Page 18 of Riot

Still, my nerves wouldn’t settle. Maybe because Calvin stayed in the back of my head. Maybe because Merk had been off since we left. Maybe because these runs always had room to go bad even when they didn’t.

Bulldog jerked his chin at the bikes. “You heading straight back?”

“Yeah.” I rolled my shoulders once and felt sweat cooling under my shirt.

He glanced toward the road beyond the fence then looked back at me. Nothing changed in his expression, but my attention tightened.

“Keep it that way,” he said.

I held his stare for a beat. “Something I should know?”

Bulldog shrugged once. “Just feels crowded lately.”

The air seemed to get a little heavier. I glanced at Mayhem. He was already looking toward the gate.

Merk slammed the van doors shut harder than needed. “Crowded how?”

Bulldog lifted the case. “If I had names, I’d give them.”

That was all he had. Or all he was giving. Same thing, maybe.

I nodded once. “Appreciate it.”

He stepped back toward the dock. “Tell Preacher I said hello.”

The meeting was over. Bulldog waved us out with two fingers and had walked back toward the bay before we even hit the gate.

We rolled back onto the highway in the same formation. Me out front left, Mayhem in the right, and Merk in the van behind us.

For ten miles, everything was quiet, nothing but an empty stretch of road ahead. A few cars and pickup trucks passed in the opposite direction, the sun now higher.

My thoughts drifted toward Calvin. My wolf had chosen. It still seemed unreal. No more fucking random men. No more riding life solo. No more glances at pack members who were mated and feeling a squeeze of envy.

Another few miles passed before I noticed the first bike in my mirror. Could’ve been just another rider out on the road, but Bulldog’s comment came to mind.

Just feels crowded lately.

Keeping my speed steady, I checked again. A second bike came into view. Then a third, the three spreading out but keeping pace instead of bursting ahead.

I kept one eye on them, the other on the road.

A fourth bike joined them.

Then a fifth.

I knew the look of them without seeing a patch.

Iron Vendetta. Dark bikes. Dark cuts. The organized way they moved matching like the day they’d ridden past while we’d rebuilt the porch.

I lowered my arm, signaling with two fingers where only Mayhem would see. His response was the same. He’d seen them too. Merk kept the van steady, but his gaze was focused on his rearview mirror.

Steering toward the shoulder, I eased off the throttle, allowing the van to pass. Mayhem had done the same. We were no longer guiding the van. We were protecting the rear, also placing ourselves in a more vulnerable position with our backs exposed to them.

My grip tightened on the throttle. A few cars passed on the other side of the road, sunlight glinting off the windshields.

A glance in my mirror showed Iron Vendetta was still there and still keeping their distance.

Another bike joined them then three more. This was beyond not good. I fought the urge to turn around and start something. My wolf’s hackles rose, growing low in warning.