The night was thick and restless, the kind of night that carried the scent of gasoline, smoke, and imminent bloodshed. The engines of a dozen bikes growled behind Devil as he rode at the front, leather cut snapping in the wind, his dark hair pulled back beneath the shadow of his helmet. His grip on the throttle was tight, but not from nerves—no, Devil had left nerves behind long ago. This was rage, controlled and sharp.
Haru.
The name rang in his skull like the strike of a war drum. The moment his man told him the Vultures had dared put their claws near her, dared to hover over the life she carried inside her belly, Devil had seen red. He could almost smell her scent in the wind, fragile and sweet, swallowed by the foul stench of vultures circling overhead.
He knew. Of course he knew. R
