The climb up the Devil’s Backbone felt different tonight. Usually, the mountain was my sanctuary, a place where I could lose myself in the rhythm of the turns, but now it felt like a vertical trap. The three sets of LED headlights behind me were closing the distance, their beams cutting through the darkness like searchlights. These weren't the heavy, lumbering cruisers of the Iron Wolves; these were high-performance tactical SUVs with enough horsepower to flatten my Norton if I let them get close enough to touch my rear tire.
I gripped the handlebars, my knuckles white under my leather gloves. My chest was pressed so tight against the fuel tank that I could feel the vibration of the engine deep in my bones. Every time I glanced at the ruggedized tablet mounted to my dash, the red progress
