65. Blood Debt
Zander
The night smelled like exhaust, gun oil, and the promise of violence. We rolled up to the Jackals’ warehouse in a thunderous wave of steel and fury; thirty bikes strong, engines roaring like caged animals finally set loose. We arrived in a way that told everyone that we met on the way that we were going for war.
My heart pounded in time with the Harley beneath me, every beat screaming two names: Mara and Savage. This wasn’t just revenge. This was justice for the woman I loved, for Savage, for the clubhouse they had reduced to ashes.
We killed the engines half a mile out and moved in on foot, shadows melting into the darkness around the old industrial complex. The warehouse loomed ahead, lights spilling from cracked windows, muffled laughter and music drifting out.
