Page 5 of Saint’s Revenge

We ride.

The road out of Millhaven is empty at this hour. No streetlights once we leave town, just darkness and the narrow beam of our headlights cutting through it. We ride in formation. Phoenix and Judge leading, the rest of us flanking.

The wind cuts through my cut, cold enough to sting even through the leather. We're doing seventy-five on an empty highway, eight bikes moving like a single organism, headlights slicing through darkness so thick it feels solid.

I adjust my grip on the handlebars. Check my mirrors. Phoenix and Judge hold the lead position, their bikes perfectly aligned. Brick rides to my left, Ranger to my right. Echo and Wraith flank the formation. Diesel brings up the rear opposite me.

The highway stretches out ahead, empty and dark. No streetlights once we left Millhaven. Just asphalt and white lines and the rumble of eight engines tearing through the night.

My hands are steady. I flex my fingers around the grips, test my grip strength. Good. No shaking. No hesitation.

Phoenix signals: hand up, then forward. We accelerate to eighty.

I think about my brother at the end of this ride. About the warehouse. About Riley promising to hide and knowing she won't if it comes down to it. She never could back down from a fight, not even when we were kids and she was half the size of whoever she was swinging at. Got that scar on her eyebrow from a boy twice her size when she was thirteen. Daniel pulled her off him.

If someone goes after one of the brothers tonight, she'll step in.

I can't think about that. Can't think about her getting caught in the crossfire. I roll my shoulders. Check my rearview again. Diesel's headlight is a steady point behind me.

The Oakridge welcome sign appears on the right. Phoenix signals the turn. We lean into it together, eight bikes carving through the curve like we're connected by invisible wires.

I haven't been here in five years, but my body remembers. Knows exactly where we're going without needing directions. Main Street passes on the left, the diner where we used to steal fries, the gas station where Daniel got his first fake ID, the corner store that never carded us for cigarettes.

All of it looks smaller. Dirtier. Like I remembered it through a filter that doesn't exist anymore.

Phoenix slows as we enter the industrial district. Streetlights are sparse here. Most of the buildings are abandoned. Old factories and warehouses left to rot when the steel industry collapsed.

Judge's brake light flashes. We all slow in response.

And there it is.

The warehouse rises out of the darkness like something from a nightmare I've been having for five years. Three stories of old brick and rusted metal. Windows boarded up or broken. Brennan Steel still visible in faded letters across the front even though the company went under when I was twelve.

Phoenix cuts his engine two blocks out. We follow suit immediately, and the silence is immediate and total. No rumble. No wind. Just the faint creak of metal settling somewhere in the distance and the sound of eight men breathing.

We dismount in unison. I swing my leg over, boots hitting pavement with barely a sound. Phoenix motions close us, and we form a tight circle around him.

"Fifteen bikes," he says, voice barely above a whisper. He jerks his chin toward the side parking lot. I follow his gaze and count them quickly. Fifteen motorcycles lined up in the gravel. "They're all inside."

Judge pulls his gun, checks the magazine, slides it back home. The click is soft but definitive. Brick cracks his knuckles. The sound makes me think of bones breaking.

Phoenix continues. "Brick and Ranger, east entrance. Echo and Wraith, west side. Judge and Saint, south door. Diesel with me on the front." He looks at each of us in turn. "We go in simultaneously. 0100 hours. Four minutes from now." He pauses. "The girl who helped us is not a target. Anyone else fights back, you end it."

I nod.

Brick shifts his weight. "What about Demon?"

Phoenix's expression doesn't change, but something hardens in his eyes. "He's mine if I see him first."

I open my mouth. Close it. Phoenix meets my gaze, and I see it there, the same thing I've been carrying. The need to be the one who ends this. The only difference is Phoenix has a reason everyone knows about. My brother allegedly ordered the hit-and-run that killed Phoenix's parents years ago. Allegedly. No one's ever confirmed it. But the rumor's been floating around since before I even joined the club.

If anyone deserves to put a bullet in Daniel besides me, it's Phoenix.

"But if you get to him first," Phoenix adds, now looking at me, "you do what needs doing. Understood?"

"Understood."

Phoenix checks his watch. "Three minutes. Move."