The road east of Chișinău was a scar of cracked asphalt and frozen mud. Johnny Blaze sat astride a stolen dirt bike, the engine’s rattle a poor substitute for the hellfire V8 that lived under his skin. He wore a hoodie, not leather. He hadn’t smiled in months. The Rider was a caged animal inside him, starved and pacing. Johnny fed it just enough rage to keep it from breaking the door down entirely.
“There’s a boy,” Moreau said, sliding a grainy photograph across the table of a roadside café. The boy was maybe twelve, with hollow cheeks and eyes too old for his face. “His name is Danny. Three days ago, Roarke’s men took him.” ghost rider spirit of vengeance 2012
Danny collapsed, freed. The chains of shadow shattered. The road east of Chișinău was a scar
And Johnny Blaze would be his first horseman. He hadn’t smiled in months
Moreau raised an eyebrow. “No more hiding?”
Then Roarke stepped from the shadows.