The man in the tan jacket took an aggressive step closer to Clara, his smile turning cruel: "You think you can tell us what to do, waitress? How about we teach you a lesson about minding your own—"
BAM.
The heavy aluminum door of the diner slammed open, rebounding against the brick wall with the force of a thunderclap.
Stepping out onto the threshold was Dutch, the towering, grizzled road captain of the Iron Brotherhood MC. Standing well over six-foot-three, with a thick salt-and-pepper beard, scarred forearms, and a heavy black leather vest bearing the club's colors, Dutch stepped into the neon light like an approaching storm.
His cold, razor-sharp gaze swept from Clara’s outstretched hand to the two men standing over his bike.
"What's going on here?" Dutch rumbled, his deep baritone vibrating through the pavement with lethal authority.
Chapter IV: The Tables Turn
The smirk on the tan-jacketed man’s face instantly evaporated.