Chapter 4 - THE NUMBER 317
Cole Mercer held the small piece of metal between his thick, ringed thumb and forefinger. He turned it over in the harsh light, his eyes tracking the stamped numbers: 317.
His jaw clenched so hard a muscle twitched violently along his cheek. The dark ink on his neck seemed to tighten as his pulse spiked.
"Where did he get this?" Cole asked, his voice barely more than a raspy whisper.
"He gave it to me right before he passed," Elena said, her eyes locked on Cole's face, monitoring every micro-expression. "He said if anything ever happened to him, I had to find the club cut, bring this key to the station on Highway 93, and put it in your hand."
Cole didn't answer right away. He stared at the key, his fingers trembling slightly—a detail that did not escape the notice of his senior road captain standing nearby.
"He said you'd know what it meant," Elena added, her voice cutting through the hum of the fluorescent lights.
None of the bikers answered. The men at the picnic tables exchanged dark, panicked glances, their posture shifting from relaxed confidence to high alert. One rider quietly reached down and adjusted the leather holster strapped to his belt.
Elena looked around at the suddenly silent, visibly shaken men. She felt the chill of the desert wind sweep across the wet pavement, rustling the loose bottom hem of her father's heavy vest.
"He told me to ask one question," Elena said, stepping closer to Cole.
Cole slowly raised his eyes from the brass key to meet her gaze. "What question?"
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Elena took a breath, holding her ground amidst the imposing figures surrounding her.
"Who was supposed to ride with him the night Gabriel disappeared?" Elena asked clearly.
