A towering man stepped into the room. He wore a scuffed leather cut adorned with the infamous winged death's head—the Hells Angels. He looked terrifying, but his eyes, sharp and calculating, held a strange gentleness when he looked at her.
He held up his phone, using a text-to-speech app with a large font so she could read his screen.
I'm Tommy. They call me Reaper. You saved Jack "Iron" Taggart. Our President.
Chloe offered a weak, tired nod.
Reaper typed again. The cops were here. What did you tell them?
Chloe gestured for his phone. With her bandaged thumbs, she slowly typed out exactly what she had written for Detective Miller, adding that Miller had dismissed her and taken the note.
Reaper’s expression darkened instantly. He took the phone back, his thumbs flying across the screen.
Miller is dirty. He’s on the payroll for the Sinaloa Cartel. They’ve been trying to wipe Jack out to take over our routes. If you told Miller it was a hit... they know you're a witness. They know you saw the driver.
Chloe’s heart plummeted. She had just survived a deadly crash, and now she was a target for a ruthless cartel.
Reaper didn't waste another second. He stepped into the hallway, raising two fingers to his mouth. Though Chloe couldn't hear the whistle, she felt the immediate vibration of heavy boots rushing down the corridor. Within minutes, a dozen massive, heavily armed bikers flooded the hospital wing. They blocked the elevators, chained the stairwell doors, and stationed themselves outside Chloe's room.