“Jim, look alive!” Omer yelled through the comm.

Raynor glanced at the right side mirror, and saw a big blunt-nosed fueler pulling up next to him, about to swerve in the gap in front of his truck, crowding in ahead of all the others. The tanker’s door said HARNACK TRUCKING.

Raynor quickly put in the clutch and up-shifted but he was too late to fill the gap as the invading truck driver jerked in front of him and stomped on the brake. That forced Raynor and all the rest to do likewise, and within seconds, a percussive string of metal crunching metal resounded behind him.

“Damn it!” Raynor roared, joining the thunder of expletives that rattled the truck’s speakers. The frustration that had built up over the last hour sent adrenaline surging into his bloodstream. Raynor turned the engine off, set the brake, and was out of the cab in a matter of seconds. His boots delivered a muted thump as they hit the hot pavement. He quickly strode the length of the trailer in front of him as other drivers piled out of their trucks.

“Get that sonofabitch!” one of Raynor’s buddies yelled, and most of the gathering crowd echoed their support. One of the local farmers tried to get in his way, but Raynor pushed past and approached the driver’s door, fire coursing through his veins. He was about to throw it open and pull the bastard out by his neck when the door suddenly swung out.

A red-haired youth dressed in tattered shorts and a T-shirt hopped onto the truck’s drop step, grinning wickedly and cracking his chewing gum. Raynor recognized him immediately as the star of the Bronsonville demolition team. It all came rushing back to him—the explosive match in which Harnack intentionally flipped his own vehicle on top of Raynor’s as they went around a curve, nearly decapitating him in the process. The crowd went completely mad, and Harnack became an instant legend.