Chapter 18. South Lot Inferno

The South lot didn’t wait for war. It was already bleeding.

Dozens of bikes lined the cracked asphalt, chrome catching the brutal midday sun. The air reeked of oil and sweat, engines coughing as Wolves tuned them, patched jackets glinting with teeth and scars. Rival colors flickered at the edges, circling like vultures waiting for meat.

Riven’s chest tightened. She’d seen rides before. Nights in backroads, headlights cutting wild paths. But this—this was bigger. Louder. Hungrier.

She pulled her helmet lower, shadowing her face, but it didn’t matter. Eyes followed her anyway.

Whispers cut sharp.

Hale’s legend.

Wolfe’s pup’s girl.

Dead weight.

Axel rode tall beside her, his eyes like stone. His jaw was tight, his shoulders rigid, every inch of him braced.

When they cut engines, silence snapped through the lot.

Magnus stepped forward.

He was impossible to miss, towering at the center of the Wolves, vest heavy with patche