Chapter 2: No One Touches What’s Ours
The leader of the three men tried to laugh.
“This is none of your business,” he said, forcing confidence into every syllable. “We were just talking.”
The silver-bearded biker tilted his head slightly, like he was studying something pathetic.
“Talking,” he repeated quietly.
One of the younger bikers stepped forward, cracking his knuckles—not aggressively, just enough to make a point. Others didn’t move at all. They didn’t need to.
The leader of the bikers didn’t raise his voice.
But everyone heard him.
“She’s under our protection now.”
A pause.
Then he added, colder:
“And you just made the worst mistake of your night.”
The three men shifted uncomfortably. One reached into his pocket, then stopped halfway. He realized too late that every exit was blocked. Every angle was watched. Every shadow had eyes.
The woman inside the car finally unlocked her door—but didn’t open it yet.
Her hand hovered.
Trembling.
The older biker walked closer, not rushing her, keeping a respectful distance.
“You’re safe now,” he said simply. “We don’t let things like this happen on our roads.”
Her eyes filled, not with relief alone—but with disbelief that it had actually stopped.
Behind her, one of the men whispered, “Do you know who these people are?”
May you like
The answer came immediately from the biker leader without even turning:
“We’re the reason you should’ve driven away the moment you saw her fear.”
