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Not until the man began to throttle me about. It was like he suddenly had monster strength.

“Her? This is what has your panties in a knot, motherfucker?” the man condescended.

“That’s enough!” someone shouted from the other end of the diner. “I said– Fuck’s sake, Banshee, get them.”

The bells clanked against the glass door and I sobbed, praying it was my employer.

“You just gonna sit there and eat popcorn, or what?” the other Henshaw yelled.

“That’s enough, Montana. Let the boy go,” an authoritative voice demanded.

“Fine, I’ll let go.” Montana’s accent drew, though something in his voice didn’t sound all that compliant.

As quickly as the thought crossed my mind, I was smashed violently against the counter. Something bounced off me a few times, hurling me like waves against a shore over that flat surface repeatedly. I frantically twisted and turned, until I was frozen in place by the sight of Cole’s brother kicking the shit out of the redhead with the Satan’s Riders vest.

“Get out,” My ability to speak came from nowhere, quiet at first, before it carried like the voice of God, “Get out, all of you!”

I grabbed the napkin dispenser and threw it at the closest target to me. It bounced off the head of a well-groomed, blue-eyed man. The one who seemed to bark orders over the rest. He swatted it away with a late swing that only caught after it had connected with his pretty temple. His eyes flashed to an icy shade of blue, his body turning toward me, prompting me to snatch a barstool up.

“Easy. Easy now, girl…” Montana gently encouraged me, having worn himself out and dirtied his boots with the waste on the floor.

“Get out.” I managed through gritted teeth, surprising myself by the iron in my tone.

It was a stark contrast to the freely flowing tears that painted my face.

Montana’s gaze softened, but I wasn’t swayed. I just wanted to run. To flee to the safety of my home. I couldn’t very well do that with all of these men glaring at me. I made a snap decision, or maybe I didn’t. I can’t say that I really know what went through my mind, when I hurled it at his narrow ass and grabbed a second.

“Brenna,” Montana breathlessly pleaded as I set my sights on the man I’d nailed with the napkin dispenser.

‘President’ was what the patch over his breast said.

“If you think that little word on your puffed-up chest means anything to me, you are sorely mistaken, mister. You ain’t nothing but an oversized thug. No better than the rest of these small-town clowns”

“It’s all they’ll ever be,” a familiar, feminine voice testified from behind me.

All of us glanced toward the newcomer, the bells ringing in competition with her sage words.

“You dumbasses done? Hmm?” Daisy glared at the bunch like she’d take them however they wanted it. One at a time or all at once… “The lady asked you to remove yourselves. So–”

She bugged her eyes and threw both hands in the air, as if she didn’t have the patience to explain it to them in smaller words.

“What do you want to do here, Mark? Take responsibility for your men, maybe?” She tipped her head, unwilling to let him break eye contact as the distance slowly began closing between them.

“Daisy—” Montana Henshaw began.

Daisy swung at him like she’d been waiting half a lifetime to do it. Luckily he had catlike reflexes and caught her wrist before the blow could land.

“Take your hands off me,” She growled, each ground out word dripping with restraint.

“Stop.” The plea in his tone touched me.

The gentleness in his eyes rivaled the rage in hers.

“Get your fucking flunkies gathered up and get out, Carl,” she exploded, seemingly unconcerned by his efforts to restrain her, “And don’t make me tell you again to get your filthy outlaw hands off of me.”

The last six words were followed by venomous slaps; some he blocked, others caught him square in the chops.

“Come on, guys. Please…” Montana attempted.