The mountaintop erupted into a symphony of mechanical violence. The Iron Wolves didn’t just arrive; they crashed into the clearing like a localized hurricane of leather and chrome. Dax led the charge, his Harley jumping the curb of the observation deck and skidding to a halt between me and the leveled rifles of Silas Thorne’s mercenaries. Behind him, Tank, Reaper, and twenty other brothers formed a semicircular wall of steel, their engines revving in a rhythmic, intimidating growl that challenged the thrum of the helicopter overhead.
"Get behind me, Mia!" Dax roared, his voice cutting through the wind. He didn't even look back to see if I complied; his focus was entirely on the men in tactical gear. He drew a heavy sidearm, his arm steady despite the blood soaking through the shoulder of
