Anger.
Not childish anger. Something deeper. Colder.
Because in that ruined saloon, surrounded by smoke, blood, and men willing to die for a secret older than he was, he finally understood what he really was.
Not a helpless child.
Not a runaway.
Not even just someone’s son.
He was the one thing the entire underworld feared falling into the wrong hands.
The engines outside grew louder. Headlights swept across the broken windows.
The leader pumped his shotgun.
The bikers took their places.
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