The attack came just after four, while the light outside had gone the particular gray-gold color that meant the sun was already losing its argument with the clouds.
I heard the first bike before I saw it — too fast, too close, the kind of engine noise that didn't belong on a quiet residential street at this hour. Jax was on his feet before I'd even processed the sound, moving toward the bay door with the same coiled readiness I'd seen in Ronan the night before.
"Get back," he said. "Now."
I didn't get back. I grabbed the tire iron instead, some stupid, stubborn instinct refusing to let anyone else fight a battle happening in my own garage without me. By the time I reached the doorway, Jax already had the first rider off his bike, slamming him hard against the side of my building with a
