We rode for three more hours without a single stop, the long line of black motorcycles moving like a synchronized machine down the asphalt. Every single brother in the formation kept a respectful distance behind our back tire, the lesson from the rest stop still fresh in their minds. Nobody wanted to face the wrath of the King.
Around the middle of the afternoon, the highway began to wind back down out of the high green hills, leading our bikes back toward the familiar roads of our home territory. I could feel the tension in Stone’s thick shoulders starting to ease up slightly as the familiar landscape came into view. He was bringing his club back home, and he was bringing his girl back to safety.
When the massive metal gates of the concrete compound finally came into view at the end of
