"What, is it some kind of competition now?" Calum unbuttoned his shirt, sliding it off his shoulders. "See who can fuck you harder?"
"It can be."
"Well then, I guess I better win."
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Michael left his helmet sitting on his bike, not afraid of it being stolen as he tucked his keys away and unzipped his jacket.
In front of him sat a small time downtown grocery store that a couple of his mates owned, the same mates who had been having trouble with racketeers.
He pushed inside, frowning at the broken glass of the entrance doors as they automatically opened upon his approach. His two mates stood behind the register, afraid of the group of three men and some weird cross dresser of some kind who had smashed refrigerator glass doors and toppled shelving units. Produce was scattered in a mess across the floor, mixed in with glass.
Rodriguez gave an exasperated breath of relief when he saw Michael enter. He was a tall but scrawny man in a heavy Legion leather jacket similar to Michael's—but definitely of lower rank and quality.
"Fucking finally!" He gestured to the four men standing amidst the chaotic mess. "Deal with these fuckers!"
"Where's the rest of us?" Michael pulled his gun from his pocket, cocking the glock ready to shoot.
"On their way." Rodriguez said.
Michael looked at the intruding group, studying the strangers for a moment. Two bulky men and a built woman stood dressed in full black only a step or so behind a tall slender blond male. It was the blond that caught Michael's attention the most, with sparkling blue eyes that stood out violently against soft pale skin and dark black leather.
He was tall enough as it were without adding the studded heeled boots he was wearing; a gothic style screaming from his all-too feminine outfit.
The blond placed a hand on his hip, giving Michael an expectant look. "Well? Got something to say, tough guy?"
"Let me guess, you lot are from downtown yeah?" Michael wasn't too impressed. "Part of that protection racket?"
"You've heard of us? How sweet." The blond mocked before rolling his eyes and hissing with irritation. "Look, handlebar—I assume you're part of this Legion shit?"
"That'd be correct." Michael gruffly said, standing tall.
"I'm just here to collect what's mine."
"Ain't nothing here that's yours, mate."
"Tell that to my boss." The man harshly spat, gesturing to the man and woman standing behind the registers. "These fuckers don't wanna pay up? Then we take our protection back." He then gestured around him. "None of this shit had to happen."
"They're not protected by you and your lot. Just scram now and I won't fuckin' beat your head in."
"Funny, didn't they tell you? They've been paying us for a good few months now-"
