Page 2 of My Single Dad Biker

"Nope."

I stop walking. I'm maybe twenty feet from them now. Close enough to see details I wish I couldn't. The shorter man has a tattoo crawling up his neck. The tall one has eyes that are flat and cold.

The door behind me locked automatically when I came through. The front entrance is around the building, which means walking past these men to get there. I'm holding my keys in my fist but my hands are shaking too badly to think clearly about which key might work.

I take a step backward.

The shorter man says something to the tall one in a voice too low for me to catch.

The tall one nods and takes a step toward me. Then another.

He's not walking away from the truck, he's walking toward me.

"You should probably head back inside, sweetheart." His voice has changed. Softer. Worse.

The word lands wrong and my heart starts beating faster. I take another step back and realize I've made a mistake. A bad one. There's no one here. The building is locked. My phone is inside. These men are between me and any exit.

The tall one takes another step. He's still smiling.

"I said you should head back inside." He's ten feet away now. "Unless you want to stay out here with us."

The shorter man moves too, circling slightly to my left. They're not leaving. They're positioning.

My back hits the brick wall of the school. I didn't realize I'd backed up that far. The tall man is close enough now that I can see the way his eyes move over me. Taking inventory.

My throat goes tight.

"The door's locked," I say, and I hate how my voice shakes. "I can't get back in."

"That's too bad." He's five feet away. "Looks like you're stuck out here with us."

The shorter man laughs. It's not a good sound.

I'm fumbling with my keys, trying to find anything that might help, when I hear it. A motorcycle engine, loud and getting louder. Coming fast.

All three of us turn toward the sound.

The bike appears around the corner of the building going way too fast for a school parking lot, engine roaring. Black chrome and ridden by someone who moves with the machine like it's an extension of his body.

The rider sees us.

The bike changes direction mid-approach, angling straight toward where we're standing, and it doesn't slow down. Doesn't slow down at all.

For a second I think he's going to hit us.

He stops six feet from the two men. The precision is terrifying, he probably could have hit them and chose not to.

The engine cuts and silence crashes back in.

The rider swings off in one smooth motion. He's tall, over six feet, wearing jeans and boots and a black leather vest over a dark t-shirt.

The vest has patches the two men clearly recognize because the tall one steps back immediately and the shorter one's hand drops from wherever it was moving.

The rider doesn't look at me. He's watching the two men and his whole body is utterly still. Coiled. Dangerous.

"Wrong parking lot." His voice is low and even and carries no inflection at all.

The tall one who was smiling at me thirty seconds ago is not smiling anymore. "We were just leaving."