Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 50311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 252(@200wpm)___ 201(@250wpm)___ 168(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 252(@200wpm)___ 201(@250wpm)___ 168(@300wpm)
Nothing. Empty.
But there’s a message.
A Hellions patch, old and faded, nailed to the signpost. It’s bloodstained, tattered, sun-bleached. My heart drops. Toon spits a curse, Axel checks the perimeter, but there’s no one here. No bodies. Just a message, plain as day.
They want us to know they’re coming. They want us to feel it.
“This isn’t about old grudges anymore,” I say. My voice is steady, but inside I’m seething. “This is war.”
Axel’s face is stone. Toon’s knuckles are white. None of us needs to say it, but we do anyway. “War.”
We ride hard all night. No hotels, no rest stops. Just fuel and the open road, blacktop unspooling under us like a challenge. Every curve of the mountain feels like a trap. My jaw aches from clenching. My knuckles are raw from holding the bars too tight. We stop only for gas, for piss breaks, for the kind of quiet that’s more about bracing for the next round than resting.
By morning, we’re over the border, wheels crunching gravel at the safehouse near Boone—a hunting cabin we used in the last border war. Dust everywhere, the air stale with old sweat and gun oil. Toon gets the radio up. Axel unpacks the gear. I sweep the perimeter, every sense humming.
When I come back inside, I text Rex:
Safe. Waiting.
There’s already a message waiting for me:
Sit tight. Wait for orders.
My fist tightens around the phone. I don’t want to wait. But I know better. Patience is how you live. Impulse is how you die.
At sundown, I step out for air. Axel’s on the porch, cleaning his rifle, face blank as stone.
“You ever think this shit’s gonna follow her forever?” he asks without looking up.
“It already has.”
He grunts. “She know how bad it gets in our world?”
“No.”
“Should she?”
I shake my head. “Not until I know what storm we’re bringing home.”
He nods. “She’s tougher than most of us,” he mutters, and goes back to his gun. There’s a strange comfort in that, in his belief.
The order to return comes at dawn.
Rex’s text is short:
Return. No action. Hold.
It burns. I want this done, over. But this is the job. You prepare. You plan. You survive.
We burn what we can’t carry, pack up what matters, and roll out before the sun is fully up. The ride back is even quieter. Tension’s coiled so tight in my chest I feel like I might snap.
When we hit the driveway, Cambria’s waiting. She’s standing straight, eyes fierce. No smile, no tears. Just a look that says she’s ready for whatever comes.
“You good?” she asks as I step off the bike.
“Seeing you, I absolutely am.”
She falls into step beside me, hand brushing mine. At the trailer, we drink cold beer and listen to the radio low. I tell her everything I can, holding back the worst of it, but not lying.
She listens. When I finish, she says, “What do we do?”
“We prepare,” I tell her.
“Together?”
“Always.”
And that’s the only answer that matters. No matter what comes next, it’ll be both of us.
Rex calls sermon the next day. The full table. Every brother in his cut, even Axel shows up early, jaw locked, arms crossed.
“We’ve confirmed movement in three areas,” Rex says, stabbing the map. “Salentino’s pulling old allies. No official colors, but it’s only a matter of time.”
Toon leans over the map. “You want us to hit first?”
“Not yet,” Rex says. “We gather. We fortify. And we let them know we’re not scared to be seen.”
Smoke looks at me. “We going out?”
“Not yet,” I say. “Next step’s home defense. They’ll come if they think we’re scared.”
Rex nods. “We’ll bait them when the time’s right. Until then, every man’s on perimeter duty. No exceptions.”
After sermon, I find Axel in the garage. He’s leaning against the wall, cigarette glowing between his fingers. The silence between us is heavy.
“You think this ends with patches and parties?” he asks finally.
“No.”
He stares at the wall, flicks ash. “You think she survives this?”
“She already has.”
He lets out a slow breath. “You love her?”
I meet his eyes. “Yeah. I do.”
He nods. “Then start thinking five moves ahead. When they come, they’ll use her first.”
“I know.”
He stubs the cigarette, looks at me hard. “Then act like it.”
That’s what I do.
For the next week, I run drills. I make sure Cambria knows every escape route, every hideaway, every alley to slip into if it goes bad. She listens, never complains. Every night, she crawls into bed beside me, soft and warm. I hold her like I might lose her. Because I know what war does. I know how fast it can end.
The word comes in: Frankie’s nearby, hiding at the Wild Cherry. A bar with a dump of a bed-and-breakfast attached, just outside town. The second I update Rex, he says, Go. End it.
We ride there with fire in our veins, Toon and Axel at my side. The Wild Cherry is neon lights over broken pavement, two dumb guards out front. We take them down quick, quiet.