“She lied,” Preacher growled. “She kept everyone away from you.”
Axel stood up. “This just became club business.”
He looked at the men around the table. No orders needed to be given; they all knew the drill. Axel turned to Doc. “You take Margaret in the club truck. The suspension is better. The rest of us follow on bikes. We’re going to Margaret’s house.”
Margaret looked up, panic rising in her chest. “She’s there. She’ll be waiting. If she sees me…”
“She won’t see just you, Margaret,” Preacher said, his voice surprisingly gentle as he placed a hand on her shoulder. “She’s going to see us.”
The ride back to the quiet suburban street was a spectacle. A matte black pickup truck flanked by six heavy motorcycles, the roar of the engines announcing their arrival like a thunderclap.
When they pulled up to the curb of the neatly manicured lawn, the curtains in the front window twitched. Margaret, sitting in the passenger seat of the truck with Doc, felt her stomach drop.
“It’s okay,” Doc said. “Stay here for a second.”
Axel, Preacher, and the others dismounted. They didn’t run; they walked with a terrifying, unified purpose up the driveway. Axel pounded on the door.
For a moment, there was no answer. Then, the door cracked open. Denise Harmon stood there. She was a younger woman, perhaps in her forties, with a face that might have looked pleasant if not for the sneer she wore when she thought no one important was looking. She looked past Axel, scanning for Margaret.

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