Marcus mounted his bike.
"We're not here to hurt her."
He started the engine.
"We're here to finish what Caleb started."
The motorcycle disappeared into the darkness.
Alexander went back inside.
Emily was awake.
"You heard."
She nodded.
"Marcus?"
"Yes."
"He's good."
"You trust him?"
Emily looked at Alexander.
"I trust Caleb."
Then she closed her eyes.
"That's enough."
Three Hundred and Fifty
The next morning, Alexander discovered something strange.
Every phone in Beatty seemed to be ringing.
The diner was full.
The gas station had customers.
Cars arrived from Nevada, California and Arizona.
Motorcycles began appearing.
Ten.
Twenty.
Fifty.
By noon, the highway was filled with them.
Alexander stood outside his garage.
Emily watched from the office window.
"What is happening?"
Alexander counted.
He stopped counting at one hundred.
By sunset, there were hundreds.
Harleys lined the road.
Black jackets.
Chrome.
Boots.
Helmets.
Men and women who looked like they had ridden through half the American Southwest.
Then Marcus arrived.
He parked in front of Alexander.
"You brought everyone."
Marcus looked around.
"Not everyone."
Alexander stared.
"How many?"
Marcus sighed.
"Three hundred and fifty."
Emily stepped outside.
The crowd became silent.
Marcus removed his helmet.
"This is Emily Reyes."
No one spoke.
Emily looked at hundreds of faces.
"I thought you were a motorcycle club."
"We are."
"Then why are you here?"
Marcus answered:
"Because one of our brothers died protecting you."
A woman stepped forward.
She was perhaps fifty, with silver hair and a leather vest.
"Caleb wasn't perfect."
Another rider spoke.
"He was stubborn."
Another:
"Pain in the ass."
Marcus smiled.
"Definitely."
Then his voice hardened.
"But he believed nobody should disappear without someone looking for them."
The crowd murmured.
Marcus looked toward the road.
"Daniel Voss thinks money can buy silence."
He pointed toward the desert.
"Tonight he learns otherwise."
Alexander looked uneasy.
"You're planning to attack him?"
"No."
Marcus shook his head.
"We're bringing him into the light."
Emily looked at Alexander.
"How?"
Marcus smiled.
"With evidence."
He raised the memory card.
Emily stared.
"Where did you get that?"
"From Caleb."
Alexander realized there were two copies.
Emily's copy.
Caleb's copy.
Voss didn't know.
Not yet.
The Man in the Black SUV
At 9:30 p.m., three black SUVs arrived.
They stopped fifty yards from the garage.
Nobody moved.
Alexander stood beside Marcus.
Emily remained inside.
A man stepped out of the center vehicle.
Silver hair.
Gray suit.
Scar above his eyebrow.
Daniel Voss.
He looked at the hundreds of motorcycles.
Then smiled.
"Alexander Carter."
Alexander's jaw tightened.
"You know my name."
"I know everybody who matters."
Marcus laughed.
"That's your first mistake."
Voss ignored him.
"I've come for the girl."
Alexander stepped forward.
"She's not going anywhere."
Voss looked at the garage.
"You don't understand what you're involved in."
"I understand enough."
Voss sighed.
"You are a mechanic."
"Correct."
"You repair transmissions."
"Among other things."
"You have unpaid property taxes."
Alexander's expression changed.
Voss smiled.
"You have debts."
"Everybody has debts."
"You owe twenty-eight thousand dollars."
Alexander said nothing.
"I can make those disappear."
Marcus stepped forward.
Voss looked at him.
"And you."
Marcus smiled.
"You've been arrested six times."
"Seven."
"Felony charges."
"Never convicted."
Voss's smile disappeared.
"You people think this is a game."
Marcus shook his head.
"No."
He pointed at Emily.
"It's about her."
Voss looked toward the window.
"She stole private information."
Emily shouted from inside:
"You kidnapped people!"
Voss smiled.
"Allegations."
Alexander walked toward him.
"You know what your problem is?"
Voss raised an eyebrow.
"You think everybody has a price."
Voss looked at him.
"Everybody does."
Alexander shook his head.
"Not everybody."
Then the garage lights came on.
Every motorcycle started simultaneously.
The roar was deafening.
Three hundred and fifty engines shook the ground.
Voss's men instinctively reached for their weapons.
Marcus raised one hand.
Every biker stopped.
Silence returned.
Marcus spoke calmly.
"We didn't come here to fight."
He held up a small recorder.
"We came here to make sure the world hears you."
Voss's face changed.
For the first time, fear appeared.
The Recording
The recorder contained a conversation between Voss and his chief operations officer.
It included names.
Payments.
Locations.
Orders.
Most importantly, it contained Voss discussing Emily.