Chapter 4
The engine of the vintage Indian motorcycle purred like a sleeping panther. Mara kept the headlights off as she rolled out of the driveway, waiting until she was three blocks away before clicking them on and opening the throttle.
The wind hit her face, cold and sharp. For the first time, she understood why her father loved this. The machine beneath her was power. It was freedom.
But tonight, it was a weapon.
She arrived at the Starlight Motel just past 2:00 AM. It was a rundown string of rooms off Highway 9. Two black SUVs were parked out front of rooms 12 and 14.
Mara cut the engine and coasted into the shadows of a broken neon sign. She didn't have a plan. She just knew she had to record them, find leverage, find something Ethan could use to destroy Silas without starting a war that could get her uncles killed.
She crept along the peeling paint of the motel wall. Room 14 had a window cracked open. The smell of cheap cigar smoke drifted out.
She pressed her phone to the gap, hitting record.
Inside, Silas was talking.
"...don't care about the money. Cross took my pride when he chased Vaughn out. Tomorrow night, we don't wait for the deadline. We hit the Ellison house. Burn it. Send a message to the rest of the clubs in the state that Toledo doesn't get stepped on."
Mara’s blood ran cold. He was never going to wait. It was a trap.
She took a step back, her boot crunching loudly on a piece of broken glass.
The talking inside stopped.
"Check outside," a gruff voice commanded.
Mara spun around and sprinted for the bike.
The motel door burst open. One of the huge bodyguards stepped out, a silenced pistol gleaming in the moonlight. He saw her immediately.
"Hey!"
Mara vaulted onto the bike, jamming the key in. It stalled.
"Come on, come on!" she hissed.
The bodyguard was running at her, fast for a man his size.
She twisted the ignition again. The engine roared to life. She dropped the clutch and the back tire spun, kicking up a cloud of gravel directly into the bodyguard's face.
She shot out onto the highway, her heart hammering against her ribs.
But a second later, headlights flared in her rearview mirrors. The SUVs were fast.
Mara pushed the bike to 80, then 90. The wind was a physical force trying to tear her off. But the SUVs were gaining. They didn't care about speed limits. They were going to run her off the road.
Suddenly, her phone, mounted on the handlebars, lit up.
Incoming call: UNCLE ETHAN.
She hit the speaker button.
"Mara," Ethan's voice was terrifyingly calm. "Where are you."
"Highway 9! Heading South! They're behind me!" she screamed over the wind.
"I know. Keep the throttle open. Do not brake. Do not look back."
"They're going to hit me!"
"No, they're not," Ethan said. "Look ahead."
Mara looked ahead.
At the intersection two miles down the road, the streetlights were out. But the darkness was moving.
Headlights flicked on. Not two. Not four.
Thirty.
Thirty motorcycles blocked the entire width of Highway 9.
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In the center, sitting on a massive custom chopper, was Ethan Cross. Bear was on his right. Diego on his left. Mike on the flank. And behind them, twenty-five other men wearing the black wings.
"Slow down, kiddo," Ethan’s voice crackled through the phone. "We got it from here."
