Both men froze in place, the color draining from their cheeks as their eyes locked onto the massive biker approaching with slow, heavy combat boot strides. The man with his hand on the gas tank snatched his fingers back as if the metal had burst into flames.
"We... we were just admiring the chrome, sir," the man in the tan jacket stammered, raising both hands defensively as his voice trembled in sheer panic. "No disrespect intended—we were just leaving!"
Dutch stopped directly beside Clara, towering over the two men like a mountain of leather and steel. He reached out with effortless speed, snatching the tan-jacketed bully by the collar and hoisting him onto his tiptoes.
"You lay a finger on this machine, you answer to me," Dutch said in a chilling, quiet whisper that made the man shiver with dread. "And you speak to this young lady with disrespect again, you won't walk out of this county."
Dutch shoved him back, sending him stumbling into his companion.
"Get off this lot. Now."
The two men scrambled into their sedan, tires screeching in desperate panic as they fled into the night.