She looked at the heavy steel lockbox. It was the size of a large dictionary, scuffed and dented, coated in twenty years of road grime. It had been hidden in a welded compartment beneath the gas tank, a space that couldn't be accessed unless the bike was completely dismantled. Or crushed.
“What is it?” she asked, her voice trembling.
“It’s none of your business,” Vance said, his tone instantly hardening. The casual arrogance dropped away, replaced by a sudden, intense focus. He took another step forward. “Step away from the bike. Walk down the highway. Don't look back, and you live. That’s the best offer you’re ever gonna get.”
“Don't listen to him,” Marcus gasped.
Maya looked at Vance. She looked at the three massive men flanking him. Then she looked down at the steel box.
If they wanted it this badly, if they had driven a two-ton truck off the road to get it, it was the only thing keeping them alive.
Maya dove for the dirt.
She snatched the steel box just as one of Vance’s men lunged forward. The box was incredibly heavy, at least twenty pounds, dense and solid. She scrambled backward, clutching the hot metal to her chest, putting herself out of reach just as the man’s boots kicked up the gravel where she had been.
Vance raised a hand, stopping his man in his tracks.
He stared at Maya, his jaw tight.
“You shouldn't have done that, kid,” Vance said softly. “Now you’re part of the transaction.”
Chapter 2: The Only Leverage
The heat of the metal box burned against Maya’s bare arms, but she held it tighter, pressing it against her ribs like a shield. It was locked with an integrated tumbler dial, the steel incredibly thick. There was no way to pry it open without a heavy drill.
“Stay back!” Maya shouted, stepping backward until her boots hit her father’s shoulder.
Marcus groaned, reaching up to blindly grip the ankle of her jeans. His hand was trembling, but his grip was fiercely protective.
Vance didn’t blink. He just stared at the box in her arms, a muscle twitching in his jaw. For a second, the total control he projected seemed to slip, revealing a deep, vibrating anxiety underneath.
“Put it down, Maya,” Vance said. He gestured to his men to hold their positions. “You don't even know what you’re holding. You don't know the first thing about the man bleeding out behind you.”
“I know you tried to kill him,” Maya fired back, her chest heaving. “That’s all I need to know.”
Vance let out a dry, bitter laugh. “Kill him? I should have killed him twenty-five years ago. Would have saved me a lot of sleepless nights.” Vance took a slow, deliberate step forward. “That box doesn't belong to him. He stole it from me. From the club.”
“Liar,” Marcus rasped from the dirt. He tried to pull himself up again, his face a mask of agony. “It was... insurance. To get us out.”