The president stood up from his chair.
Without exchanging a single spoken word, all eleven bikers stopped drinking, their conversations dropping into absolute, deadly silence. Every rider rose to his full height in synchronized unison, their heavy boots thudding against the concrete sidewalk.
The entire group formed a massive, unbroken semi-circle of leather, chains, and iron.
"Nobody touches the kids on our watch," the president rumbled, signaling the table with a sharp tilt of his chin.
Three riders stepped across the street on foot to casually block the SUV’s front wheels, while four others mounted their heavy machines, firing the engines up with a deafening, rhythmic roar.