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“If that asshole sent me on a wild goose chase—”
A loud rumble shattered the silence, nearly giving her a heart attack.
Brenna whirled around as three huge motorcycles tore into the lot like they were being chased by, well, other motorcycle bandits. Dust swirled up in thick clouds as they skidded to a stop, choking her, and reducing her ability to see.
She backed up on instinct, waving a hand to clear the air. The bikes formed a semi-circle around her. With the building at her back, they blocked any chance of escape. Her heart raced even louder than the roar of their bikes. Hopefully, they’d take the envelope and go, but her insides twisted in a way that let her know something was wrong.
Why the hell hadn’t she grabbed her purse from the car? She kept a can of pepper spray and a fancy weaponized keychain she could use to gouge a man’s eye out. None of that helped if twenty feet and three bikers were between them.
The engines quieted to an idling whir as her breathing went from worried puffs to frantic pants. The man on the middle bike climbed down, yanked off his helmet, and then marched toward her with angry strides. With his dark hair and an air of confidence, he’d be attractive if he didn’t appear so aggressive.
Brenna held her ground even as her knees wobbled. Not that staying there was much of an impressive feat. She didn’t have anywhere else to go.
“Who the fuck are you?” he barked in a tone so terrifying her stomach bottomed out.
“I, uh, I…”
“Who. The. Fuck. Are. You.”
If she’d thought his tone menacing before, it had nothing on the cold, lethal one he laid on her now.
Her mouth dried up until all she could do was flap her mouth open and shut without uttering a sound. Another one of the bikers climbed off his motorcycle and strode her way. This one was so huge he made her knees knock in fear.
“Dude,” the big guy called out as he approached. “Maybe ease up a bit. She looks ready to shit herself.”
Yes. Yes. If he eased up on the death glare, she could speak.
“Is that my money?” Scary-as-hell-guy barked.
Money? She glanced down at the envelope. Money?
“Uh, no,” she managed to squeak. “Oliver sent me.”
His face remained stoic and flat-out scary. Did he not know who Oliver was?
She could do this.
You can do this. You have to do this.
“Uh, your lawyer. He had some, um, papers for you.”
The envelope. Give him the envelope.
She extended her arm, holding the bulky manilla envelope toward him. It shook, betraying her fear on the off chance they hadn’t picked up on it yet.
The giant started laughing. “That little fucker ain’t our lawyer, sweetheart. Not in a million years.”
Oliver wasn’t small, but he wasn’t a large man either. At five foot ten, he was a runner with a lean build to prove it—nothing like the bulk of the enormous biker laughing at her statement.
“Give it.” Scary-as-hell-guy snatched the bundle from her. His leather vest had a patch near his heart that read Enforcer.
Enforcer?
Shit. Weren’t those the people gangs sent out to bust kneecaps if things didn’t go their way? Did that mean he’d bust her kneecaps if she did something wrong? Wasn’t the enforcer the man they sent to rough people up? What the hell had Oliver gotten her into?
“Well, I, uh, gave you the papers. I’m gonna go now.” She took a step forward, but they didn’t give any sign of moving out of her way.
“Papers?” The big guy laughed again. “You hear that shit, Spec?”
