The air conditioner hummed softly inside the car while Megan scrolled through emails on her phone. Outside, the sunlight bounced off windshields and chrome bumpers, creating bright flashes across the lot. Nothing about the moment suggested anything unusual was about to happen.
Then the motorcycles arrived.
The sound reached Megan before the bikes themselves appeared — a deep rolling vibration spreading through the pavement like distant thunder. She glanced up automatically, curious but not concerned. Motorcycles weren’t unusual near the mall; riders often stopped there for coffee or lunch.
But when the bikes turned into her row, something about the way they moved made Megan look twice.
Five motorcycles glided slowly between the parked cars, engines rumbling low and steady. The riders wore dark leather vests and heavy boots, their arms thick with faded tattoos that told stories Megan couldn’t read. They looked like the kind of men who had spent years traveling long highways, the type strangers noticed quickly and then politely ignored.
Megan lowered her eyes back to her phone.
But the motorcycles didn’t continue down the row.
