Too Late For Regret: The Biker Queen

Jazmyne "Raven" Duncan POV:

Bennet stormed down the concrete ramp like a rabid animal, his heavy boots pounding the iron steps. Camisha trailed behind him, clutching his arm, sobbing loudly into his shoulder while pointing a trembling finger at us.

He didn't say a word. He drew the black Glock 19 from his hip holster, crossed the bay in three strides, and pressed the cold muzzle directly against Maxine's forehead.

"Get on your knees and apologize to her," Bennet roared, veins bulging along his thick neck. "Or I'll blow your brains across this fucking floor!"

Maxine didn't flinch. She leaned her forehead harder against the steel barrel, her jaw set like iron, her knuckles white around the heavy driveshaft resting against her leg.

I picked up the twenty-inch breaker bar from the metal rack, stepped forward, and swung the heavy steel rod sideways.

Clang.

The bar struck the side of Bennet's slide, knocking the gun two inches off course. I stepped directly between the muzzle and Maxine's chest.

"Put the gun away, Bennet," I said, my voice cutting through his shouting like a frozen blade. "You shoot my master mechanic, and you can push your fleet to the regional rally on foot."

Bennet's bloodshot eyes locked onto mine. "She put hands on my girl! You think your Old Lady patch protects your people from Church law?"

"Your girl broke club code by messing with active race builds," I replied, staring down the barrel of his gun without blinking. "The regional Nine States Rally is in three weeks. The timing on your six lead bikes is customized to Maxine's dyno maps. Shoot her, and Iron Cross eats dust while every other charter laughs at your broken engines on Interstate 40."

Camisha tugged at Bennet's leather cut, whining, "Bennet, she's lying! She just wants to humiliate me! Make them pay!"

"Shut up," I snapped at her without breaking eye contact with Bennet.

Bennet stood frozen. I could see the wheels turning behind his angry eyes. He cared about one thing above all else: his image as an invincible leader. Breaking down on the highway during the biggest rally of the year would destroy his standing with the national board.

Slowly, his jaw clenching so hard the muscles twitched, Bennet lowered the Glock and shoved it back into the leather holster.

"You think you're indispensable, Jazmyne?" he spat, leaning in close. "You're just a mechanic who got lucky. You don't run this club."

"I never claimed to run your club," I said, turning my back on him and walking over to my tool cart. "Now get out of my bay."

Bennet's face flushed dark red with humiliation. To salvage his pride in front of Camisha, he wrapped an arm around her waist and raised his voice so it echoed off the concrete ceiling.

"Starting right now, you're off the books," Bennet announced loudly. "The clubhouse logistics ledger, the bail bond safe keys, and the supply contracts go to Camisha. You don't touch club money ever again."

Camisha looked over his shoulder, her swollen face twisting into a smug, venomous grin.

"Take them," I said, not even turning around. "Just try not to spend the bail fund on counterfeit perfume."

Bennet slammed his hand against a steel locker, cursed under his breath, and dragged Camisha back up the ramp.

The heavy door slammed shut.

Maxine let out a long breath and spat on the floor. "He was ready to pull that trigger, Jazmyne. You pushed him right to the edge."

"He's a coward who cares more about his reputation than his threats," I said, but my hands were shaking as I gripped the edge of the tool drawer.

Another sharp, tearing cramp seized my pelvis, deeper and more violent than the last. A cold wave of nausea hit me so hard my vision blurred for a split second.

"Jazmyne?" Maxine stepped closer, her brow furrowing. "You're bleeding through your shirt? No... what's wrong with you?"

"Low blood sugar," I gasped, keeping my back turned as I shoved a rag into my pocket. "Go out to the south shed and load the spare carburetors into the transport van. Now."

Maxine hesitated, then nodded and walked toward the back exit.

As soon as her footsteps faded, I sank down onto a wooden stool, pulled out my personal phone, and dialed Doc's private emergency line.