“Yes, because that’s all they were, fucks.” Her voice rose, something that never happened. “Just fucks, Carter, nothing more.”
“You know they were more.” He stepped closer.
She put her hands on his chest and pushed him away, and to her astonishment, he backed up, surprise crossing his face. “Leah.”
“Leave me alone. I’m going home, and by that, I mean Pierce.”
“I don’t want you to.”
“I don’t care what you want.”
A low rumbling sound echoed down the street like distant thunder.
“Please, come back inside,” he said. “We’ll go up to my place and talk about this.”
“There’s nothing to talk about. I’ve been used, and Ifeelused.”
“You were crying out in ecstasy often enough.” He cupped his groin, and for the first time, she saw annoyance mix with his frustration. “As you used this.”
She stomped her foot in anger and turned.
The rumbling was growing louder, a deep, menacing growl.
Carter seemed to notice the sound. He glanced around, then his attention went over her shoulder. “Shit.” He reached for his Glock and drew it out, the barrel glinting in the sun. His eyes narrowed.
“What? What is it?” She spun to the end of the street.
An ominous parade of black and chrome bikes was heading their way and completely filling the road. The riders atop were big and intimidating. The noise of the engines deafening.
“Get back in the compound,” he said. “Go.”
She was rooted to the spot. She had no intention of going back in. But this didn’t look good. “Who is it?”
“Mambas, we owe them. Looks like they’ve come to collect. Now get inside.”
Her window of opportunity had gone. An enormous bike pulled up between her and the surf shop, its engine still turning and its bearded rider glaring at her.
Another two halted between her and Carter, blocking her way to him.
The others surrounded them in a thick impenetrable belt of metal and muscle.
“What do you want, Baz?” Carter directed at the wide-shouldered, stocky Mamba climbing off his Harley.
“You know damn well what we want. You’re overdue.”
“It’s coming next week.”
“Should’ve been last week.” Baz stepped closer to Carter, seemingly oblivious of the gun Carter was holding by his side.
“Shit happens. It’s late. Get over it.” Carter glanced to his right.
Leah followed his line of sight.
Razor was stepping out from the surf shop, gun held in his right hand. He always looked impressively intimidating, but at this moment, even more so. “You’re trespassing, asshole,” he said to Baz.
“Yeah, so fuck off outta here. We’ll give you your cash next week,” Carter added. He glanced at Leah. “Hey! Don’t you…”
As he’d spoken and raised his gun, she felt an arm wrap vise-like around her chest. She was hauled up against a solid leather-clad body and the scent of stale sweat filled her nostrils.