Making the Break (Beating the Biker 2)

Gloria’s belligerent words, Chrissy’s obvious pissed-off attitude, and the events of the past twenty-four hours coalesced to spark anger in Saks’ heart. It was bad enough to have one angry woman confront him, but two was one too many. Saks had to disengage, and he turned to the trunk of the car again. That’s when he spotted the handle of his hammer under a bunch of rags and pulled it out.

Gloria gasped. “Marcus!” she screamed.

What the fuck? But before he could move, six-feet-two-inches of hard Italian muscle flew at him. Saks and Marcus toppled to the unforgiving blacktop. If Saks hadn’t worn his Hades’ Spawn leather, his blood would’ve stained the ground.

His attacker was on top of him, landing one blow after another into his face. Saks’ ears rang from the repeated strikes.

“Stop, Marcus!” yelled Chrissy.

Marcus paused a quarter second—enough for Saks to wind his legs around the beefy Italian and flip him to his back. Saks leaned forward and put his arm across Marcus’ windpipe as the man struggled to unseat the biker. But Saks was stronger than he looked. His muscles wrought from the hard work hefting and riding bikes and long days on his feet forced the beefy Italian to the ground. His flexibility gave him an edge over the gym-sculpted muscles of the Italian.

“Get off him!” Gloria was behind Saks and sank her sharp nails into his neck.

“What the fuck?!”

“Gloria!” Over his shoulder he spotted Chrissy tugging on Gloria from around her waist, and the two women fell on the ground with grunts of pain.

“You bitch!” screamed Gloria.

Marcus took advantage of the distraction by wriggling out of Saks’ grip; he clamped onto Saks’ arms and threw him to the blacktop again. Chrissy and Gloria were going at each other with the fierceness of cats, and Marcus stood brushing off his black pants.

“One sec,” he said incredibly to Saks. He hauled Gloria to her feet.

“Get in the car, Gloria,” he growled.

“But—”

“Get. In. The. Car. What’s your grandfather going to think if you’re bruised up? Will he blame you or me?”

That seemed to stop her. Gloria stuck her lip out in a pout. “Sorry, Marcus.”

“Stop that!” he snapped. “You know it drives me crazy. And you,” he said, casting his gaze at Chrissy. “Go get yourself cleaned up. I’ll be back to get you for dinner.”

“I can drive myself.” Chrissy crossed her arms defiantly.

“Boss’ orders.” He glared at her.

“And you,” he said, turning at last to Saks. “Get out of here.” Marcus looked at Gloria again. “Get in the fucking car.” He muttered more quietly, “What a clusterfuck.”

“In case you didn’t notice, asshole, my car isn’t working.”

Marcus crossed his arms and regarded Saks, checking to see if he was telling the truth. “What’s the problem?”

“Starter.”

“That’s what the hammer was for?”

“Yes.”

“Mamma Mia, I thought you were going to hit one of the girls with it.”

“I wouldn’t hit any woman,” he turned pointedly to Chrissy, “unless she asked me to.” He snorted and shifted back to Marcus. “Which is why I keep getting the bad end of the deal with these Serafini women.”

“Hey,” protested Chrissy.

“Didn’t I tell you to go get cleaned up?” said Marcus, all warning and no patience.

“Men!” spat Chrissy, throwing her hands in the air. But she walked away and up the steps to her apartment. Saks took one parting look at her behind as the two round globes swayed as she walked. It was too bad this was going to be the last time he saw them. Best thing, buddy, he told himself. But his heart sank as the thought crossed his mind.