Page 27 of The Biker Alien

I shoot Nigel too. The first bullet hits his shoulder, and that doesn’t stop his advancement. He just gives me this strange leer that has my skin crawling, and I shoot him again. I’m not even sure where it strikes him, but he goes down too.

Figuring Jamey and maybe others are coming, I rush over to the front door and open it.

Only Jamey’s waiting for me on the porch. I’m so shocked that my shot goes wide despite him being so close, or maybe it’s because he shoves my arm to the side. It all happens so fast, and he’s grabbing me and forcing me out of the house. I try to bring the gun up, but he yanks it out of my hand and clamps a hand over my mouth and nose. I struggle against him, trying to kick and punch, but I can hardly breathe, and I’m starting to feel lightheaded as he shoves me into the back of the car.

Before I can catch my bearings, he’s already driving off.

And the locks in the backseat? Both busted. I can’t get out.

I’m fucked. I’m so fucked.

“Joey wants to have a word with ya,” Jamey says grimly, “and I thought it might be a nice meeting despite everything, but what with you firing at and killing some of us… yeah, not so much, huh?”

I say nothing and close my eyes. I sure hope Joey’s all right. If not…

Shit. I really am fucked.

10

Alec

To saythe past day has been incredibly insane is an understatement. I still do not know what has provoked the Rebel Brothers to go after myself and my people so hard. There have been reports of small altercations all across the city between my people and theirs, although there has not been any more shots fired. I do not know what it is that Joey is after, but he will not have it. He will not win. Whatever it is that he is after, he will not have. I will not allow it.

If I could kill him myself, I would, but then the war between our motorcycle clubs might never end, not until all of us are dead.

For now, I am at my headquarters, glancing over our inventory of supplies. We need guns, although I do despise the weapon. I will not have us be killed, mowed down like hunted animals. This agitation between the two clubs has to end, one way or another, and the sooner, the better.

Clay Flores approaches.

“What is it?” I demand.

“Some more fighting near the northern part of the city.”

“Fighting or shooting?”

“Fists.”

“They started it, I assume?”

“Actually… it was Chester.”

I groan. Chester Park is a bit of a hothead.

“He started it?”

“It was a fistfight, yes.”

“Why did he throw the first punch?”

“His girlfriend was insulted, or so I gather.”

“Girlfriend?” I question.

Clay makes a face. “Apparently.”

I run a hand down my face. “He’s being careful?”

“As far as I know, but they know about her, and we’re lucky he didn’t have a gun on him.”

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