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Chapter One

Kane

I rev the engine and feel e out onto the tarmac with a mind of its damn own

I taainst rimace that’s stuck to my lips

But nothing’s fixing that, not today, not with the Cartel and the drugs pu over the head of The Bloody Chariots

I guide my bike off to the side of the brown, dusty road and toward the old chemical plant, a place that’s been used as a palaver point between the Chariots and The Eagle’s Talons for as long as I can remember

It sits sun beaten and washed out, a husk of a building gutted for everything i metal door that’s the color of iron and, if you look closely, used to be green

Stepping from the bike, I kick the stand and nod at my VP, Garrote He’s a tallish y despite that, his jeans faded and his eyes narrowed He runs a hand through his brown hair and glances around at the sun-stroked desert

“They’re late,” he grumbles

“Power play,” I growl “That was always Jason’s way”

Ever since ere kids

But I keep those words to er, president of our rival club, was my best friend for more years than I care to remember

We were inseparable, two brothers in everything but blood, running riot through Aslado and the neighboring towns, so up to LA to cause some mayhem there At sixteen years old, without licenses, we made this town our own

But then everything changed

And noe’re enemies, plain and simple

I roll ed lion, o Folks say that et, but at forty-two, I feel as fresh and violent as I did at eighteen, ym

I turn to find Lance squinting at the horizon, the young man thinner then a beanpole and with the sharp nose and jawline to match, an almost emaciated look about hi tattoos and his lips turn doard sourly

“Hotter than a motherfucker out here,” he complains