"I need you to back up," I say, louder now. "Leave me alone."
They laugh. Actually laugh, like I've said something hilarious.
"Come on, sweetheart, don't be rude. We're just talking."
"I said no." My voice cracks on the word, and I hate myself for it, hate how I sound like prey, like something small and helpless.
The first man reaches toward me, and I flinch back—
And then suddenly he's not there anymore.
A hand, scarred knuckles, calloused palms, grabs the man's shoulder and yanks him backward so hard he stumbles. The hand belongs to someone I've never seen before, someone who's just stepped between me and the three men like he appeared out of nowhere.
He's tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a leather jacket and jeans that have seen better days. Dark hair, a few days of stubble, and eyes that look like they've seen too much of the world and didn't like what they found.
"She said no," the stranger says, and his voice is quiet. Dangerously quiet. The kind of quiet that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up for entirely different reasons than the three men did.
"Who the hell are you?" the greasy-haired man demands, recovering his balance.
"Someone who heard her say no three times." The stranger doesn't move, doesn't shift his weight or his position. He's between them and me like a wall, solid and immovable. "Now you're going to walk away."
"Or what?" The stocky one steps forward, squaring up. "You gonna make us, tough guy?"
The stranger doesn't answer. He just stands there, waiting, and there's something in his stillness that makes me believe he's done this before. Many times before.
"I'm gonna ask one more time," he says. "Walk. Away."
The greasy-haired man spits on the ground. "Screw this. Three on one, asshole. You sure you want to do this?"
"Yeah," the stranger says simply. "I'm sure."
Everything happens so fast I almost can't track it.
The stocky one swings first. A wide, sloppy haymaker that the stranger ducks under like he saw it coming from a mile away. His return punch is precise, catching the stocky man right in his belly. The man goes down gasping, clutching his stomach.
The mean-eyed one is smarter, coming in low and fast, but the stranger pivots, brings his knee up, and I hear the crack of impact even from where I'm standing. Mean-eyes drops like someone cut his strings.
Two down in under five seconds.
The greasy-haired man pulls a knife. Oh God, he has a knife, and my hands tightens on Biscuit's collar hard.
The stranger doesn't even look surprised. He watches the blade like it's just another variable in an equation he's already solved. When greasy-hair lunges, the stranger moves. He catches the knife hand, twists, and there's another crack that makes me flinch. The knife clatters to the pavement.
But greasy-hair is tougher than he looks, or maybe just meaner. He doesn't go down, doesn't back off. Instead, he tackles the stranger, and they both hit the ground hard enough that I feel it in my chest. They roll, trading punches, and I can see the stranger is tired. He's breathing hard, there's blood in the cornerof his mouth, and his movements are just a fraction slower than they were thirty seconds ago.
He's going to lose. This man who stepped in to help me, who didn't even know my name, is going to lose because he's fighting on fumes and—
The roar of motorcycle engines cuts through the air like thunder.
I know that sound. Everyone in Blackwater Falls knows that sound.
The Savage Riders MC are coming.
Chapter 2 - Riot
My ribs are screaming at me, this asshole's weight is crushing my chest, and I can taste blood in my mouth. Not the first time, won't be the last, but damn if it doesn't get old.
The punch I throw connects with his jaw. Not my best work, not even close, but enough to make him grunt and shift his weight. I use the opening to buck him off, rolling to my knees as he scrambles backward. Everything hurts. My knuckles are split, my shoulder feels like someone took a hammer to it, and I'm pretty sure I'm going to have a hell of a bruise across my ribs by morning.
