Chapter 5: The Patch

Nobody in the quarry breathed.

Ronan held Bronco's wrist in the air, and Bronco hung on the end of it, red to the ears.

"Let go of me, Shadow."

"Take your hand off her first."

"She's my woman."

"She hit a finish line ahead of you," Ronan said. "In front of sixty people."

Bronco's other fist came up.

Ronan didn't even look at it.

He turned the wrist a quarter inch, and Bronco's knees buckled with a hiss.

"Enough!" Cyrus Doyle's voice filled the whole pit.

He walked down the dirt slope with his vest swinging, and every biker on the rim stepped back to make room.

"Let him go, Ronan."

Ronan let go.

Bronco stumbled back, rubbing his arm, and his eyes were poison.

"Uncle, she cheated."

"She won a fair race that you named and set the terms for," Cyrus said. "I watched the whole thing. Twice you put your wheel into hers."

A murmur went around the rim.

Bronco's mouth opened and closed.

"And a man who drags a woman off a bike after a fair race doesn't deserve the patch he wears."

Cyrus took one slow step toward him.

"You'll sit out thirty days of runs. You'll apologize to her in front of this club."

Bronco stared at his uncle with his mouth hanging open.

Then he looked at me.

His lips pulled back, and what came out was not an apology.

"I'm sorry you're a bitch."

Two of the old riders laughed out loud, shocked.

Cyrus's face went flat and dangerous.

"Thirty-one days," he said.

I got to my feet.

My hip screamed, and I let it.

I walked to the truck where the prospect had put the urn, and I picked up my father in both hands.

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