It was massive—a subterranean expanse spanning the size of an underground hangar, lit by bright LED strips suspended from high concrete ceilings. Rows upon rows of custom-built motorcycles, high-end foreign sports cars, and modified muscle cars lined the polished dark floor like a showroom for high-octane violence.
I stepped out of the lift, my eyes roaming hungrily over the machinery, completely ignoring the group of men standing together near the center of the room.
"Holy f*cking sh*t," one of the men muttered as I passed into the light.
That drew my attention. I turned my head, finally looking over at Drakon and his inner circle. Every single man in the group was staring right at me. A few of the patched Iron Reapers were trying to play it cool, crossing their arms and hardening thei
