Part I — The Ride (Cole's POV)
The world blurred past in streaks of grey and dust.
Cole kept his eyes on the road, the horizon a smudge of heat and cloud. The Reapers rode tight — two lines of thunder on blacktop, engines pounding like war drums beneath a sky that threatened rain again. Every few minutes, he glanced at the rearview mirror where the van followed — the one carrying Elena and two of their boys, Flint and Jase, who rode shotgun with rifles across their laps.
They'd been rolling for hours, no stops, no chatter on comms except the occasional low bark from Deke about fuel or formation. It should've been peaceful. It wasn't.
Something in the air was off.
Cole felt it in the weight of the wind, the way the magpies scattered as they passed, the static that prickled under his skin like old scars waking up.
He'd been doing this too long not to recognize it — that hush before everything went sideways.
He lifted a hand, signaled Deke to close ranks. Engines growled, the column tightening.
Deke rolled up beside him. "What's wrong?"
Cole's eyes flicked to the treeline along the highway. "Don't know yet. Feels wrong."
"Thinkin' Vultures?"
"Thinkin' I'm not paid enough to ignore my gut."
Deke smirked, then sobered when Cole didn't return it.
They slowed as the road dipped into a narrow stretch — thick forest on both sides, a perfect choke point. Cole's mind ran through every route map he'd memorized, every shortcut they could've taken. He hated that this one — the safest on paper — now looked like a grave waiting to be dug.
He tapped the mic in his helmet. "All Reapers, eyes up. No stops. No stragglers. If anything moves in those trees, shoot it."
"Copy that," came Flint's voice through static.
The wind changed.
And then the world erupted.
A fireball tore through the lead van ahead of them — a flash, then a roar that threw heat across the asphalt. Cole jerked the handlebars, swerving as shrapnel rained down. The van spun off the road, metal screaming as it rolled into the ditch.
"Shit! We're hit!" Deke shouted.
Gunfire cracked from the trees — sharp, fast bursts that cut through the roar of engines. The Vultures.
Cole slammed the brakes, the bike fishtailing before he steadied it and dove for cover behind the wreck. "Deke! Get the others behind the ridge!"
"On it!"
More rounds pinged off chrome and gravel. Cole drew his pistol, fired two shots into the treeline. One body dropped — but there were more, at least a dozen shadows moving through the brush.
The van carrying Elena screeched to a stop behind them. Cole's heart lurched. He saw her face for a second through the cracked window — wide-eyed, breathless — before Flint yanked her down.
"Stay low!" Cole yelled.
"Prez! They've boxed us in!" Deke shouted, crouched beside him, loading a fresh mag.
Cole scanned the ridge. Smoke from the burning van coiled skyward, black against the pale sun. This wasn't random — it was a message.
The Vultures had come for them.
He grit his teeth, eyes narrowing. "Alright then. Let's send one back."
He rose, firing in bursts, controlled and cold. A shadow fell from the trees. Another ran — didn't make it far. The Reapers opened up beside him, their return fire echoing through the hills like thunder rolling off metal.
But there were too many. For every Vulture they dropped, two more pushed in closer. Cole ducked behind the smoking hood of the van, bullets chewing into the metal inches from his head.
"Cole!" Deke yelled. "We're outnumbered!"
"Then we fight smarter," Cole barked. He leaned out, shot the tire off one of the Vultures' trucks that had pulled into view on the far ridge. The explosion of rubber sent the vehicle lurching sideways, blocking half the road.
"Flint, get the girl out of the van!" Cole ordered.
Static crackled back. "She won't move! Says she's fine!"
Cole's chest burned. "Damn it, Flint, that's an order!"
But before he could move toward her, something inside the treeline flashed — the cold glint of a scope.
Cole's blood froze.
He dove —
The sniper round punched through the air where his head had been, splintering the asphalt.
"Sniper!" Deke roared.
Cole rolled, grabbed his rifle from the side holster, and came up firing. The treeline went silent again — too silent. He could smell the gunpowder and pine, feel his heartbeat hammering in time with the engines still running behind him.
He didn't know if it was instinct or madness that made him glance back toward the van again.
But he did — just in time to see Elena crawl up from behind the seat, eyes fierce through the smoke.
And she was holding a gun.
---
CHAPTER SIXTEEN — Blood on the Road
Part II — Smoke and Steel (Elena's POV)
The sound hit before the fear did.
Gunfire — sharp and metallic — ripping through the walls of the van like angry thunder. Each crack of it made the world shake, the metal skin of the vehicle vibrating under her hands.
Elena crouched low behind the passenger seat, breath shallow, trying not to choke on the thick mix of smoke and gasoline. Her heart wasn't beating anymore — it was slamming.
Flint was shouting something at her — she couldn't hear it over the bullets. Jase had the side door open a sliver, returning fire in the direction of the trees. Brass shells clattered to the floor, burning hot against her arm. She didn't flinch. Not this time.
She'd spent too long being afraid.
Too long hiding behind someone else's mercy.
A round smashed through the windshield, glass shattering across the dashboard. Flint ducked, cursed under his breath, and yanked her lower. "Stay down, damn it!"
Her fingers brushed something cold on the floor. A handgun. Jase must've dropped it.
She stared at it — black, heavy, familiar in a way that twisted her gut. She remembered the last time she saw a gun this close — in a warehouse, under flickering lights, with men laughing while she screamed.
Her hand trembled.
And then she stopped shaking.
She picked it up.
The metal was heavier than she expected, slick from the heat. Flint saw the movement and his eyes widened. "Elena—"
"Just keep shooting," she said.
Her voice didn't sound like hers.
The back window blew out. Jase fell backward with a curse, clutching his shoulder. She crawled over, ignoring the way her knees scraped on the metal floor. She pressed her hand over the wound. Blood seeped through her fingers.
"Go!" Jase hissed, teeth gritted. "They're coming up the right side!"
Elena turned toward the open door. Through the smoke, she saw figures — black vests, the mark of the Vultures.
For a split second, her body screamed to freeze. Run. Hide. Be small.
But something in her chest — something raw and new — refused.
She raised the gun, exhaled, and fired.
The kick jolted her shoulder, but she didn't stop. She fired again. One of the shadows stumbled, fell. Another ducked behind a tree. Flint looked back at her, disbelief flashing across his face.
"Holy hell," he muttered. "She's actually—"
"Alive," she said through clenched teeth.
The word felt like a promise.
A flash lit the side mirror — another fireball from the treeline. Flint cursed and slammed the door shut. The blast rocked the van sideways. Elena hit the wall, pain blooming along her ribs.
The radio crackled — Cole's voice, rough and loud. "Elena! Flint! Talk to me!"
She grabbed the mic. "We're here!" she shouted, her voice shaking. "Jase is hit!"
"Stay down! I'm coming to you!"
Before she could answer, the door yanked open from the outside. A man in a Vulture cut reached in, dragging Flint out by the collar.
Elena's heart jumped into her throat.
She didn't think. She just moved.
She lunged forward, jammed the pistol against the man's arm, and pulled the trigger. The recoil kicked, and he dropped — screaming, clutching his shoulder. Flint fell back inside, panting, eyes wide.
She froze for a second — staring at the gun, at what she'd just done.
Then Cole was there.
He yanked the door wider, one arm bleeding, eyes wild and blazing. When he saw her — gun still smoking, hair tangled, face streaked with dust — something in him broke and rebuilt all at once.
"Elena," he breathed, almost a growl. "You okay?"
She nodded, voice caught somewhere between a sob and defiance. "I wasn't gonna let them take us."
Cole's gaze flicked past her — to Jase, to the bodies outside, to the fire crawling closer. His jaw tightened.
"Good," he said softly. "Because they won't get another chance."
He turned, fired three quick shots into the trees. "Deke! Get the others moving! We're pulling out!"
The van roared back to life. Flint slammed the door shut as Cole climbed into the driver's seat, the engine screaming in protest.
Elena stayed crouched in the back, the pistol still clutched tight in her hands. Smoke billowed behind them as the convoy lurched forward.
Through the shattered rear window, she saw the Vultures fall back — black shapes swallowed by flame and distance.
But the look on Cole's face as he drove told her this wasn't over. Not even close.
---
Part III — The Aftermath (Cole's POV)
The convoy didn't stop until the smoke was nothing but a smear on the horizon.
Cole rode point again, his arm throbbing from the graze he hadn't let anyone look at. The bikes rolled in silence, their thunder dulled by the miles of forest pressing in on both sides. When the dirt track widened near an old quarry, he raised a hand and signaled for a halt.
Engines cut. The silence that followed was brutal.
The men dismounted slow, their faces drawn — streaked with ash, blood, and disbelief. The smell of burned fuel and cordite clung to everything.
Deke limped over, helmet tucked under one arm. "Two bikes gone," he said quietly. "And we lost Lyle."
Cole's throat went tight. Lyle — the youngest of them. Barely twenty-three. He saw him in flashes: laughing in the shop, covered in grease, swearing at a carburetor like it had cursed his mother.
Now he was gone.
Cole turned toward the group, voice low but hard enough to carry. "Get his patch. We burn it tonight."
The others nodded, no one speaking.
He walked to the van next. The side was dented and scorched, but it had survived. Flint sat on the bumper, a blood-soaked rag pressed to Jase's shoulder. Elena hovered nearby, hands stained crimson, her face streaked with dirt and sweat.
She looked like she'd walked out of a war zone — but her eyes... those were steady.
"You did good," Cole said.
She looked up, almost startled. "I shot someone."
"Yeah," he said. "And because of that, we're still breathing."
Flint gave a small, shaky grin. "Girl's got more guts than half of us, Prez."
Elena tried to smile but it broke halfway. "I didn't want to—"
"You didn't have a choice," Cole interrupted gently. "They took that from you when they came for us."
She met his gaze — really met it. There was something in his eyes that steadied her. Not softness, not pity. Just truth.
"I don't want to be scared anymore," she whispered.
"You won't be," he said. "Not while I'm breathing."
For a moment, the noise of the world fell away — the forest, the wind, the quiet grief behind them. It was just the two of them, standing in the wreckage of another close call, and something heavy and wordless passed between them.
Then Deke's voice broke it. "We can't stay here. If the Vultures were tracking us, they'll come again."
Cole nodded. "We move at dusk. Clearbend's still the goal." He turned back to Elena. "You ride with me this time."
She blinked. "What?"
"It's safer. I need eyes I can trust close."
Flint chuckled under his breath. "Hell, Prez, you mean you just don't trust anyone else not to wreck with her on the back."
Cole shot him a look that made the man quiet instantly.
Elena didn't argue. She just nodded.
As the Reapers got to work checking weapons, patching what they could, Cole wandered a few steps away. He lit a cigarette, hands shaking only a little. The smoke curled in front of his face as he stared at the horizon — the endless stretch of road, the ghosts that refused to stay buried.
He thought of Lyle's laugh, of Trigger's betrayal, of the way Elena's voice hadn't trembled when she said she didn't want to be scared.
Something shifted in him.
He'd told himself this fight was about vengeance. Maybe it still was. But now, standing there with blood on his boots and a woman who refused to break watching him from the van, he wondered if it could be about more.
Redemption.
Maybe even peace.
But peace would have to wait.
He dropped the cigarette and crushed it beneath his boot. "Mount up," he called. "We ride before the light fades."
The Reapers answered with the growl of engines coming alive again.
As Cole swung onto his bike, Elena approached quietly. She climbed on behind him, her hands hesitating for a second before resting against his sides. He felt the tremor in her touch — the kind that comes after surviving something you shouldn't have.
"Ready?" he asked, not looking back.
"Yeah," she said.
The engine roared, the forest split open around them, and the Reapers rode north once more — toward the ridge, toward the next fight, toward whatever the hell waited on the other side of the horizon.
And as the first stars began to break through the twilight, Cole Maddox made a silent vow:
No more running. Not from them. Not from the past. Not from her.