Blood on the Asphalt bikers

because my father Dutch promised him a seat at the high table for his

rs was cracking. I wanted to scream at him, to tell him he was

my voice trembling. "If your father authori

he touch was light, but it felt like a brand of fire on my skin. It was a mechanic's hand rough, strong, and steady. "And because I've watched

s electricity. For a heartbeat, the revenge and the debt vanished. There was only the heat of his skin and the way his gaze droppe

d, hitting the stopper with a bang that

oke-ruined voice roar

Dutch" Steele. The President. He looked like an older, more cynical version of Dax, his face weathered by decades of violence. In

eyes moved from me to the monitors, still frozen on the image of th

m his father's sight. The transition from the man who had al

Dutch," Dax said, his voice like grin

e revolver until the barrel was leveled directly at D

w, a jagged grin twisting his lips. He wasn't just here t

ck, his fingers brushing mine for a fractio

only person who can win the territory back. You kill the clu

hand trembled. He looked at his son, then at m

her in the cage. If she's as good as you say, Dax, she'l

at Dax, waiting for him to fight. But he stood there, his face a mask

spered, my v

the door. But as I passed him, I felt something small, cold, and hard

Ghost," he muttered, so low

the darkness of the hallway, heading for the one pl