The mist was thick. The engines whispered instead of roared. And then—Tank stopped.Right there, in the middle of the cemetery, under a gray Alabama sky, the Iron Brotherhood stood still. A white rose in Ember’s hand. A patch in Tank’s pocket. And one empty space where a brother used to ride.No words.Just thunder in their hearts and silence on the road. They parked in a half-circle near the grave, boots crunching soft over wet gravel. Some had their heads low. Others scanned the distance, as if maybe Axel would walk out of the fog, smirking, late like always. He wouldn’t....
Continues…