The Forge looked more like a military base than a criminal compound.
Even from a distance, I could see armed patrols moving along reinforced fences, floodlights cutting through the darkness and guard towers rising above rusted industrial buildings like watchful predators.
Saint had not been exaggerating. Neither had Vincent. This place was far bigger than any biker operation had a right to be.
It wasn't a clubhouse. It wasn't a gang headquarters. It was an empire.
Knox crouched beside me behind a rocky ridge overlooking the compound and his expression grew darker with every passing second.
"This is what he's been building." Knox said.
Roman adjusted the rifle hanging across his chest.
"This isn't a biker war anymore." Roman said.
"No. It hasn't been for a long time." Knox agreed.
