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Shouts from the bar echoed, and Lowrider and Mac came running, weapons drawn.
With more allies on the way, the woman did not pause and jogged to her downed bike. Her intention of making another easy escape clear.
Slick made a grab, an attempt to stop her. But she shook her finger at him and drove off.
Lowrider and Mac skidded to a halt.
“Fuckin’ hell,” Lowrider ground out, looking at the carnage on the carpark floor.
Four bikers were groaning or unconscious. The remainder were pulling off, chasing the stranger. Slick jumped onto his bike and shot off after them.
Minutes later, he returned to find the others still out back.
“Lost her,” he grunted, annoyed.
Mac was down on his haunches next to Ezra, who was shaking his head.
“He okay?” Lowrider asked.
“Took a blow, he’s fine,” Ezra answered his brother-in-law.
“Second time our friend came to help.” Mac sounded thoughtful, looking off in the direction the biker had taken.
“She’s female. No hiding that figure tonight,” Slick replied.
In the distance, sirens were screaming towards them. Ramirez was answering the 911 call, but with the escalating conflicts, they were just as exhausted as the MCs.
“You get anything?” Mac questioned, and both Ezra and Slick shook their heads.
“Female?” Lowrider threw his hands up at his brothers’ looks. “Artemis?” he asked as a possible explanation.
“Fuck!” Ezra roared; they all felt his pain.
Artemis was a law unto herself. Another Artemis running around could be either highly beneficial or very detrimental.
Cops pulled into the parking lot, and Lowrider walked over to meet them.
Five days later.
Slick got off his bike and stretched before looking towards Drake. It was their night to patrol, and two dealers had been reported to be on a local corner. They were going to move them off and get rid of their shit before patrolling again. It was The Lion King’s way of pushing back. Adding strain in every way they could. No matter how small.
They moved toward the men, who looked fuckin’ nervous.
Slick felt his spine prickle, and he hit Drake as a bullet rammed into the wall where Slick’s head had been.
The dealers took off at a run.
Keeping his body between Drake and the shooters, Slick rolled them both into the shadows. Bullets pinged for a moment, then stopped suddenly.
Three loud blasts followed. A shotgun, he thought.
And then silence again.
Slick heard bike pipes roar, and he looked up as their fucking friend rode past them once more.
He got to his feet and hauled Drake up. A quick glance showed Pres was okay, and then he walked to where three Kings were rolling on the ground with shotgun blasts in their legs.
“Call it in.” Drake sighed.
