Blaze:
The stale scent of cigar smoke and motor oil clung to the walls of the MC’s office, thick in the air like ghosts of past wars. I leaned forward on the edge of the long wooden table, palms braced against it, knuckles white. Saint sat at the head of the table, his usual cool stare fixed on nothing in particular, but I could see the tension in his jaw. Diesel, leaning against the filing cabinet in the corner, kept rolling a toothpick between his teeth, the ticking of the old clock on the wall loud in the silence. Mac was pacing like a caged animal, hands on his hips.
None of us had said much since I walked in and dropped the file on the table. Intel, pictures, coordinates—everything we had on Viper’s new outpost just outside of town.
“He’s building something,” I said, finally breaki
