The ride into Black Reaper territory felt wrong from the beginning.
Not dangerous, not tense. Just wrong.
I sat behind Knox while dozens of motorcycles thundered through the darkness and every instinct I possessed kept whispering the same warning.
Something wasn’t right.
The convoy stretched for what looked like miles. With Knox and I leading the way.
Trucks followed behind us carrying weapons and supplies. Headlights cut through the darkness while engines roared across empty highways.
Nobody joked or laughed or played music or tried to ease the tension. They rode in completely silence. Focused and prepared. Ready.
I tightened my grip around Knox’s waist while cold wind whipped against my face and for the hundredth time that night I checked the weapon strapped beneath my jacket
