Chapter 17 Chapter seventeen
The scent of Coldwater had changed. It no longer smelled like the heavy, stagnant tension of a city under Silas Thorne’s thumb; it smelled like ozone, wet pavement, and the sharp, metallic tang of an impending storm. As the pack crossed the city limits, the familiar red-brick landscape of the industrial district looked different in the gray morning light. The power vacuum left by Thorne’s death and Marcus’s arrest had turned the streets into a chessboard where the remaining minor gangs were already scrambling for the pieces.
Dax rode at the front of the formation, his left arm strapped tightly to his chest in a temporary sling. Even injured, he sat on his bike with the rigid authority of a man who had claimed his throne in blood. I rode close on his right flank, my Norton humming a low, steady vibration that seemed to match the thrumming of my own heart. We weren't just returning to the city; we were returning to a battlefield that hadn't yet realized the war had changed.
As we pulled into the gravel lot of the Iron Wolves clubhouse, the sight made my breath hitch. The front gates were scorched, the heavy wood splintered from the breach, and the windows of the main hall were dark, jagged eyes looking out at the wreckage. But the club wasn't empty. Dozens of members who had stayed behind to defend the perimeter were already hard at work, their hammers and saws creating a rhythmic clatter that sounded like a heartbeat.
"Home sweet home," Dax muttered through the comms, his voice tight with a mixture of grief and pride.
We dismounted, and the sound of thirty kickstands hitting the gravel simultaneously echoed like a gunshot. The members in the yard stopped what they were doing, a heavy silence falling over the lot as they turned to look at Dax. He didn't say a word. He simply raised his good arm, his fist clenched, and the yard erupted in a roar of cheers that shook the very foundation of the building.
"Reaper, get the sentries doubled on the north side," Dax commanded as he walked toward the entrance, his limp barely noticeable through his sheer force of will. "Tank, I want a full inventory of the armory and the garage. We aren't the only ones who know Thorne is gone. Every bottom-feeder in three counties is going to try to test the new President before the sun sets."
"On it, Pres," Tank rumbled, already moving toward the back of the lot with a crew of enforcers.
Dax turned to me, the hardness in his eyes softening just enough for me to see the man underneath the leather. "The garage is secure, Mia. I had the boys put a guard on it the second the feds cleared out. Go. See if your father’s legacy is still intact."
I nodded, my hands still shaking from the lingering adrenaline of the mountain. I walked toward the workshop, my boots crunching on the gravel. I pushed the heavy sliding door open, and for a moment, I just stood in the doorway, breathing in the familiar scent of my world. The lights flickered on, illuminating the space. The federal agents had been thorough, but they hadn't been destructive. My father’s workbench was exactly where I’d left it, and the crate of equipment released from the foundry sat in the center of the floor, its wooden slats stamped with government seals.
I walked over to the crate and pried it open with a crowbar. Inside, wrapped in protective oilcloth, was my father’s life’s work: the high-precision CNC lathe, the specialized pressure-testing chamber, and the hand-machined components for the first prototype of The Engine. Seeing them here, safe and back in my hands, felt like my father had finally come home.
I reached for the micro-SD card I’d tucked into my inner pocket, the plastic warm against my skin. The data was public now, but the actual execution the fine-tuning of the variable-compression valves was something only someone with my father’s touch could master. Silas Thorne had wanted a weapon; I was going to build a revolution.
"It's all there, isn't it?"
I spun around to see Dax leaning against the doorframe. He looked older than he had twenty-four hours ago, the shadows under his eyes speaking of the long nights ahead. He walked into the shop, his gaze lingering on the machinery.
"Everything," I whispered. "Dax, if I build this... the Iron Wolves won't just be a club. You'll be the center of the entire custom industry. We can take the underground legal."
Dax walked over, his hand finding the small of my back, pulling me into the solid warmth of his side. "That’s the plan, Ghost. But it won't be easy. The city is already fracturing. Thorne’s old associates in the city council are panicked. They’re going to try to squeeze us out of our permits, maybe even frame the club for the foundry explosion."
"Let them try," I said, looking at the silver chain-link ring on my finger. "We have the data, we have the truth, and we have the fastest riders in the state."
Dax leaned down, his lips brushing against my temple. "I love your fire, Mia. But stay alert. I saw a car following us from the city limits. A dark sedan with tinted windows. It didn't belong to the feds, and it didn't belong to the Ravagers."
My blood ran cold. "Who then?"
"That’s what I’m going to find out," Dax said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. He pulled a small, black burner phone from his pocket. It was vibrating. He looked at the screen and his jaw tightened until I thought his teeth might crack.
"What is it?" I asked, my hand moving to the grip of the wrench on the table.
Dax turned the phone toward me. It was a single text message from an unknown number: The King is dead. Long live the Queen. See you at the races, Mia.
The world seemed to tilt. My mother’s name was Elena, but her racing name the one she’d used before she disappeared when I was five was The Queen of Hearts.
"She's alive," I breathed, the realization hitting me like a physical blow.
Dax gripped my hand, his eyes fierce. "If she is, and if she’s involved in this, Because if she’s back, she isn't here for a family reunion. She’s here for The Engine."
Suddenly, the garage lights cut out, plunging us into total darkness. The high-pitched whine of an approaching drone filled the air.