Stone pulled a chair beneath her.
Someone brought water.
Someone else brought food.
Riley wanted to argue.
Instead, exhaustion won.
She woke several hours later.
For one terrifying moment, she did not know where she was.
Then she saw the motorcycle.
The letter.
The tools.
And Drift sitting nearby.
“You sleep okay?”
Riley looked at him suspiciously.
“You let me sleep?”
“Yeah.”
“You could’ve finished without me.”
Drift smiled.
“No.”
He pointed toward the engine.
“Your job.”
Riley stood.
Her hands were steady again.
The final assembly took four more hours.
Every bolt was tightened precisely.
Every measurement checked.
Every system inspected.
Finally, Riley stood beside the motorcycle.
Stone entered the garage.
Behind him came dozens of Iron Legion members.
Blade was there too.
Everyone watched as Riley sat on the motorcycle.
She placed her hand on the ignition.
For nineteen years, this machine had defeated everyone.
Sixty-five mechanics.
Millions of dollars.
Thousands of hours.
Riley closed her eyes.
Then she pressed the starter.
The engine turned.
Once.
Twice.
Then—
It roared.
Not for thirteen seconds.
For twenty.
Thirty.
One minute.
The sound filled the garage.
Deep.
Powerful.
Perfect.
Nobody spoke.
Riley kept her hand on the handlebars.
The motorcycle continued running.
Then she looked at Stone.
“It’s fixed.”
And for the first time, Stone smiled.
The Ride
The motorcycle deserved more than a garage.
It needed the road.
At sunrise, Riley rode it out of the Iron Legion compound.
The entire club followed.
Seven hundred members had contributed to the motorcycle over the years.
Now the machine was finally alive.
But Blade was gone.
And before leaving, he had made one final move.
He contacted a rival motorcycle club.
The Scorpions.
He told them Iron Legion had stolen something from him.
And that Riley Cole was responsible.
Riley learned about it only when twenty motorcycles appeared behind her on a narrow canyon road.
She had never ridden the motorcycle at full speed before.
Now she had no choice.
She twisted the throttle.
The engine answered instantly.
Her father had built the machine to survive forces most motorcycles could not.
Riley leaned into the first turn.
The road dropped away beside her.
Wind tore at her jacket.
The Scorpions followed.
For one terrifying second, she wondered whether she had made a mistake.
Then the motorcycle responded.
Perfect balance.
Perfect control.
The machine moved as though it understood her.
Or perhaps, Riley thought, as though the man who built it had always known exactly who would someday ride it.
She reached the narrowest part of the canyon.
And there they were.
Fifty Iron Legion motorcycles.
Waiting.
Stone stood in the center of the road.
Drift beside him.
Riley stopped.
The Scorpions arrived moments later.
And behind them came Blade.