Page 63 of Crusher's Illusion

Just the low hum of a familiar engine idling halfway down the service road.

Rock stands beside his own bike, eyes narrowed, phone in his hand. “I just pinged his phone,” he says before I can speak. “Signal’s five miles south and moving.”

“Moving where?”

Rock turns the screen to me. GPS dot sliding toward the old rail yard. Toward the Iron Cross turf.

I don’t remember sprinting back into the clubhouse, but I’m there. The door hits the wall, brothers are already on their feet. Steel’s halfway down the hall, gun in hand like he knew before I did.

“Niko?” he growls.

“Gone.” My voice feels like it’s coming from somewhere outside me. “And Nevaeh’s missing.”

The room reacts in one sharp, collective motion. Chairs scrape back, weapons unclip, patches thrown on over bare shoulders. No questions. No delays.

City checks the mag on his Glock, jaw ticking. “Knew that kid was twitchy.”

“No,” I bite out, grabbing the maps off the wall. “He’s not running. He’s delivering.”

The weight of that lands hard. Nobody argues.

Steel pulls on his helmet. “Mount up. We catch them before they clear the county line.”

The yard erupts into controlled chaos. Engines coughing to life, metal colliding with metal as shotgun pumps and mag catches click into place. Dust kicks up in clouds as twenty bikes hit the asphalt in formation.

I ride point.

The others fall in behind me. Rock and Steel on my flanks, City and Rampage tight behind, every man leaning into the ride like the road itself might try to steal us before we get there.

The wind roars in my ears, but all I hear is the echo of her voice.“I’m not running.”Hold on, baby. Just hold on.

We cut across the old industrial road. Rusted rail cars on one side, chain-link fences on the other. And then I see it. Iron Cross colors moving at the far end of the cracked blacktop. Two vans. One bike.

Headed for the warehouses.

“Visual,” I growl into the comm. “That’s Niko’s bike behind the second van.”

Steel’s voice is sharp in my ear. “We pinch them at the junction. Rock, take the left flank. Rampage with Crusher. City, back line. No one slips past.”

Engines snarl as the boys peel off and hammer forward. The driver in the first van clocks us too late as he tries to punch the accelerator and swing left.

Rampage is already unloading his gun. Bullets slam into the van’s rear quarter panel. It swerves, clips a rusted dumpster, spins, and then comes to a sudden stop.

The back doors fly open, and Nevaeh stumbles out. The tank top and shorts she slept in last night are torn and have spots of blood on them. Her hands are zip-tied in front of her. There’s blood dried on her temple. Her eyes are wide, but she’s alive.

One of the Iron Cross grabs her arm, dragging her up and over a concrete divider. Nevaeh’s eyes lock onto mine, and she screams as he forces her to follow him.

I don’t remember getting off my bike. One second, I’m riding. Next, my boots hit the asphalt, and I’m moving. The pistol raised, finger squeezing the trigger.

The Iron Cross chest kicks back in a spray of red.

Nevaeh drops to her knees. I skid in behind her, arm around her waist, dragging her behind the burnt-out truck as bullets chew into the metal.

Her breath is ragged. “I tried to run. They…”

“It’s okay. You did good. Stay down.” I soothe. My heart is finally slowing down in my chest, knowing she’s alive.

More gunfire cracks through the yard. Rock’s rifle is barking in controlled bursts. City is kneeling behind an old railcar car sending rounds into the van windshield. An Iron Cross tries to flank, but Steel drops him with a single shot like it’s nothing more than routine.