Shea drew her Glock as she recognized the approaching Thundermen. Mackey, One-Shot, Monster, and Gator, a lanky guy with a long jaw, scraggly teeth, and greasy, shoulder-length hair. There was no way this confrontation was going to end without bloodshed.
The men shut off their bikes. In the startling silence, Shea’s pulse pounded in her ears. She nudged Labrys behind her, shielding her with her body. “Just let us out of here, One-Shot and no one gets hurt.”
“What the hell are you doing here, you f*****g skank?” demanded Mackey. His little rat face was bright red. He drew a large Smith & Wesson revolver. One-Shot pulled a side-by-side, double-barrel shotgun out of a long holster mounted on his bike. Gator and Monster both held 9mm handguns, one a Walther P99, the other a Beretta 92FS.
“W
