Twisted Steel: An MC Anthology: Second Edition by Elizabeth Knox (top 5 ebook reader txt) 📕

The large bag held a colorful blanket to use for himself or his horses. The second bag contained a pouch of loose tobacco that he could use as a sacrifice, an offering to the four directions, Mother Earth, and Father Sky. He was thanking Stone and paused midstream when their President reached inside the sack and pulled out a tub of gummy bears.

You’d have thought it was caviar and crackers from the look on the shaman’s face.

“Perfect,” he whispered reverently, setting them inside his pantry full of home-canned vegetables and dried meats.

“Until next time,” Stone told him, clasping forearms in parting.

“Be safe,” Grey Smoke intoned, making it sound like a blessing and a parting benediction.

Stone released his hold and cast a look over his shoulder. “Let’s ride.”

They headed out, angling northeast, headed for the Valley of Fire. Located south of Overton, the state park covered nearly 46,000 acres and boasted striking red sandstone formations formed millions of years ago. It was harsh, unforgiving desert terrain with terracotta sand, rugged rocks, and scrubby vegetation. Quake had visited before, wanting to see the petrified wood, geological formations, and 3,000-year-old Indian petroglyphs.

Today, he only wanted to see Magenta.

They drove all fucking morning and didn’t see shit. Stone made them stop for lunch, pack in some food, and rehydrate. They searched all afternoon until they were forced to stop for gas.

No one traveled here unless you made sure you could get there and back. Towns were too fucking far apart not to top off when you had a chance.

They risked using the restroom just for the chance to wash their hands. On the way out, the bubble-gum girl behind the counter checked them out, eyeing them with a mix of feminine appreciation and suspicion.

“If you’re looking for your friends,” she snipped, “they left about fifteen minutes ago.”

“Friends?” Stone asked, his curiosity piqued.

“Bikers,” she answered curtly, handing her customer his change and closing the cash drawer. “They got a clubhouse east of here. Always stealing shit when they come in.”

Ryder looked affronted. “Not us,” he swore, drawing up to his full height and slipping into Viking mode.

She must be a fan of the show, ‘cause she nearly creamed her pants. “Not you,” she breathed, eyeing his axe and his crotch.

“What club?” Stone wondered. “It’s on the back of their cuts. Their vests.”

“Cuts,” she repeated, grinning slyly. “I know. I read MC. They’re the Death’s Head MC, Valley of Fire Chapter.”

Grey Smoke’s words echoed. All this time, they’d been looking in the Valley of Fire when they needed to find the Valley of Fire clubhouse and the Death’s Head MC. Fuck, fuck, fuck. It made sense that Phantom would spirit her away to friendly territory. She must be there. Except . . .

“You say they were here fifteen minutes ago. Did you happen to see a van with them? Or a woman with purple-red hair?”

“No and no,” she answered. “But there was talk about heading to the diner down the road.”

“How far?” Stone questioned.

The girl pursed her lips and pointed. “About half a mile.”

“Thanks,” Quake told her over his shoulder, already headed for the door.

“A fucking different chapter,” Inferno growled as they made their way toward their bikes. “Those bastards are like cockroaches.”

“If they haven’t left, then we have a chance to follow them,” Stone told them, swinging his leg over his bike to settle onto the seat. “Cuts off,” he ordered. “Hide them in your saddlebags. We don’t want to stand out any more than we do, and we sure as hell don’t want the jackals to know who we are. No one—and I repeat, no one!—engages them in a fight. We need to see where their clubhouse is and find where they’re keeping Magenta.”

Once she was safe, all bets were off. Quake was going to kill Phantom for taking her.

If Stone had a problem with that, too bad.

It was only four o’clock, but the diner’s parking lot was packed with vehicles, including a row of six bikes. Inferno scoped out the place, rounding the back of the building and peering in through the side windows.

“I saw them,” he told them when he came back. “No sign of Phantom but they’re wearing Death’s Head—Valley of Fire colors.”

Stone nodded. “Partial shift,” he ordered. They’d still look human but a partial shift made them virtually indestructible. “Keep your weapons out of sight but in reach, clips full and safeties on. We tail them when they leave and stick to their ass like flies on honey. Understand?”

The men made sounds of agreement.

It was an hour before the six jackals came out. The sun had set and night had fallen. A couple stopped to empty their bladders by a rock before joining the rest on their rides. The sounds of engines roared through the air. The Death’s Head MC took off, pulling out of the parking lot in a cloud of dust.

Darkness was the Dragons’ friend. Driving with their lights off, they hung back far enough to keep the jackals’ tail lights in view. Wherever they were going, they were doing it in a hurry. An hour’s drive into the middle of God knew where and it looked like they’d reached their destination. The Death’s Heads members continued along the dirt road toward a large structure. An electrified fence surrounded the place, as well-lit as a prison yard with a barn-like structure in the center and a panel truck parked nearby.

The Dragons took refuge behind a boulder.

Quake kept his gaze glued to the bikes in the distance until they pulled over. “That doesn’t look like a clubhouse.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Ryder agreed.

“What the fuck are they doing way out here?” Inferno scanned the scene. “Look. The truck’s moving.”

In silence, they watched a truck back up to a pair of large wooden doors. The jackal bikers skirted past it and went into the building. Quake felt a fluttering of foreboding. What the hell were they up to? Whatever it