This isn’t an ambush. It’s atrap.
I stop about twenty feet from the line of Rebels. Wheels dismounts his bike and steps forward to meet me, his cockiness even more unbearable than Tom’s. He’s enjoying this. Savoring what he thinks is his moment of triumph.
It goes without saying only one group of men will survive the day. This is it. The final showdown.
A crooked grin spreads across my face.
“Always planned on double-crossing Tom, didn’t you?” I ask.
Wheels shrugs, his hands sliding into his pockets. “Can’t double-cross a double-crosser. Tom double-crossed me first. You didn’t think we weren’t listening, did you? That we weren’t watching that little meeting you two just had?”
I chuckle, blue eyes gleaming with humor. “No, Nate. I knew you would be.”
His smirk falters due to uncertainty, watching me as if I’m some magician about to perform a magic trick before his eyes.
“Which is why,” I continue, “I called in some reinforcements.”
Right on cue, thunder fills the air.
The roar of motorcycle engines, dozens of them, growing louder and louder until the ground itself seems to tremble. Wheels spins around, his face going pale despite his usual weathered tan.
The Steel Kings have arrived.
They crest the hill behind us, an army arriving to battle. Cash at the front, his golden-brown hair whipping in the wind, followed by Ozzie and his fifty tattoos, then others like Tate and Mudd and a dozen more.
They fan out across the road, forming a line that mirrors the Rebels, engines rumbling in challenge.
Pride swells in my chest at the sight of them.
My brothers. My club.
They came when I called, just like I knew they would.
Late last night, before this morning’s meeting at the saloon ever went down, I made some calls. Talked to the rest of the club council. Pieced together today’s plan.
Iwas the one who called for the meeting at the ravine—not Tom, though I let Solana and the others believe otherwise.
I was also the one who tipped Wheels off anonymously, knowing he couldn’t resist showing up to make his move once he realized Tom was going back on their agreement.
From there, it was all about arranging men on standby, ready to step in the moment Tom or Wheels did exactly what I knew they would.
Be the selfish, violent bastards they are without a shred of decency or honor.
Wheels turns back to face me, his expression morphing from shock to a cross between rage and amusement.
“Seems I was right,” he says slowly. “You’ve always been the brains. Tom was all the mouthy talk.”
“Tom had his strengths,” I reply evenly. “Loyalty just wasn’t one of them.”
Wheels chuckles. “You realize this is it, right? Whoever comes out on top is taking the crown. No more truces. No more negotiations. Winner takes all.”
I hold his gaze without flinching. “May the best men win.”
For a long moment, neither of us moves. The air is thick with tension and the promise of violence and bloodshed. Behind me, my men ready themselves. Across from us, the Rebels do the same.
Then Wheels glances over his shoulder at his men and nods.
The Rebel at the front takes that as his cue.
