His wolf stirred uneasily. Whatever they were thinking, it wasn’t good.
The lead man was built like a bulldozer, with massive shoulders and fists that looked like they’d seen plenty of use. All six of them began moving toward the MC’s table with deliberate intent.
“Trouble,” Hunter murmured, just loud enough for the pack to hear.
Dom held up a hand for patience, watching the locals approach. Maybe they were just curious about the newcomers. Maybe they wanted to welcome Steel Protection to the community. Maybe this would be the beginning of the positive relationships he’d hoped to build.
The lead man stopped three feet from their table, close enough to be threatening but not quite close enough to justify immediate action. His five companions spread out in a loose semicircle, effectively surrounding the booth.
“You bastards back for more?” The words carried across the suddenly quiet dining room like a challenge.
Every conversation stopped. Forks paused halfway to mouths. Parents pulled their children closer. The cheerful community atmosphere evaporated, replaced by tension thick enough to taste.
Dom stood slowly, keeping his hands visible and his movements deliberate. Decades of dealing with hostility had taught him the value of de-escalation.
“I don’t know who you think we are, but we don’t want trouble.”
“Bullshit. We know exactly what you are.”
“We’re Steel Protection,” he said, his voice calm and professional as he reached for a business card. “Private security consultants. We’re here to help protect this community.”
The big man’s laugh was harsh and bitter. “You’re more Crown Mountain Development mercenaries. We know exactly what you are.”
Dom felt his wolf snarl at the accusation, but he kept his expression neutral. Crown Mountain was the corporate conspiracy that had terrorized this community for years. No wonder these people were afraid.
“You’re mistaken,” Dom said. “We’re legitimate private security. Here’s my business card.”
“Don’t want your fucking card,” the man snarled, slapping it from Dom’s hand. The white rectangle fluttered to the floor between them. “We fought you bastards off once. We can do it again.”
Behind the counter, the owner had appeared with a phone in his hand, his face pale with worry. Other customers were backing toward the exits, some pulling out their own phones.
“Sir, I understand your concern,” Dom said, raising his hands in a gesture of peace. “This community has been through a lot. But we’re not your enemies. We’re here to prevent what happened before from happening again.”
“Bullshit.” The big man stepped closer, his fists clenched. “You came back to finish the job. Thought we’d be soft targets after the first round.”
Dom’s pack remained seated, but he could feel their readiness like electricity in the air. Siren’s hand rested casually near her concealed weapon. Hunter’s muscles were coiled for movement. Axel’s eyes tracked each of the six locals, calculating reaction times and threat levels.
“I’m asking you to step back,” Dom said, his voice carrying just enough alpha authority to make the locals hesitate. “We don’t want trouble. We came here for dinner, nothing more.”
“Should have stayed where you came from,” another local growled. “We don’t want your kind here.”
A young woman at a nearby table had her phone out, clearly recording the confrontation. The big man drew his fist back, telegraphing his punch with the obvious technique of someone who relied on size rather than skill. Dom could have dodged easily, could have countered with a strike that would have ended the fight before it started.
Instead, he took the hit.
The punch caught him square in the jaw, snapping his head back and sending blood flying from his split lip. He staggered but remained standing, still keeping his hands raised in a non-threatening position.
“Jake, get him!” someone shouted.
The other locals rushed forward like a pack of wolves, all six of them piling onto Dom at once. He went down under their combined weight, covering his head and trying to protect his vital organs as boots and fists rained down on him.
His pack exploded into motion.
Axel vaulted the table as one of the locals swung a coffee mug at his head. He ducked under the wild swing, and the man’s momentum carried him face-first into the wall with a sickening crunch.
Hunter sidestepped a charging tackle that sent his attacker crashing through a neighboring table in an explosion of splintering wood and flying dishes. The man disappeared under an avalanche of broken crockery, groaning and trying to untangle himself from the wreckage.
Blaze deflected a chair that came swinging at his skull, redirecting it into a support beam where it shattered into kindling. The man wielding it lost his balance and fell backward, taking down an entire booth divider in a cascade of splitting vinyl and twisted metal.
