Chapter 17

The bikers shoved Clara, Erika, and Ian forward, forcing them toward a crumbling, abandoned building looming like a haunted skeleton against the night sky. The gang members laughed and jeered, clearly enjoying the helplessness of their captives.

Clara glanced around desperately, hoping to spot some way out. But before any plan could form, a sharp, commanding voice sliced through the evening air behind them.

"Release them, or I’ll start popping bullets," the voice drawled, cold and confident.

Everyone turned, and there stood Briggs, holding a rifle steady and pointed at the gang, his expression all business. Beside him, Marcus watched with narrowed eyes, taking in the scene, his arms crossed and posture tense. His gaze was sharp, calculating.

The tattooed leader barked out a laugh, his men’s guns immediately swiveling toward the newcomers. “Well, well,” he sneered, flashing a crooked smile, “look who decided to crash the party.”

Briggs cocked his head, his finger resting just above the
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