I never forgot. Loretta tightened her grip, leaned closer so he could hear her. She never told me. Never said a word. That's the kind of person she is, does the right thing and walks away.
They rode in silence for another mile, and then Jake's voice crackled over the helmet radio. Boss, I've got eyes on something, 2 miles ahead. Multiple vehicles on the shoulder. Looks like a situation. Vince's entire body tensed.
What kind of vehicles? One sedan, dead on the side of the road. One black pickup truck behind it. Three men outside. Looks like they're trying to get into the sedan.
Vince's voice went cold, hard. That's her. Go to combat formation. Be ready for anything. The six bikes shifted.
Jake stayed on point, but slowed. The others spread out, creating a wider front. Loretta's heart hammered in her chest, not from fear, from something else, something she hadn't felt since her nursing days in the field hospitals, the sharp clarity that came before crisis. She might be 72, but she wasn't helpless, and she wasn't about to let anyone hurt her daughter. The motorcycles crested a small rise, and there, in the wash of their headlights, was exactly what Jake had described.
A blue Honda Accord, engine dead, hazard lights blinking weakly, a black pickup truck parked behind it, headlights off, and three men, one holding a crowbar, one holding a flashlight, one on his phone. All three turned as the six motorcycles roared toward them. The engines were deafening, the headlights blinding. Vince brought his bike to a stop 20 feet away. The others formed a semicircle, surrounding the scene, engines idling, headlights creating a makeshift arena of light.
Vince killed his engine, climbed off, helped Loretta down. She pulled off her helmet, hair disheveled, eyes blazing. And she ran toward the Honda. Evie! The driver's side door opened.
Evelyn Sutton stumbled out, pale, shaking. She saw her mother and something broke inside her. She ran forward. They met in the middle, held each other. Mom, what are you How did you Shh.
I'm here. You're safe. Vince walked toward the three men. Ray, Jake, and Bobby fell in behind him. The man with the crowbar took a step back.
Look, man, we don't want trouble. Vince stopped 10 feet away, hands loose at his sides, no weapons visible, didn't need any. Who sent you? The man with the crowbar glanced at his companions. "Nobody sent us.
We were just trying to help." "You were trying to break into her car." "She wasn't answering. We thought maybe she was hurt." Vince took another step forward.
"Try again." The man on the phone spoke up. Braver or stupider than his friends. "Wade Garrison sent us. Said to bring the woman to him."
"Said she owed him a debt." There it was, the name Vince had been waiting to hear. Wade Garrison. The man who'd ordered the hit 12 years ago. The man who'd killed Tommy.
The man who tried to kill Vince himself. "Wade Garrison," Vince said slowly, "needs to learn to let things go." The man with the phone sneered. "He knows you're here, knows you're protecting her." "He said to tell you this doesn't end until he gets what he wants."
Vince's expression didn't change, but something in his eyes did. "Tell Wade I have a message for him. Evelyn Sutton is under my protection. She's family. And if he or anyone working for him comes near her again, it won't be a conversation.
It'll be a war." The three men exchanged glances. They were outnumbered, outgunned, and they knew it. The man with the crowbar dropped it, held up his hands. "We're just doing a job, man.
Nothing personal." "Then find a different job." One of the three men backed toward their truck, got in. The engine started, but before they could drive away, Vince walked to the driver's side window. Leaned down.
"One more thing. The man in the hospital, the one Miss Sutton saved this morning. Tell Wade that if anything happens to him, I'll know it was Wade, and I'll respond accordingly." The driver nodded, eyes wide. The truck pulled away, taillights disappearing into the darkness.
Vince turned back to find Evelyn staring at him, recognition dawning on her face. "You," she whispered, "you're the man from the desert." Vince nodded, walked toward her slowly, like approaching a spooked horse. He stopped a few feet away, pulled his vest open, unbuttoned his shirt enough to reveal the tattoo on his chest, the skull with wings, the incomplete left wing. Evelyn's hand went to her own shoulder, wearing an identical tattoo set beneath her shirt.
"12 years," Vince said quietly, "I've been looking for you. To say thank you. To tell you that what you did mattered. To make sure you know that you're not alone." Evelyn's eyes filled with tears.
"I thought I'd never see you again." "I made a promise. If you ever needed help, I'd come. No questions. No hesitation."
He gestured to the five men behind him. "We all made that promise." Loretta stepped forward, looked at Vince, at her daughter, at the motorcycles and the men, and the sheer improbability of this moment. "Someone needs to tell me what's going on." Vince nodded.
"We will, but not here. Not out in the open. We need to get somewhere safe, somewhere Wade can't reach." Ray stepped forward. "Clubhouse is 20 minutes south.
Secure, defensible." Jake added, "We've got the full chapter meeting there in an hour. Everyone will be on site." Vince looked at Evelyn. "Will you come with us?"
She hesitated, old instincts telling her to run, to hide, to handle this alone. But Loretta put a hand on her arm. "These men came to help you. Trust them." Evelyn looked at her mother, at Vince, at the five men standing watch like sentinels.
She nodded. "We'll need to get your car towed," Vince said. "Ray, call Jimmy. Tell him to bring the flatbed out here. Priority pickup."
Ray pulled out his phone, walked away to make the call. Vince turned to Evelyn and Loretta. "You'll ride with Ray and Bobby. They'll keep you safe. I need to make some calls, figure out what Wade's next move is."
But before anyone could move, headlights appeared on the horizon. Not three vehicles this time. Five. Black SUVs moving fast. Jake swore under his breath.
"Boss, we've got company." Vince's jaw tightened. "How many?" "Five vehicles. Figure three per vehicle.
15 men." Bobby did the math. "We've got six here, 12 more on the way. 18 total." "Against 15," Jake said.
"Not great odds." Vince pulled out his phone, hit a speed dial number. "Sheriff Brooks, it's Vince. I need a favor. Highway 89 mile marker 43.
Situation developing. No shots fired yet, but it's heading that way." A pause while he listened. "Understood. We'll hold position."
He hung up, looked at his men. "Sheriff's 10 minutes out. We hold until then." Ray came back. "Tow truck's on the way.
Jimmy says 20 minutes." "Tell him to make it 30. We're about to be busy." The five SUVs pulled to a stop in formation. Engines running, headlights creating a wall of light.
Doors open. Men stepped out. Not street thugs this time, not hired muscle. Professional, military bearing, body armor under jackets, weapons visible but not drawn. And in the center of the formation, stepping out of the middle vehicle, was Wade Garrison himself.
45 years old, tailored suit, graying hair, a face that belonged in a boardroom, not on a desert highway. He walked forward with the confidence of a man who'd never lost a fight because he always stacked the deck in his favor. He stopped 20 feet from Vince, smiled. "Vincent Blackwood, it's been a long time." "Not long enough."
Wade's smile widened. "Still angry about Vegas? That was business, nothing personal." "You killed my cousin." "He was in the way."