Free Breaking Away [Smoky Mountain Motorcycles] (Siren Publishing Classic) by Grae McTavish

and counted six riders on bikes. Calm down, he told himself. The odds were slim they were the same bikers that put him in the hospital. The bikers that took him out were in that one percent that were truly dangerous. The vast majority of riders were good people.
    He felt Willa stiffen behind him, and he wanted to curse. He reached down and gently squeezed her knee. “It’s okay, baby. I see them. Don’t worry. Nothing will happen to you as long as I’m alive.”
    She squeezed him tight, as if she was trying to melt into him, but he felt her slight nod. “I trust you,” she whispered softly.
    The bikes rumbled to a stop all around him. He couldn’t see the patches on the backs of their leather and jean jackets, but the tattoo on the bicep of the man to his right told him what he needed to know. He ground his teeth and curse. Son of a bitch! He recognized that tat as the Southern Rising. They weren’t the biggest gang around, but their leader, Reb Watkins, was one psycho bastard. But he was smart, too. He made sure they only hit big business and the government. Some people called them the modern-day Robin Hood. Jake didn’t trust the fucker any farther than he could throw him, and as he glanced to his left, he wanted to kick something. Of all the damn luck, Reb didn’t ride out with his boys that often, but today just had to be the day he did.
    “Well hello, stranger, where you been hiding?” Reb questioned in his deep southern drawl.
    “Ah, come on now, Reb, you know he’s been hangin’ with his pig friends.” This came from a bald, pierced thug in the back of the pack.
    “Yeah, you know how pigs stick together.” He wasn’t sure where that had come from, but he felt Willa tense against him.
    He had to get this situation under control. He considered blowing through the red light and trying to outrun them but only for about five seconds. He might be able to outrun them, but it would be dangerous as hell. There was no way he could take that chance with Willa on the back of the bike.
    He needed to play it cool. Giving Willa’s knee another squeeze, he hoped she would realize and play along.
    “Whatever. I think it’s pretty obvious who and what I’ve been doing.” He nodded back toward Willa. “My old lady’s been taking real good care of me these last few months. If you had a fine woman like this, you wouldn’t be too eager to hang out with a bunch of dudes either. I’ve been enjoying lots of TLC,” he said with a waggle of his eyebrows before he turned back to face the light.
    Of course, he should have known, they wouldn’t just let it go, not Reb.
    “You’re saying you haven’t been licking your wounds, pig?” Baldie challenged.
    “Look, just say whatever the fuck you want to say. I’ve been getting along just fine since they closed the Rusty Screw.” The light turned green in front of them, and Jake fervently wished a car would come up behind them and force them to move on through the intersection.
    “I’m saying you got to be a pig. We know that fat bitch Maggie was a cop, and since she was cougaring all over you, we figure that makes you a pig, too.”
    “At least his taste has improved. That’s one fine-looking piece of ass you have on the back of that bike.” This came from Reb, and Jake went from furious to terrified. It sent a cold chill down his spine that Reb had taken notice of Willa.
    He hated that he couldn’t defend Maggie. She’d been his partner, mentor, and friend. It felt like betrayal, letting them talk like that about her. It burned like acid in his stomach, but he knew what he had to do. It was a wonder the steel handlebars of his bike weren’t permanently twisted from his white-knuckle grip. But Willa had to come first, and he sent up a silent prayer. Forgive me, Mags. “Look, asshole. I took a bullet in the leg and another to the side of the head because of that bitch. So don’t preach to me about pigs. Back the fuck off. The only thing that kept that day from