The distant rumble of engines stirred George from a deep sleep, his eyes blinking open as he strained to listen. The sound grew louder by the second, a cacophony of roaring motorcycles filling the early morning air like an ominous thunderstorm rolling in from the horizon. Instinctively, he sat up, his heart beginning to pound.
Next to him, Raven stirred, her sharp instincts waking her just as quickly. Lucy, too, was already moving, her hand instinctively reaching for the gun she kept by the bed. "What the hell is that?" Lucy muttered, her voice thick with sleep but tinged with alertness.
"Hawk's friends," George said, his voice grim as realization set in. "It's got to be them."
From downstairs, a loud, manic cackle echoed up to their room. Hawk. He was laughing, his voice so loud it was clear even from the second floor. "They're coming for me!" Hawk shouted, his voice full of sick glee. "You're all dead! You hear me? Dead!"
