A cruel smile stretched across his face. "Jurisdiction, Samantha? I am a sitting city councilman on the verge of a mayoral run. The police chief eats dinner at my table. The judges play golf at my club.
I am the jurisdiction." He leaned against the bar, invading her space, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper. "You are going to walk out that door with me right now. We are going to go back to the estate. You are going to smile for the cameras on Tuesday, and then I am going to teach you a lesson about loyalty that you will never, ever forget." He reached across the polished oak counter, his manicured hand shooting out to grab her by the wrist. Before his fingers could even graze her skin, a heavy, calloused hand clamped down on Ruben's forearm like a steel vice.
Ruben gasped, his arrogant smile vanishing instantly, as excruciating pressure was applied to his bones. He wrenched his head sideways. Standing directly beside him, having emerged from the dark hallway leading to the back rooms, was Wyatt. The sergeant-at-arms was out of his leather cut, wearing a simple white t-shirt that showcased the thick corded muscle and prison-inked tattoos covering his arms. Wyatt's piercing blue eyes were dead, devoid of any human empathy.
"The lady told you to leave," Wyatt said, his voice a low, terrifying rumble that barely disturbed the air. Ruben, though wincing in pain, let his arrogance override his survival instincts. He yanked his arm, but Wyatt's grip didn't yield a millimeter. "Take your filthy hands off me, you piece of biker trash. Do you have any idea who I am?
I could make one phone call and have this illegal dive bar raided by SWAT in 10 minutes. I will have you rotting in a federal penitentiary before midnight." "Is that a fact?" The new voice boomed from the front of the bar. Ruben whipped his head around. Emery Grizzly Patterson had just unlocked the front door and stepped inside, followed closely by three heavily armed, fully patched members of the club. Grizzly locked the deadbolt behind him and flipped the closed sign to face the street.
The atmosphere in the room shifted from tense to suffocating. Ruben was suddenly hyper-aware of the fact that there were no windows, no exits, and no cell phone reception in the thick cinder block building. Grizzly walked slowly toward the bar, his heavy boots thudding against the wood. He didn't look angry. He looked disappointed, which was infinitely more terrifying.
He stopped a few feet from Reuben, looking the politician up and down. Councilman Reuben Bowman, Grizzly rumbled, crossing his massive arms over his chest. I know exactly who you are. You pushed through the zoning laws that shut down the Eastside Community Center. You took a $50,000 kickback from the developers who bought the land.
And according to the bruises my bartender was sporting when she walked in here two months ago, you like to use your fists on women who weigh half what you do. Ruben's face paled, the first crack in his polished facade finally appearing. Those zoning laws were public record. You can't prove anything else. Let go of my arm and let me take my wife home, and I will pretend I was never in this filthy hole.
Grizzly chuckled a deep, raspy sound. He looked at Samantha. Sammy, did you tell this suit whose house he just walked into? Samantha stood taller, the fear evaporating as she looked at the men surrounding her. They were outlaws, yes, but they lived by a code Reuben could never comprehend.
He thinks his badge and his bank account make him untouchable, Grizzly. Untouchable. Grizzly repeated, tasting the word. He nodded at Wyatt. Wyatt twisted Reuben's arm violently behind his back and slammed the politician's face directly onto the solid oak bar.
The crack of cartilage echoed in the quiet room. Reuben screamed, blood instantly blooming from his broken nose, staining his expensive silk tie. Here's the problem with your calculations, Councilman, Grizzly said, stepping in close and grabbing Ruben by the back of his perfectly styled hair, forcing him to look up. Your police chief doesn't send cruisers down this street because we have a mutually beneficial understanding. Your judges don't sign warrants for this building because they know what happens to the skeletons in their closets if they do.
You walked out of your civilized world and stepped into the jungle. Out here, your title means absolutely nothing. Out here, you are just a weak man who hits women. Ruben was sobbing now, the pain and the sheer unadulterated terror breaking his mind. He was a bully who had only ever operated from a position of absolute shielded authority.
Stripped of his power, he was nothing. Please, Ruben begged, spitting blood onto the floor. Please, I have money. I can pay you whatever you want. Grizzly ignored him and looked over his shoulder.
Dallas. From the corner booth, a younger, scrawny biker with wire-rimmed glasses and a laptop stepped forward. Dallas was the club's digital ghost, a man who could crack bank firewalls and scrub security footage with terrifying speed. Got his phone, boss. Dallas said, holding up Ruben's sleek smartphone.