Rafe’s POV
We walked out of the bar like a storm.
The night air slapped us in the face - cold, salty, full of diesel and metal. The alley where the sound had come from hung black and open; the city’s edge breathed in and out like a living thing. I heard boots on pavement, the scrape of chairs. Behind me, the bar exhaled and went back to whatever small, private ruins people lived in. Out here, the world narrowed to the road and the hunt.
I smelled movement before I saw it - leather and exhaust rolling off the skyline, the metallic tang of more rogues on the wind. Headlights cut the darkness toward the old warehouse line at the city edge. Eight, maybe ten bikes, low and mean, the rogues’ silhouettes hunched like crows on chrome.
“s**t,” Maddox breathed.
“Call the pack,” Calder said, voi
