Elena nodded.
Diane grabbed the phone.
“I’m calling the sheriff.”
Rick kicked the Harley over.
Elena flinched.
Diane spoke quickly into the receiver.
The answer came moments later.
Her expression fell.
“Deputy’s near Coyote Springs.”
“How long?”
“Maybe forty-five minutes.”
Elena looked toward the entrance.
Rick shouted:
“ELENA!”
The customers inside became still.
Diane locked the door.
“You stay here.”
Elena stared at Rick through the glass.
He lifted the tire iron.
Then pointed at the motorcycle.
“If he comes inside, somebody gets hurt.”
“He’s bluffing.”
“No.”
Elena knew him.
“He isn’t.”
She unlocked the door.
Diane grabbed her wrist.
“Don’t.”
Elena gently removed her hand.
“I spent three years waiting for somebody else to stop him.”
Her voice trembled.
“I think I have to stop being afraid of him first.”
She stepped outside.
Ten minutes later, the desert began shaking.
And ninety-seven motorcycles arrived.
Mace Rourke now stood between Rick and Elena.
Rick tried to recover some authority.
“She’s my stepdaughter.”
Mace glanced at Elena.
“How old are you?”
“Nineteen.”
Mace faced Rick again.
“Then that sentence doesn’t mean much.”
Rick raised the tire iron slightly.
Several Iron Saints stepped forward.
Mace lifted one finger.
They stopped.
He spoke calmly.
“Put it down.”
“Stay out of this.”
“Put.”
Mace took one step closer.
“It.”
Another.
“Down.”
Rick looked around.
Then dropped the tire iron.
It hit the gravel with a metallic clang.
Elena exhaled.
Mace turned toward her.
“You Elena Jenkins?”
Her stomach dropped.
“How do you know my name?”
Mace didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, he gestured toward the fallen Harley.
“Where did you get that motorcycle?”
“Gabriel Stone.”
A murmur moved through the bikers.
Mace’s eyes closed briefly.
“You bought it?”
“Yes.”
“For how much?”
Elena hesitated.
“Forty dollars.”
For some reason, Mace smiled.
A sad smile.
“That sounds exactly like Gabriel.”
“What does?”
He looked toward the three scratched letters on the tank.
C.J.M.
“Making sure everything is technically legal.”
Elena’s confusion deepened.
“What are you talking about?”
A female rider approached. Mid-fifties. Long silver braid. Her vest read RUTH ‘DOC’ HENDERSON.
She looked at Elena’s face.
“Mind if I check those ribs?”
“I’m fine.”
“No, honey. You aren’t.”
Diane came outside with water.
Several riders lifted the Harley upright.
Rick suddenly moved toward his truck.
Four motorcycles blocked him.
Mace never even turned.
“Stay where you are, Rick.”
Rick froze.
Elena looked sharply at Mace.
“You know him too?”
Now Mace finally faced her.
“We know more than you think.”
Before he could explain, sirens sounded in the distance.
A county sheriff’s cruiser pulled into the lot.
Deputy Aaron Vasquez stepped out.
He took in the scene.
Ninety-seven bikers.
Rick.
Elena.
The tire iron.
The bruises.
He sighed.
“I’m going to need everybody to make my afternoon dramatically less complicated.”
Diane pointed immediately.
“That man assaulted the girl.”
“I did not!”
“You shoved her against my building.”
“She stole my motorcycle.”
Mace laughed once.
It was not friendly.
“Your motorcycle?”
Rick pointed at the Sportster.
