Knox:
The location was quiet.
Too quiet.
Just like we needed.
I killed the engine on my bike and slid the kickstand out with a practiced flick of my boot. Riot rolled up beside me in the beat-up sedan, dust curling behind his tires as he came to a stop. He didn’t say a word—just gave me a nod and reached for the door handle.
The SUV pulled up seconds later. Blacked-out windows. That low idle growl of power. Behind it, the semi rolled up slow, tires crackling over gravel, sun hitting the chrome in jagged shards.
This was it.
Riot stepped out, hands tightened around the four duffel bags from the back seat. Four identical black bags, each one packed with $250,000. Untraceable. Clean.
He walked them to the trade point without hesitation.
The SUV doors opened. Two men stepped out. One
