Only the ticking of cooling engines and the children’s ragged breathing filled the road.
Bear dismounted slowly.
He kept his hands visible, not because he feared the children, but because he recognized the look in the girl’s eyes. That was not ordinary fear. That was not a kid playing brave or seeking attention. That was the fear of someone who had seen something real and run before her courage could change its mind.
“What’s your name?” Bear asked.
The girl looked over her shoulder toward the overpass.
“Lily.”
“Lily what?”
“Lily Reed.”
Bear looked at the little boy.
“And him?”
“My brother. Mason.”
Mason stepped closer to Lily, half hiding behind her coat.
Bear stepped forward carefully.
“All right, Lily Reed. Tell me why you ran in front of ten bikes in a snowstorm with your little brother behind you.”
Lily swallowed hard.
“Because if you keep going, you’ll hit Miller Bridge in two miles. There are men waiting there. Two vans, one flatbed truck, and a chain stretched low across the road.”
Several bikers stiffened.
Diesel looked toward the dark highway ahead.
“A chain?”
Mason nodded quickly before Lily could answer.
“They put it between the guardrails,” he said, his voice shaking. “Not high. Wheel height. They said if the first two bikes go down, the rest will scatter, and then they can blame everything on you.”
Bear’s expression changed.
Not fear.
Focus.
“What do you mean, blame everything?”
Lily’s lips trembled.
She looked from Bear to the other riders, then back toward the overpass again.
“They’re not just trying to stop you,” she whispered. “They’re trying to make you look guilty.”
A rider named Bishop stepped forward.