"Bound By The Wrong Brother"

With a twist of the ignition key, the rusted Ford Mustang roared to life, its engine block shaking the entire chassis.

Harper grabbed the overhead safety handle as the tires squealed against the hot pavement. The car shot out of the gates and onto the sun-baked Nevada interstate.

Chloe immediately cranked the stereo dial to the maximum. Heavy indie rock blasted through the blown-out speakers, vibrating the floorboards beneath Harper's feet.

Her ears ringing from the sheer volume, Harper reached over and turned the dial down just enough to stop her eardrums from bleeding.

"I like your jacket," Harper yelled over the music, pointing to Chloe's distressed leather moto jacket.

Chloe glanced sideways, the rigid tension in her jaw relaxing slightly.

"I'm taking you to a real diner," Chloe shouted back. "No tourists. Just locals."

"Perfect," Harper said, her eyes scanning the barren desert landscape, tracking the street signs to ensure they were heading toward the coordinates her investigator had sent.

The Mustang swerved sharply, kicking up a massive cloud of yellow dust as they pulled into a desolate, gravel parking lot. A flickering, broken neon sign buzzed loudly above a squat, retro diner.

Pushing her door open, Harper’s heels crunched loudly against the loose gravel. The midday heat hit her instantly, causing a thin layer of sweat to break out across her collarbones.

Suddenly, a low, synchronized hum vibrated through the ground.

Harper turned her head toward the highway. Three massive, heavily modified matte-black Cadillac Escalades rolled into the lot, moving in a tight, aggressive tactical formation. They parked in a way that completely blocked the exit, their blacked-out, bulletproof windows radiating pure menace.

The doors of all three SUVs opened simultaneously. Over a dozen massive men in dark suits poured out, their eyes scanning the perimeter.

Chloe's face drained of color. She grabbed Harper's arm, her nails digging in. "Don't look at them," she hissed, her voice trembling. "That's the local syndicate. Absolute psychos. Bad news."

Harper frowned, rubbing her arm where Chloe had pinched her.

The rear door of the lead Escalade was pulled open by a guard. A towering, broad-shouldered man stepped out into the blinding sun.

He had his back to Harper.

He slowly raised his left hand to adjust the cuff of his custom black dress shirt. The harsh sunlight caught the metal on his wrist.

It was a highly distinct, custom silver watch.

Harper's lungs seized, the air vanishing from her chest. It was the exact same watch from the grainy photograph in her father's file.

The man, flanked by his guards, began walking toward the diner entrance with heavy, measured steps.

Chloe yanked Harper's arm again, trying to drag her toward the door before the men got there. Harper stumbled, but she couldn't tear her eyes away from the man's broad back.

Just before he disappeared inside, Harper quickly memorized the Nevada license plate of the lead SUV.

Her heart hammered violently against her ribs as she pushed open the heavy glass door of the diner, stepping directly into the lion's den.