Free Trip's Retribution (Hell Raiders MC Book 3) by Aden Lowe Page A

But then the truckers talked a little louder, throwing around remarks about biker trash and criminals. One by one, the Hell Raiders took note, and looked to Trip for direction.
    He gave a very clear do not engage signal. They couldn't afford trouble, especially not related to the job. It might not be easy, but they needed to just ignore and let the bastards go on their way happy to have bested a bunch of bikers.
    Apparently dissatisfied with the lack of reaction, the truckers upped the ante, growing louder and louder with more disparaging comments. Tension filled the air as the silent Hell Raiders resisted everything within them that insisted on honor and defense. Other customers noticed and quietly shifted away from the section, expecting big trouble.
    Finally, one of the truckers rose with a heavy scowl and approached a table full of Raiders. "Settle a bet for me, fellas?"
    Ryker, seated closest to the truckers gave a nod. "What is it?"
    He shifted from one foot to the other and threw his shoulders back, working it up to say something big. "Well, I say bikers always run in a pack because they're just too fucking scared to go alone. My buddy over there says it's because bikers are all fags, and the other one says it's because y'all are pussy fags, ain't got the balls to do nothing and can't get away from getting ass-fucked for a minute, anyway." He grinned, looking back over his shoulder at his companions.
    Enough was fucking enough. They couldn't let that shit stand. Trip met Ryker's glare and gave a slow blink of approval. Ryker stood and towered over the man. "If you care to try it out, I'm happy to go out to the back lot, alone. It'll take you about thirty seconds to figure it out."
    The man's face reddened and he blustered. "I ain't going nowhere with you. Probably get out there and get shot in the back."
    One of the other truckers chose to join in. "Nah, Steve-o, you'd get ass-raped. Boy ain't got the balls to shoot nobody, back or front."
    Ryker shrugged and made as if to sit back down. "Well, if you're too pussy to go out there with me, I understand. You don't want to get your little jacket mussed up."
    So much for avoiding attention. Trip shook his head. Every eye in the fucking place was on them. Shit.
    The trucker's face went first white, then so red Trip expected him to stroke out. Then he laughed. "Sure, I go out and kick your ass and the rest of your little gang jumps me. I don't think so, punk."
    Ryker threw his head back and laughed, only to fall silent and take a step closer to the trucker. "Pussy." He leaned into the man's face. "My brothers won't interfere, win or lose. You and I call it, they'll see it's a fair fight. Now put up or go home."
    The man paled again, the battle in his mind obvious for all to see. If he backed down, no one would ever look at him with respect or fear again. "Deal. Let's go." He spun on his heel and waved his companions to follow. They did, albeit warily.
    The Hell Raiders had no such issues. At Trip's nod, they rose as one and trouped out the door. Trip dropped a substantial tip on the table and headed out after the others. The delay for the fight would probably take less time than shepherding all the Raiders away from the table anyway.
    Out in the parking lot, the Raiders traded good natured remarks and made casual bets with the other patrons, most of whom had found one reason or another to be out there too. At the center of the loose gathering of observers, Ryker stripped off his cut and black tee-shirt and handed them to Fabio, followed by a handgun and two knives.
    Ryker stood shirtless, hands loose at his sides, bruises from his last match still visible on his ribs. Danger radiated off him, a formidable Mixed Martial Arts fighter and a veteran of dozens of matches. Beyond the ring, Ryker was lethal in a street fight and often picked up extra money in underground fights. "Okay, pussy. I'm unarmed. I'll even give you first punch. Take your best shot."
    For a moment, the