“He’s trespassing,” Pike said immediately. “Didn’t pay his balance. I want him gone.”
Delgado looked at Evan. “Is that accurate?” Evan swallowed. “I’m short two nights. I just need until Friday.”
Before the officer could respond, another engine entered the lot. Then another. Three motorcycles rolled in, parking behind Travis’s Harley in measured formation.
Riders dismounted without hurry — men and women in their forties and fifties, American veterans judging by the military insignia sewn beneath their club patches. They didn’t shout. They didn’t crowd. They simply stood a few paces behind Travis, silent and observant.
Delgado’s posture shifted subtly. “Is this necessary?” he asked.
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