"Can we stay here?" Leo asked, his voice small. "Just for tonight?"
"You can stay as long as you need," Ron promised.
Suddenly, the heavy silence of the bar was shattered by the sharp, angry roar of an engine cutting through the rain outside. Headlights swept across the front windows, casting long, warped shadows across the wooden floor.
Tires screeched as a vehicle skidded to a violent halt right outside the front door.
Every man in the bar stood up simultaneously. The sound of heavy boots shifting and barstools scraping back filled the room. The men didn't draw weapons, but their physical presence expanded, forming a solid wall of leather and muscle facing the front entrance.
A heavy fist pounded on the locked door. The wood shuddered under the force.
"Sarah!" a slurred, furious voice screamed from outside. "I know you're in there! Open this damn door!"
Leo froze. The blood drained from his face. His heart hammered so hard it hurt his ribs. He instinctively scrambled backward into the corner of the booth, throwing his arms protectively over the sleeping Lily.
"It's him," Leo whispered, sheer terror paralyzing his vocal cords. "It's Carl."
Ron stood up slowly. He didn't look angry. He looked completely, terrifyingly calm. He reached down and gently patted Leo's head.
"Stay here, son," Ron said softly. "Keep your sister warm."
Ron turned around. The wall of bikers parted for him, allowing their president to walk straight down the center of the room toward the rattling front door.
"Gunnar," Ron said, not looking back. "Unlock it."
Chapter 3: The Wall of Iron
Gunnar stepped up to the door and smoothly slid the heavy deadbolt back. He turned the handle and pulled the door open, stepping to the side.
The storm howled into the room again, but this time, it brought a man with it.
Carl stumbled over the threshold. He was a tall man, but thin and wiry, wearing a soaked flannel shirt and a baseball cap pulled low over angry, bloodshot eyes. He smelled strongly of cheap whiskey and wet dog.
He took two steps inside, his fists clenched, chest puffed out with arrogant rage. He opened his mouth to scream, but the words died in his throat.
Carl froze.
He had expected to find a frightened woman hiding in a dive bar. Instead, he found himself standing in the center of a room surrounded by a dozen massive, silent men wearing Iron Vale rockers. The men had formed a perfect half-circle around the door, blocking any path forward. Nobody moved. Nobody spoke. They just stared at him with cold, predatory stillness.
Carl’s arrogant posture deflated instantly. His eyes darted around the room, the alcohol courage evaporating into sudden, sharp panic.