bruising grip. Stella yowled, another set of hands wrenching her gun from her hand. They had surrounded her. Some climbed through her car in her momentary lack of concentration, others charged her from around the car, some even bumbled for their guns in their waistbands.
Stella's heart thrummed in her chest. Who were these assholes? Cocaine dealers? A rival gang? Cop-hating vigilantes? What did they want? What was happening?
Her thoughts flew a mile a minute as her frazzled brain tried to make sense of her situation. Stella threw out kicks and fists while attempting to bite the hands that restrained her. A hot sense of satisfaction swelled through her head whenever someone pulled away or yelped. “Get off me! Let go, asswipes!”
The cock and click of a trigger near her nose made Stella freeze. Her brown eyes widened, face suddenly cold in the night air, as her gaze flicked to the gunman's face. Cold blue eyes stared down at her from an impassive, plastic mask. Stella's heart cowered in her throat, fingers flexing, while her stomach dropped dismally to her knees. In the yellowish light of the street lamps, the woman realized there were seven men in total. Uncertainty shuddered in her marrow. The woman had no clue what would happen next.
Heavy footfalls echoed out of the bar and crunched into the gravel of the parking lot. Stella's eyes darted to the people who just exited the bar. The sudden fear that they would simply carry on, simply ignore gang violence in their own backyard, blossomed in her thoughts.
Then she registered whose grey eyes stared at her. Stella's heart skipped erratically, relief and hope entwining in her thoughts. Without thinking, without considering the implications, the woman gasped, “Arthur!”
One of the men who restrained her slapped a dirty, gloved hand over her mouth.
Almost instantly, Bishop's eyes flashed to Stella. His brain worked fast to make sense of the situation, but not as fast as his legs. Propelled across the parking lot, a snarl lit from his lips, “The hell is going on out here?”
“Get back inside, Bishop,” The man who held the gun in Stella's face didn't flinch. In fact, he shifted his position so the president of the 7T would see the gun. Bishop froze a few feet away from the group of men, his eyes catching the glint of the weapon. “This has nothing to do with you.”
“The fuck it doesn't! You're trying to abduct a woman in our town.” Bishop's eyes flashed to the masked man, his eyebrows furrowed. Murder gleamed in the biker's eyes. He clenched his fists, his fingernails digging into his palms. All he could think about was bloody, violent retribution. He wanted to see the men on the ground, bleeding and groaning in pain. He wanted to see them hurt, especially if Stella showed any signs of injury.
“Yeah, that ain't gonna fly.” Coyote came up beside Bishop, cracking his knuckles threateningly.
The presumed leader of the pack, or at least the self-appointed spokesperson, glanced from one man to the other. He quietly contemplated his options.
Stella shifted in her captors' grips. Her stomach twisted unhappily as her brain whirled. The men who grabbed her would have to do something, quickly. Or else they'd be caught. It would only get worse with a brawl. Her gaze flickered to the men behind Bishop who were the rest of the Seven Tribesmen members. Well, apart from Howler and Crow.
One of them held a billiards cue in his sweaty grip, his skin pallid from worry as his eyes darted from man to man. One man had already drawn his gun, the muzzle pointed to the ground, and the other looked he was preparing to pull a weapon from his waistband. Her gaze slid to the man beside Bishop, his green eyes burning with rage and his body language prepared for a fight.
Finally, Stella's eyes drew to Bishop. He leered at her aggressors, radiating pure rage. She could almost see his eyes glow red. His gaze flicked to her
Stella's heart thrummed in her chest. Who were these assholes? Cocaine dealers? A rival gang? Cop-hating vigilantes? What did they want? What was happening?
Her thoughts flew a mile a minute as her frazzled brain tried to make sense of her situation. Stella threw out kicks and fists while attempting to bite the hands that restrained her. A hot sense of satisfaction swelled through her head whenever someone pulled away or yelped. “Get off me! Let go, asswipes!”
The cock and click of a trigger near her nose made Stella freeze. Her brown eyes widened, face suddenly cold in the night air, as her gaze flicked to the gunman's face. Cold blue eyes stared down at her from an impassive, plastic mask. Stella's heart cowered in her throat, fingers flexing, while her stomach dropped dismally to her knees. In the yellowish light of the street lamps, the woman realized there were seven men in total. Uncertainty shuddered in her marrow. The woman had no clue what would happen next.
Heavy footfalls echoed out of the bar and crunched into the gravel of the parking lot. Stella's eyes darted to the people who just exited the bar. The sudden fear that they would simply carry on, simply ignore gang violence in their own backyard, blossomed in her thoughts.
Then she registered whose grey eyes stared at her. Stella's heart skipped erratically, relief and hope entwining in her thoughts. Without thinking, without considering the implications, the woman gasped, “Arthur!”
One of the men who restrained her slapped a dirty, gloved hand over her mouth.
Almost instantly, Bishop's eyes flashed to Stella. His brain worked fast to make sense of the situation, but not as fast as his legs. Propelled across the parking lot, a snarl lit from his lips, “The hell is going on out here?”
“Get back inside, Bishop,” The man who held the gun in Stella's face didn't flinch. In fact, he shifted his position so the president of the 7T would see the gun. Bishop froze a few feet away from the group of men, his eyes catching the glint of the weapon. “This has nothing to do with you.”
“The fuck it doesn't! You're trying to abduct a woman in our town.” Bishop's eyes flashed to the masked man, his eyebrows furrowed. Murder gleamed in the biker's eyes. He clenched his fists, his fingernails digging into his palms. All he could think about was bloody, violent retribution. He wanted to see the men on the ground, bleeding and groaning in pain. He wanted to see them hurt, especially if Stella showed any signs of injury.
“Yeah, that ain't gonna fly.” Coyote came up beside Bishop, cracking his knuckles threateningly.
The presumed leader of the pack, or at least the self-appointed spokesperson, glanced from one man to the other. He quietly contemplated his options.
Stella shifted in her captors' grips. Her stomach twisted unhappily as her brain whirled. The men who grabbed her would have to do something, quickly. Or else they'd be caught. It would only get worse with a brawl. Her gaze flickered to the men behind Bishop who were the rest of the Seven Tribesmen members. Well, apart from Howler and Crow.
One of them held a billiards cue in his sweaty grip, his skin pallid from worry as his eyes darted from man to man. One man had already drawn his gun, the muzzle pointed to the ground, and the other looked he was preparing to pull a weapon from his waistband. Her gaze slid to the man beside Bishop, his green eyes burning with rage and his body language prepared for a fight.
Finally, Stella's eyes drew to Bishop. He leered at her aggressors, radiating pure rage. She could almost see his eyes glow red. His gaze flicked to her
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