Cole
The punch landed before the sentence finished.
That’s how it started.
Silas's biker group stepped into the bar for drinks.
One of his guys leaned in too close, his breath hot with cheap beer and unearned arrogance. “Heard you’re playing house now,” he sneered.
I didn’t even remember moving.
My fist cracked across his jaw. Bone met bone. In a clean, sharp snap The sound shut the room up.
crashing into a table with a splintering thud.
Chairs scraped. Boots shifted. Silas didn’t look surprised; he looked entertained.
“Sensitive topic?” Silas asked mildly, tilting his head. like he was watching a street performance.
I flexed my hand once. “Careful.”
He smirked, eyes glinting. “Relax. I’m just curious how women and children fit into the biker life.”
The word echoed louder than
