At first it was just a faint purr in the distance. Then, the sound of Silverback’s KTM 1290 grew louder and louder, until Garrett could see it through the moonlight, kicking up a spray of desert sand. He didn’t know whether to feel relief or dread. Some part of him — that dumbass, seventeen-year-old part of him, hoped Silverback could fix this somehow.
The twenty-five-year-old part of him knew something damned shady was going on.
Ride together, die together. Silverback had come alone, even knowing this might be a mass execution.
Unless Silverback knew itwasn’t going to be an execution.
Silverback dismounted, looking intimidating in his thick leather jacket. He wore a fierce scowl, and his eyes glinted as he surveyed the scene. “Russell,” he said, turning his focus on the white man. “Wh
