Mako’s roar ripped through the air.
I threw my leg over the seat and kicked the engine of a discarded bike that still had its key in it. I didn't look back. I pinned the throttle, the tires smoking as I tore across the yard, narrowly missing the front bumper of Viper’s SUVas he drove into the yard.
I hit the entrance to the industrial drainage pipes.
The bike plummeted into the darkness of the Veins. Behind me, the howls of the pack faded, replaced by the deafening, rhythmic echo of my own engine against the curved stone walls.
I was alone. Rico was dead. And I was deep in the dark, bleeding and hunted.
Mako and Rat were behind me.
I could feel the pressure of the hunt. It was the same "Rabbit Run" Cane had used to train them months ago. Back then, it was about reflexes and training
