Correction—eleven of them were brawny and leather-clad. The twelfth was a petite brunette with a mass of long, curly hair, currently pulled back beneath a Cardinals ball cap. Fallon Keene, the only sister among six Keene brothers, named alphabetically from Gabriel down to Adam, who'd been removed from the NAC and sent into the loving arms of a rival Pack after he took out their leader. No one had heard from Adam since that exchange had taken place. Given his crime, I assumed that wasn't a good sign.
I nodded at Fallon, and when she offered back a quick salute, I decided I could live with her poor choice of baseball allegiances.
Gabriel Keene, Pack Apex, rode the bike in front, his sunkissed brown hair pulled into a queue at the nape of his neck, his amber eyes scanning the scene with what looked like malicious intent. But I knew better. Gabriel eschewed violence unless absolutely necessary.
He wasn't afraid of it, but he didn't seek it out.
Gabriel revved his bike with a flick of his wrist, and like magic, McKetrick's men stepped back toward their SUVs.
Gabe turned his gaze on me. "Problems, Kitten?"
I looked over at McKetrick, who was scanning the bikes and their riders with a nervous expression. I guess his anti-vamp bravado didn't extend to shifters. After a moment he seemed to regain his composure and made eye contact with us again.
"I look forward to continuing this conversation at a more appropriate time," McKetrick said.
"We'll be in touch. In the meantime, stay out of trouble." With that, he slipped back into the SUV, and the rest of his troops followed him.
I bit back disappointment. I'd almost wished they'd been na?ve enough to make a move, just so I could enjoy watching the Keenes pummel them into oblivion.
With a roar from custom mufflers, the SUVs squealed into action and drove away. Pity it wasn't forever. I checked the license plates, but they were blank. Either they were driving around without registrations or they'd taken off the plates for their little introductory chat.
Gabe glanced at Ethan. "Who's G.I. Joe?"
"He said his name was McKetrick. He imagines himself to be an anti-vampire vigilante.
He wants all vamps out of the city."
Gabe clucked his tongue. "He's probably not the only one," he said, glancing at me. "Trouble does seem to find you, Kitten."
"As Ethan can verify, I had nothing to do with it. We were driving toward Creeley Creek when we hit the roadblock. They popped out with guns."
Gabe rolled his eyes. "Only vampires would find that a limitation instead of a challenge. You are immortal, after all."
"And we prefer to keep it that way," Ethan said. "The weapons looked custom."
"Anti-vamp rounds?" Gabriel asked.
"It wouldn't surprise me. McKetrick seemed like the type."
"And my sword is at the House," I pointed out to Gabe. "You give me thirty-two inches of folded steel, and I'll take on anyone you want."
He rolled his eyes, then revved his bike and glanced over at Ethan. "You're headed to Creeley Creek?"
"We are."
"Then we're your escorts. Hop in the car and we'll get you there."
"We owe you one."
Gabriel shook his head. "Consider it one more notch off the tab I owe Merit."
He'd mentioned that debt before. I still had no idea what he thought he owed me, but I nodded anyway and jogged back to the Mercedes.
I slid inside the car. "You said the fairies detested humans. Right now, I feel like 'detest' is hardly a strong enough word. And it looks like we can add one more problem to the punch list."
"That would appear to be the case," he said, turning on the engine.
"At least we're still friends with the shifters," I said as we zoomed through the stop sign ahead of us, the shifters making a shieldlike V of bikes around the car.