Chapter 4 The Wolves Bite

The crash of glass echoed down the hallway like a gunshot. Zuri flinched, her fingers tightening around her bag strap. Shouts followed, heavy boots thudding against the wood floor.

She told herself to stay put. That was what Amani had ordered.

But staying still had never been her strong suit.

The noise swelled until it felt like the whole building shook. Curiosity and a pulse of fear dragged her toward the barroom. She edged to the doorway, peeking out.

Chaos.

Two bikers were locked in a brutal fistfight near the pool tables, fists flying, blood already staining one man’s lip. Chairs scraped as others circled them, some egging it on, others trying to break it apart. The music still blared, a violent soundtrack to the madness.

And then she saw him.

The same man who had grabbed her earlier. His face twisted with rage, spit flying as he screamed at another brother. “You let him claim her? That outsider bitch? He’s spitting on the club!”

Zuri’s stomach dropped. This was about her.

The crowd roared as the man lunged, throwing another punch. His opponent stumbled back into a table, beer spraying everywhere.

Then Amani was there.

He cut through the crowd like a blade, his massive frame commanding instant space. One glare from him had half the men backing off. The air shifted, heavy with a kind of respect laced with fear.

“Enough,” he barked, voice carrying over the music and shouts.

For a second, it looked like it might work. The fighters hesitated, chests heaving.

Then the drunk one, her harasser, saw Zuri standing in the doorway. His eyes went wild.

“This is her fault!” he shouted, pointing a shaking finger at her. “She’s poison!”

Zuri froze as heads turned toward her. Whispers rippled.

And before she could move, the man shoved past Amani and stormed straight for her.

Her heart jumped to her throat. She stumbled back, but the hallway behind her gave no escape. His boots pounded closer, his face twisted in hate.

Something inside her snapped.

Zuri dropped her bag, hands curling into fists. She wasn’t going to be cornered. Not again.

When he lunged, she shifted to the side and slammed her knee up hard. It connected with his thigh, not quite where she aimed, but enough to make him grunt.

He swung a meaty hand toward her, but before it could land, Amani was there.

The Enforcer grabbed the man by the back of the neck and yanked him off his feet like he weighed nothing. He slammed him against the wall so hard the plaster cracked.

The whole bar went silent.

Amani leaned close, voice low and deadly. “You touch what’s mine again, I’ll break your hands off at the wrist.”

The man spat blood, glaring at both of them. “She’s gonna ruin you, brother. You’ll see.”

Amani’s fist slammed into the wall beside his head, missing his skull by an inch. The sound made Zuri flinch.

Then he let go. The man crumpled to the floor, gasping.

“Get him out of my sight,” Amani growled.

Two brothers hauled the man up and dragged him toward the door. The room buzzed again, low murmurs and sidelong glances.

Zuri’s pulse was still racing, her knee throbbing where it had connected. She bent to grab her bag, trying to ignore the dozens of eyes on her.

But Amani wasn’t letting her slip away.

He caught her arm, not rough, but firm enough that she stopped. His grip was hot against her skin, grounding and suffocating all at once.

“You’ve got fire,” he said, his gaze locking on hers. “Didn’t expect that.”

Zuri swallowed hard. “I told you, I don’t need saving.”

His mouth curved, not quite a smile. “Didn’t say you did. But you’ve got it anyway.”

Heat crept up her neck. She hated that his words made her chest tighten, that part of her wanted to lean into the strength in his grip. She yanked her arm back, holding her bag like a shield.

“Don’t expect me to thank you,” she snapped.

Amani’s eyes gleamed, dark and unreadable. “Wasn’t looking for thanks.”

The fight died down after that, though the energy in the bar never quite settled. Whispers followed her everywhere she moved, stares pressing against her skin. The women glared openly now, some smirking like they couldn’t wait to watch her fail.

Zuri sat in the corner, back to the wall, pretending to check her phone though she had no messages, no one waiting for her. Her body buzzed with leftover adrenaline, every nerve on edge.

Amani returned to the bar, whiskey in hand, but she felt his gaze on her more than once. Watching. Measuring.

She hated it.

She hated more how safe it made her feel.

Near closing, the bar thinned out. Brothers stumbled into the night, engines roaring to life outside. Zuri stayed put, waiting for the room to empty.

That was when she noticed him.

A man she hadn’t seen before stood near the door, not drinking, not talking. Just watching.

At first she thought he was another biker. But his cut was wrong, no patches, no colors. His jacket was plain leather, too clean for someone who belonged here.

And his eyes…

They were locked on her. Cold. Calculating.

A chill slid down Zuri’s spine.

She looked away quickly, pretending not to notice. But when she glanced back, he was gone.

Her chest tightened. She grabbed her bag and stood.

Amani was at her side in an instant. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” she lied, forcing her voice steady. “I’m leaving.”

His gaze narrowed, sharp enough to cut. For a moment she thought he’d push, demand answers. But then he stepped back, letting her pass.

“Stay sharp out there,” he said quietly.

Zuri didn’t reply. She pushed through the door into the night air, her heart hammering.

Engines rumbled in the distance. The street was darker than she remembered.

She clutched her bag tighter, walking fast. Every shadow felt like it was moving.

She told herself it was just nerves. Just paranoia.

But deep down, she knew.

Someone was watching.

And they weren’t finished.