“Jesus Christ,” Hudson said. Then he, too, was in the brawl, along with Razor.
A few whoops went up from the Mambas as they piled in.
Quickly, she found herself tucked behind Wyatt and next to Brooklyn.
“Stay the hell there,” Wyatt said before marching over to the fight, fists clenched.
The sound of flesh on flesh, bone crunching on bone, was sickening. It was hard to see who was who, so much leather and cursing, so many fast punches and malicious kicks.
The sirens were getting louder.
“Shit,” Brooklyn muttered and slipped her arm around Leah. “These boys better pack it up soon.”
As she’d spoken, the Mambas retreated. Like shadows slinking away, they stopped mid-blow and returned to their bikes. A trail of blood followed, evidence of split lips and broken noses.
The Barbarians stood, brushed themselves off, and stared at their withdrawing enemies. They were breathing hard. Hudson had a bloody slash over his cheek.
All were still except for Carter, who raced forward, gun at the ready again. “You goddamn assholes think you can just ride in here…”
The engines were starting, loud roars that drowned his words. The sound mixed with the approaching sirens.
“This isn’t over!” Carter’s cheeks were red, and his black eye appeared to have renewed swelling. “I’ll fucking kill you for touching her.”
Three cop cars swung onto the road. Carter couldn’t see them. He was facing the other way.
“Shit!” Brooklyn gasped. “Carter!”
“Goddamn asswipes,” Carter shouted. “Yeah, that’s right, ride away.”
The Mambas were tearing up the street in the opposite direction of the cops, leaving black streaks on the tarmac. The air filled with exhaust fumes, and several horns blasted.
The cops skidded to a halt, blocking the road.
Carter stood in the middle, gun raised. Slowly, he turned to the cops.
He gritted his teeth and snarled.
“Put down the weapon.” The cops instructed through a loud speaker. “Put down the weapon, hands behind your head, and get on your knees.”
Carter spat, and for a moment, he appeared to wonder about whether or not to obey.
“Put it down, son,” Brooklyn called, her voice as acid as vinegar.
“Put down your weapon or we’ll shoot.” As if to prove the words, two cops opened their doors and used them as shields as they aimed their guns Carter’s way.
Leah was sure her knees would give way. She locked her legs as a trembling breath left her chest.
Behind her, she was aware of club members stealing back into the compound. But not Hudson, Wyatt, Taff, and Razor. They stood still, weapons hidden.
Taff took a step forward, toward the cop cars. “Put it down, Carter.”
Carter looked at him, and then at Leah.
She clasped her hands beneath her chin. The thought of a bullet flying his way in the next few seconds had her heart squeezing and terror reigning.
“Give it up,” Taff said. “There’s no point.”
“Goddamn it,” Carter said. Then he stooped, set his Glock on the ground, and kicked it away.