Echoes on Route 66

"We need to move. Now."

Tank’s voice cut through the emotional reunion like a Bowie knife. The big man was scanning the horizon, his sharp eyes locked onto a sleek black sedan that had just turned off the interstate highway half a mile back, kicking up a rooster tail of red dust as it accelerated toward the diner.

Grizz snapped out of his daze, his survival instincts—honed by years in the underworld—surging back to the surface. He looked from the approaching car to Elena’s face, which had suddenly gone completely bloodless again.

"Who’s tracking you, El?" Grizz demanded, his hand dropping instinctively to the heavy hunting knife sheathed at his belt.

"I don't know," Elena stammered, fumbling nervously with the ignition key. "When I left Dallas three days ago, I thought I lost them. But every time I stopped for gas, I kept seeing the same black SUV parked two pumps away. I thought I was just being paranoid!"

"You're not paranoid," Slash said, jogging over from the diner porch with a pair of binoculars pressed to his eyes. He lowered them, his face grim. "Custom plates, tinted glass, federal-grade tracking gear. Those aren't local cops, El. Those are cleaners from the Syndicate's western division."

Grizz leaned into the truck, grabbing Elena’s trembling hand and squeezing it hard enough to ground her. "Listen to me. Get Lily in the back floorboard. Cover her with your jacket. I’m going to ride interference with the boys."

"No, Jaxson! You can't fight them alone! There's too many—"

"I'm not alone anymore," Grizz interrupted, his voice dropping into a low, terrifyingly calm register that brook no argument. He backed away from the truck and looked at his brothers. Road already had his shotgun out of the scabbard on his Harley, sliding heavy buckshot into the chamber with a rhythmic chack-chack.

"Tank, Slash, get on your bikes," Grizz ordered, swinging his leg over the saddle of his customized chopper. "Escort El and Lily up Route 66 toward the old mining ghost town at Rattlesnake Ridge. There's concrete bunkers up there from the Cold War. They won't find them easily."

"What about you?" Tank asked, revving his engine until the V-twin exhaust bellowed a thunderous roar into the desert air.