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The diner appears to our right, nestled on the lip of an aspen forest. The Catskill Mountains occupy the horizon beyond with their wooded ridges and snowcapped peaks. The welcome invasion of fresh air comes with every deep breath.

We pull over out of sight and look around.

“Three trucks in the parking lot plus two sedans,” Tassia observes, following my gaze. “The diner doesn’t seem too busy at this hour.”

I nod toward the one-story building with huge glass windows and a wooden porch that likely doubles as a sun terrace during hot summer days. “I clocked three bikes parked around back,” I say. “If Dante is in there, he’s not alone.”

“Which is why we need to be smart about this,” Tassia replies.

Slowly, I turn to look at her. Every day, I discover a new facet to this woman. “What are you suggesting?”

“Do you trust me?”

“I do.”

“Do you trust me to get Dante out without incident?”

“You’re not a cop, Tassia, and you’re definitely not trained to handle this kind of situation. Which is why I was hesitant to bring you in the first place.”

“I know. Which is precisely why I’m the one who should do this.”

“Tell me your plan,” I say with a sigh.

“How about I just show you?”

As soon as she sees my shoulders slump, she gets out of the car and sneaks around the back of the diner. I watch with a grin as she takes out a pocketknife and uses it to cut the fuel and oil lines on each of the Harley’s. How the hell did she even know where they are?

Next, she rushes over to the electrical panel and takes out her phone.

“What are you doing?” I say as a greeting to her call.

“I’m turning the power off. You need to go in through the front and nab him. I’ll be waiting for you in the car.”

As soon as I hang up, the lights go off inside.

I jump out of the car and cautiously approach the front door from the side. As I peer through the window, Dante’s head pokes out from behind the counter, and I rush in. Ignoring the handful of customers and the service staff, including Dante’s red-haired and particularly vocal mother, I bolt after him.

There are no other Stallions in sight, which means they’re likely somewhere in an unknown area. I can’t let Dante get to them, so I chase him into the kitchen.

“You can’t go in there!” his mother shouts.

“Watch me.”

Dante sees me coming. He jumps over one of the working tables in the sprawling kitchen. Stainless steel bowls and trays slide and fall with loud clangs all over the floor. I manage to tackle the fucker before he springs for a door in the back.

“Let me go!” he snarls and tries to get out from under me.

“Get away from my son!” his mother’s voice brings everything to a sudden halt.

Slowly, I turn around to find the portly woman standing dangerously close to my head with a cleaver in one hand.

The power is still out. I’m unfamiliar with the layout, and there’s barely enough light to see the outlines of objects more than five feet away.

I pull out my gun and point it at her. “Drop the knife and back up. Your son is under arrest.”

“Dante didn’t do anything!”

“I didn’t do anything!” he echoes as he struggles underneath me, but I’ve got a firm grip on the bastard. His mother chooses wisely and takes a step back.