"Look, biker," Caldwell sneered, leaning forward aggressively. "Mind your own business. That girl is my property until the state says otherwise—"
Chapter IV: The Iron Wall
Before Caldwell could take another breath, Dutch rose to his full six-foot-three height.
Behind him, all four club brothers stood up in synchronized unison, their heavy boots thudding against the floorboards as they flanked Dutch, forming a towering, impenetrable wall of leather, chains, and muscle.
"She isn't property to anyone," Dutch said, his voice dropping into a lethal, quiet whisper. "And on this side of the county line, she's under the protection of the club."
The bartender calmly picked up the landline behind the counter, pressing the direct speed-dial for the State Child Protective Task Force and the County Sheriff.
"Sheriff Miller? This is the Roadhouse," the bartender spoke into the receiver, keeping his eyes on Caldwell. "We've got the missing foster fugitive from the Amber Alert cornered inside the tavern right now."