Chapter 6 - THE RIDER IN THE NIGHT
VROOOOM.
The heavy, metallic thrum of a single high-displacement V-twin engine tore through the quiet night air, growing louder with every passing second.
Every head under the canopy turned toward the highway.
Out of the ink-black darkness of the Arizona desert, a single bright halogen headlight cut through the mist, illuminating the wet asphalt of the station entrance. A large, dark motorcycle pulled off the main road, its tires kicking up a fine spray of rainwater as it glided beneath the harsh fluorescent lights of the travel station.
It was an old, heavily customized black cruiser—a vintage model maintained with immaculate, obsessive care.
The bike rolled to a smooth stop right beside the row of parked motorcycles, its engine pulsing with a deep, rhythmic heartbeat before the rider reached out and killed the ignition.
The engine sputtered and went quiet, leaving only the soft clicking of cooling metal pipes in the night air.
The rider sat tall in the saddle. He was broad-shouldered, late fifties, wearing an aged leather vest cut from the same era as Daniel's. Beneath his black helmet, thick gray hair spilled down to his collar, framing a weathered, lined face with a short, neatly trimmed gray beard.
The bikers around Cole stepped forward, their hands resting cautiously near their belts, their expressions tense.
The stranger slowly reached up with gloved hands, unbuckled his chin strap, and lifted his helmet off his head, resting it on the gas tank in front of him.
He looked up.
Elena froze.
The man had striking, piercing light-gray eyes—eyes that looked almost exactly like her late father's. The jawline, the subtle arch of his eyebrows, and the posture were an uncanny match to the photographs she had buried with Daniel three weeks ago.
Cole Mercer took two slow steps forward, staring at the gray-haired stranger as if looking at a ghost returned from the grave.
His eyes drifted down to the leather vest worn by the stranger.
Pinned over the heart was an old, faded leather patch bearing embroidered white letters:
GABRIEL REYES.
May you like
Cole’s breath caught in his throat.
"That's impossible..." Cole whispered, his voice shaking. "Gabriel died fifteen years ago in Sonora..."
