Her Possessive Bikers

13. Tres

13

TRES

T he rumble of our bikes cuts through the evening air as we pull into the gravel lot of The Rusty Nail, one of the local bars on our payroll. Some of our eyes out on the streets informed us that a couple cronies from Dos Banditos, our rival gang, has been snooping around our bar, trying to start shit. My boots crunch on loose stones as I dismount, scanning the weathered building. Music and shouting spill from the open windows.

"Three bikes out back match the description," Kyler says, adjusting his kutte. "Green and black paint jobs."

"Well boys, shall we go introduce ourselves?" Jacoby cracks his knuckles, that wild grin spreading across his face.

I take point as we enter, the smell of stale beer and cigarettes hitting me like a wall. Through the haze, I spot our targets immediately - three men in leather jackets embellished with green snakes, crowding around the pool table, getting handsy with Misty, one of the regular waitresses. Fucking Dos Bandito's. The scum of the damn earth.

"Hey sugar pie, where you running off to?" One of them grabs her wrist as she tries to slip past.

"Let her go." My voice carries across the bar, turning heads. The music seems to dim.

A new guy I don't recognize holding Misty looks up, his glazed eyes narrowing. "Well look who it is boys - the new king and his court jesters."

"Last chance," I say, keeping my tone even as Misty wrenches free and scurries behind the bar. "Walk out now, or crawl out later."

"You hear that?" The man laughs, grabbing a pool cue. "Old man thinks he can take us."

Jacoby steps up beside me, rolling his shoulders. "Three against three seems fair to me."

"Four actually." A fourth guy, that goes by Emerald, I believe, emerges from the bathroom, brass knuckles glinting.

"Math was never my strong suit," Kyler mutters, but I catch the way his hands curl into fists.

I walk up to the asshole. Towering over the little leprechaun looking fuck, despite him trying his best to look intimidating.

"Last warning," I murmur. "Or I'll make sure all your old ladies are thrown into the rotation with all the whores that come through the clubhouse.

The first punch comes fast - a wild swing that I dodge easily. Years of bar fights have taught me to move efficiently, no wasted motion. I drive my knee into the attacker's gut as Jacoby and Kyler engage the others.

Glass shatters somewhere behind me. A pool cue splinters. The regular patrons clear out fast, leaving us room to work.

"That all you got, old man?" The ringleader spits blood, circling me.

I crack my neck. "I'm just getting started."

His face meets my fist with a satisfying crunch. Behind me, more glass explodes as someone crashes through a table. Damnit, going to have to put in an order for a new one. Jacoby's got two of them pinned, working them over with practiced efficiency.

Through the chaos, I spot Kyler ducking a wild haymaker before countering with a precise shot to the kidney. Kid's got skills when he lets his instincts take over.

"Getting tired, grandpa?" The leader taunts, circling me like a rabid dog.

"Nah." I wipe sweat from my brow. "Just wondering if your insurance covers dental."

He charges, telegraphing his move from a mile away. I sidestep, grab his collar, and introduce his face to the bar top. The wood cracks under the impact.

"Hey Tres!" Jacoby calls out, currently has one guy in a headlock while fending off another. "Save some fun for the rest of us!"

"Plenty to go around," I grunt, blocking a desperate swing from my dazed opponent.

The crack of breaking furniture draws my attention. Kyler's opponent has him pinned against a table, but the kid hooks his leg and reverses the position. They crash through the wooden surface together.

"You boys picked the wrong bar," I say, landing another solid hit that sends the leader stumbling into his friend. "Wrong town too."

"Fuck you," he spits, along with a tooth. "Wait till Lupe hears about this."

"I don't give a fuck about Lupe. Tell him he's next." I grab him by the throat, slamming him against the wall hard enough to rattle the neon signs. "Now, here's what's gonna happen. You're gonna crawl back to whatever hole you came from and tell your boss that The Rusty Nail is off limits. Or next time, we won't be so gentle."

Behind me, Jacoby lets out a whoop as he drops his opponent with a devastating right hook. "Down goes the last one!"

I spin around my eyes searching my surroundings. I haven't heard Kyler in a beat. Suddenly, I see the Emerald, the big mother fucking running in Kyler's direction.

"Kyler, duck!"

My warning comes a second too late. Emerald swings a broken bottle, catching Kyler across his chest. Blood blooms across his white t-shirt, but the kid doesn't back down. Instead, he launches forward with a snarl I've never heard from him before, tackling his attacker through the bar's front window.

"Shit." I slam my opponent's head into the pool table, leaving him groaning. "Jacoby, wrap it up! Kyler's in too deep."

Outside, Kyler's still throwing punches, even as blood drips onto the sidewalk. I grab him by the kutte, pulling him off. "That's enough, he got the point."

"Fuckers had it coming," Kyler pants, swaying slightly. His face is pale under the streetlights.

"Fuck, kid." I press my bandana against the worst of the cuts. "You're bleeding like a stuck pig."

Jacoby emerges, wiping blood from his knuckles. "God damnit, do we need to take him to the Hospital?"

"Can't risk it." I keep pressure on Kyler's wounds, noting how the blood soaks through the fabric. "They'll report it."

"'m fine," Kyler slurs, but his legs buckle. I catch him before he hits the pavement.

Shit. My mind races as Kyler's blood seeps through my bandana. Then it hits me - Indy. Brick's voice echoes in my head, bragging about his little girl saving lives.

I fish my phone from my pocket, keeping one arm around Kyler's waist. "Call Indy Cooper," I bark at Jacoby, who's already dialing.

The phone rings twice before her voice comes through, soft but alert. "Hello? Tres?"

"Indy... I need some help."