Yang Dao had just put on his jersey when the scenery was disturbed by some buzzing sounds. Eric shouted, "Desert Raiders."
The guards immediately got outside the cars and closed the cars. The people were shocked. Eric wanted to call Yang Dao back when a motorbike flashed between them, followed by thirty more motorbikes.
Yang Dao calmly put on his clothes. His hands combed his hair as if nothing was going wrong. Ten cars had one guard and one driver. Total twenty people, excluding ten cycling club members. All were surrounded by fifty motorbikes.
The bikes were all painted to match the desert. They all looked dirty, the people wore black leather jackets and jeans, their faces covered with black helmets. On their wastes, a gun was tied in a holster. Eric looked at the bike that stopped in front of him and asked in a cold voice, "What do you want?"
The other side spoke in a muffled voice, "Same old, passing toll. Leave the valuables or stay forever."
