Through the dense, foggy mountain air, a low rumble began to build. It was not thunder, but the coordinated roar of twenty heavy V-twin engines.
Cresting the highway ridge, cutting through the wall of mist and driving rain, came a massive motorcycle convoy. Twin rows of high-beam headlights illuminated the wet road in a brilliant, blinding white glare.
At the head of the formation rode Silas, the road captain of the Vanguard MC.
Clad in a heavy, drenched leather cut with club rockers stitched across his broad chest, Silas’s sharp eyes scanned the asphalt through the spray. Suddenly, his high-beams caught a flash of metallic silver reflecting on the highway lane ahead.
Silas raised his left hand high in the air, signaling the entire pack to slow down.