailing us or somebody gave away our location.”

“Nobody knew we’d be here,” I say. “Not even Samson.”

“And we took different turns and roads precisely to avoid catching a tail,” Knox adds.

I glance back at the chop shop. Patches is still very much dead, but I can’t see his colleagues anywhere. “It could’ve been someone else,” I reply, “maybe from the garage. Not sure it matters at this point.”

“You’re right, it doesn’t matter,” Knox says. “What matters is that Marlo is getting brazen. And she’s got some DEA agents on her side, not just Calvin.”

It puts Robyn and Kyra in even greater danger.

Not to mention our club.

Everything we’ve worked so hard for is blowing up before our eyes, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to let Marlo or anybody else take anything more from us.

This ends now.

32

Robyn

Ellie’s name pops up on my screen.

I’ve been sitting by the window, looking out at a deep forest dressed in the ruby and amber shades of autumn. There are trees as far as the eyes can see. Kyra is playing on the floor, busy with a kid’s puzzle she’s been trying to figure out on her own for the better part of an hour, and my mind has been wandering to Diesel, Jagger, and Knox.

“Hey, Ellie,” I answer. “Everything okay?”

“Where are you?” She sounds tense.

“You know I can’t tell you, Ellie. I’m sorry. But I’m good. I promise. Kyra and I are safe,” I reply. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, Robyn. There’s been a shooting not far from Redwood. I was talking to Samson over the phone when some of the prospects came up to him at the hospital. I overheard them say something about Knox and the guys,” she says. “I couldn’t get more details out of Samson, but I sensed the urgency. He hung up on me. I just thought you should know.”

---