Chapter 4: Circles of Iron
Scratch arrived with the saddlebag medical kit, tossing it onto the tailgate beside Cale. He cast a wary glance at the bleeding man, then out toward the open highway where the headlights of passing semi-trucks cut through the gathering dusk like yellow scythes.
"We can't stay here, Jack," Scratch said, his deep voice carrying an urgent edge. "The owner of this oasis called the state troopers twenty minutes ago because of the commotion near the pumps. If the local badge shows up and finds a man bleeding out with a federal-level hit on him, we're all wearing orange before midnight."
Jack didn't look up from packing a pressure bandage into Cale’s wound. "We aren't leaving until he’s stable enough to sit upright in the cab. Maya, grab that blanket from the back seat."
The girl scrambled into the truck, emerging a second later with a moth-eaten wool blanket that she handed to Jack with trembling fingers. He wrapped it gently around Cale’s shivering shoulders.
"Listen to me, Cale," Jack said, leaning in close so only his old brother-in-arms could hear. "Who was in the SUV? Was it the Syndicate out of Flagstaff?"
Cale shook his head weakly, his eyes rolling back toward the twilight sky. "Worse... federal task force. Turned rogue. They're cleaning house before the congressional hearings next month. They tracked us from Amarillo. They know the kid has the vest."
"Why the vest?" Scratch interrupted, squinting down at the tattered garment still clutched in Maya’s arms.
"False bottom in the lining," Cale whispered, coughing again. "Microfilm. Digital keys. Everything."
Jack cursed under his breath. The innocent-looking piece of club memorabilia was actually a neon sign pointing directly to the most dangerous men in the country—men with badges, federal funding, and absolute immunity.
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A sudden flash of high beams washed over the back of the truck. A black, unmarked Dodge Durango had just pulled into the gravel lot near the diesel pumps, its engine idling with a low, predatory growl. Two men in dark suits stepped out, their eyes immediately scanning the parked semi-trucks and the row of motorcycles.
Jack’s hand dropped instinctively to the heavy hunting knife sheathed at his belt. "They're here."
