The hum of the engine was steady beneath Zubair’s hands.

He liked it that way—low, even, the kind of rhythm that carried men farther than fury ever could. A truck that ran smooth meant fewer surprises, and he had learned long ago that surprises got men killed faster than bullets.

But it wasn’t the engine that kept his eyes moving. It was the horizon.

Smoke curled upward in dark, uneven lines far off the road. Too thick for a cooking fire, too jagged for the clean, sweeping trails of a pyre.

This smoke had the frantic, broken pulse of something taken, torn apart, and burned as a warning to all.

He adjusted his grip on the wheel and didn’t bother to comment.

If he had seen it, the others had too.

Elias with his maps always noticed the patterns of the land, Alexei never missed a chance to point out trouble, and Lachlan—well, Lachlan saw everything and laughed about half of it.

And Sera... Sera saw more than all of them, though she didn’t always explain what she made of it.

The cab of the truck was quiet.

Luci’s bulk pressed against Sera’s thigh in the passenger seat after they moved from the bed to the inside, the direwolf’s head resting across her knee like it had been carved there. 𝙛𝒓𝓮𝙚𝔀𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝓵.𝙘𝒐𝒎

His bone was still clamped in his jaws, chewed smooth at the ends. Zubair could hear the faint scrape of teeth every time the wolf adjusted his grip.

Alexei leaned between the seats from the back, candle stub rolling lazily across his fingers. "Anyone else getting the distinct impression we’re driving straight into a barbecue?"

"And not the good kind," Elias murmured without looking up from his map. He was marking something with a blunt pencil, drawing short, sharp lines that cut across the page like warnings.

Sera shifted just enough that Luci lifted his head. Her profile caught the light—sharp, unbothered. "If it were a barbecue," she said dryly, "we’d be late. Not to mention, we didn’t bring any sides."

Lachlan chuckled from his corner. "Then let’s hope it’s just someone with bad timing. I’ve been craving meat that isn’t jerky."

Zubair didn’t answer. He kept his eyes forward.

Jokes were fine. They kept men from thinking too hard, but his job was not to laugh—it was to see.

And what he saw was movement.

The smoke wasn’t rising steady.

It was breaking, disturbed by shapes that darted in and out at the edges. Too fast for scavengers, too bold for survivors trying to hide.

And whoever they were, they weren’t afraid of being seen.

He downshifted slightly, letting the truck ease back without losing speed. The engine growled once and settled.

Sera turned her head toward him, not asking, just waiting.

"Riders," he said simply with a sigh. Because why couldn’t things be smooth sailing after dealing with the Cartel?

That one word changed the air in the cab.

Elias folded the map cleanly, sliding it under his leg.

His fingers twitched once against his thigh, a medic’s readiness sharpening into a soldier’s. Alexei stopped spinning the candle and grinned like he’d been given a stage. Lachlan leaned forward, eager.

"How many?" Sera asked, looking down as she continued to pet Luci.

Zubair’s eyes narrowed at the horizon. "Counting smoke. Counting breaks in smoke." He exhaled slow. "Dozens. Maybe more."

"Riders?" Lachlan repeated, a wolfish grin splitting across his face. "Like horses?"

Alexei snorted. "Try motorcycles. Gas, gears, and teeth. The kind that don’t brush."

The first sound reached them then.

Low... distant... a rumble that didn’t belong to the sky or the earth. I

t was a growl on the wind, building, catching, doubling as more engines joined in.

Luci’s ears pricked forward. He tried to stand in the cab, only to discover he was way too big for the thing. But that didn’t mean his hackles didn’t rise or that the bone he had been chewing on didn’t drop forgotten to the floorboards.

A rumble vibrated in his chest, echoing the sound from outside.

Sera’s lips curved upward. She leaned one elbow against the window frame and let the wind catch strands of her hair. For a moment she looked like someone watching fireworks, not predators.

Zubair kept his voice flat. "They’re probing. Seeing if we flinch."

Alexei tapped the glass with the stub of his candle, smirk widening. "And if we don’t?"

"Then they’ll get closer."

The words had barely left him before the first of them appeared on the ridge to the right. A motorcycle, stripped and rebuilt from scrap, engine roaring like a wounded beast.

The rider wore a skull mask, teeth painted with grease, chains hanging from his arms as he raised one overhead.

Another appeared behind him. Then another. Then five more, cutting across the ridge like vultures finding a carcass.

They didn’t attack. Not yet.

They paced the truck on either side, their engines snarling, and their laughter cutting through the roar like knives.

One rode so close his boot nearly brushed the wheel well. He leaned in, shouted something guttural, and spat on the side panel before peeling away.

Lachlan shifted, itching for the fight. "Tell me I can shoot one tire. Just one."

"No." Zubair’s grip didn’t tighten, didn’t ease. He kept the wheel steady, kept the truck straight. "Not until they force it."

Sera’s eyes tracked the riders without moving her head. Her voice was light, curious. "They’re testing us."

"Yes," Zubair said.

"Like dogs," Elias murmured.

"Like wolves," Sera corrected softly, scratching Luci behind the ear until he let out a huffing sound. And she smiled again.

The riders howled at that moment, a chorus rising above the engines, wild and unhinged.

They didn’t know she was mocking them. Or maybe they did and didn’t care. To them, fear was currency. If they could buy it, they would own the road.

But there was no fear in the truck.

Zubair let the silence hold for another mile, two, three. The riders didn’t peel away. They multiplied.

For every one that dropped back, two more took his place, until the road on either side was flanked with steel and smoke.

Zubair didn’t like it. Not because they couldn’t win. They could. He knew that with the same certainty he knew how to breathe.

No, what unsettled him was their persistence. Raiders who didn’t scare easily were raiders who demanded blood before they’d learn.

The bridge came into view next—long, narrow, the railings rusted but intact.

And on it, spread like a set of teeth, were cars welded into a blockade. Spikes jutted out, engines gutted and left as carcasses.

Raiders leaned against the wrecks, weapons gleaming in the midday light.

"Show’s starting," Alexei murmured.

Zubair downshifted again, bringing the truck to a slower roll. He didn’t stop, not yet. He counted the cars, the gaps, the riders waiting.

His mind measured angles, weight, pressure points.

But the math was simple: they were boxed in.

The leader stepped forward then. Bigger bike, bigger mask, leather patched with trophies. He lifted his hand, palm out, the universal sign to stop. Chains clinked around his wrist.

"Tribute," he shouted, voice carrying over the engines. "Fuel. Guns. And the girl."

The laugh that broke from Lachlan’s throat was sharp enough to cut, but Sera was already moving.

She opened the passenger door, Luci slipping out before her with a snarl. She stepped onto the asphalt like she was stepping onto a stage, calm, unhurried.

Zubair didn’t stop her. He had learned not to.

The raider leader tilted his head at her. The mask grinned, though it was painted on. "You worth more alive than the truck, girl. Hand yourself over. I’ll make it quick."

Sera said nothing.

She just looked at him, steady, unblinking, until the man’s grip on his chain twitched once.

Zubair felt the weight of the moment. He saw the flash in her eyes—the calculation, the certainty. If she wanted, she could break him here and now. But she didn’t move. She let silence answer instead.

The leader laughed, too loud, too sharp. He mistook her stillness for hesitation.

That was when Zubair pressed the accelerator.

The truck roared forward, engine surging, chains clattering as riders scrambled out of the way. The blockade loomed, but he had already counted the gap—just wide enough, just shallow enough, if he hit it at the right angle.

Metal screamed as the truck forced its wat through.

Rusted spikes tore at the panels, sparks flying. Raiders shouted, cursed, swung weapons too late.

When they burst free on the other side, the bridge shaking beneath them, Zubair didn’t look back.

He gripped the wheel and waited for what was to come next.