The Exit Ramp
The SUV pushed toward the next exit.
A dangerous move. Too fast. Too sharp.
One rider had to brake hard to avoid being clipped but stayed upright.
Rook’s jaw tightened.
He pulled ahead, crossed safely into the ramp lane, and stopped his bike at the mouth of the exit — angled just enough to make the message clear.
The SUV braked hard.
It stopped several yards away.
Engines idled.
Traffic slowed behind them.
Across the lanes, the riders formed a quiet line.
Not threatening.
Not reckless.
Just present.
Rook climbed off his bike and walked to the driver’s window.
The driver stared at him.
Rook took out his phone and called 911 on speaker.
“This is Nolan Mercer. I’m on Route 70 near Exit 28. Gray SUV. Two men in front. Young woman in the back showing a distress signal. Vehicle is stopped. We need officers here.”
He ended the call and looked at the driver.
“They’re on the way.”
The driver said nothing.
Rook stepped back and walked to the rear door.
He knocked softly.
Three quiet knocks.
“Miss, my name is Nolan Mercer. I saw your hand. You’re not alone now.”
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then came a small click.
The door opened.
Leah stepped out onto the road, her legs trembling but still holding her up.
She looked at the row of motorcycles, then at Rook.
Her voice came barely above a whisper.
“You saw it.”
Rook nodded.
“I saw you.”
