(Part 1: Cole's POV)
The clubhouse was filled with the lingering scents of gunpowder and oil. Even after the rain, the air still carried traces of burnt rubber and blood — remnants of the fight that had erupted just nights ago.
Cole stood in the doorway, coffee cooling in his hand, observing Deke and two prospects hammering new boards over a shattered window. The noise was steady and rhythmic, but it did little to mask the unease that settled over the Reapers like a layer of dust.
He sensed it in the way the men looked at him — or rather, how they avoided his gaze. The unspoken question hung heavy in every stare.
Had bringing that girl here been a mistake?
"The place is patched up," Deke said as he stepped beside Cole, wiping his hands on a rag. "But the boys are restless."
Cole kept his eyes on the yard. "Yeah. I noticed."
"They think she's trouble."
"She's not."
Deke studied him for a moment — a look only brothers-in-arms could share. "You sure about that, Prez?"
Cole's jaw tightened. "She didn't ask to be part of this. None of them did. You saw that truck. You know what those bastards were doing."
"I did," Deke replied quietly. "But that doesn't mean the Vultures are finished. And if she has something they want…"
Cole downed his coffee in one gulp, letting its bitterness ground him. "Then we find out what it is — before they come knocking again."
He didn't voice it, but the thought lingered: if the Vultures returned, it wouldn't just be the clubhouse at risk. It would be his people.
Setting down his mug, he turned toward the hallway leading to the small room they had converted into a makeshift infirmary. His boots made no sound against the floorboards.
As he opened the door, he found the air inside cool and still.
Elena lay asleep, her dark hair spread across the pillow while her bruises faded into pale shades of memory. Her hand rested gently over the blanket, fingers twitching as she dreamed.
Cole lingered longer than he should have, feeling something twist in his chest.
He wasn't accustomed to this — watching someone breathe and realizing it mattered.
For six years, he'd drifted like a ghost through smoke. But now, for reasons he couldn't fully grasp, seeing her made that silence crack just a little.
Deke's words echoed in his mind: Are you sure about that, Prez?
"No. He wasn't certain about anything anymore.
He started to walk away, but her voice, gentle yet tense, made him pause.
"Do you always linger that long, or am I just special?"
---
(Part 2 – Elena's POV)
"You always stand there that long, or am I special?"
Her voice came out rough and husky, as if it hadn't been used in days. She blinked against the dim light, trying to recognize him in the doorway. Cole Maddox. The one they called Prez. The one who had pulled her from a truck filled with nightmares.
At first, he didn't move, just offered a small, crooked smile. "Didn't mean to wake you."
"Didn't mean to get rescued either," she murmured, her lips twitching in spite of herself.
Cole let out a quiet sound—neither a laugh nor a sigh—and stepped closer. He handed her a mug. "You look like you could use this."
The aroma of coffee reached her before she even took it. She hesitated, her fingers brushing against his as she accepted the cup—a brief touch that made her pulse quicken.
"Thanks," she said, staring into the dark liquid as if it held answers.
Cole folded his arms and leaned against the wall beside her bed. "How's the shoulder?"
"It's fine." She avoided his gaze. "You got shot, didn't you?"
He shrugged it off like it was nothing. "Grazed. I've had worse."
"Sounds like a club motto."
He smirked faintly. "Nah. Just life."
For a moment, silence enveloped them—comfortable at first but soon feeling heavy. She could hear the faint clang of metal outside, the low murmur of voices, the hum of bikes—the Reapers' world—loud, wild, alive—and here she was, a quiet presence that didn't quite fit in.
"You shouldn't be here," she said suddenly.
His brow arched slightly. "Where should I be?"
"With your men. They don't trust me."
"They don't have to," Cole replied simply. "I do."
That hit her harder than expected. Trust—a word that felt too weighty and fragile at once. She wanted to tell him not to trust her—that she wasn't worth it and had already caused enough pain—but the words stuck somewhere between her throat and heart.
Instead, she asked softly, "Why?"
He stared at her for what felt like an eternity, his eyes unreadable. Then he said, "Because when I found you, you didn't beg or scream. You just looked back—as if you were done running."
Her breath caught because he was right; she hadn't begged.
She had moved beyond that. Beyond everything.
Yet somehow, he had noticed it.
The silence that followed wasn't awkward this time; it felt… full. Charged.
Cole nodded once, as if that was all there was to say, and turned toward the door.
"Get some rest," he said quietly. "You'll need your strength."
"For what?" she asked.
He hesitated. "For whatever comes next."
Then he was gone — his boots fading down the hall, leaving her with the echo of his words and the warmth of his coffee cradled in her hands.
She stared at the door long after it closed. Something in her chest felt unsettled — as if the world had tilted slightly, and she wasn't sure whether to cling on or let go.
When she finally looked back out the window, the sky was glowing gold at the edges. Another day rising from the ashes.
(Part 3 – Dual POV)
The night settled gently over the desert. A soft breeze stirred the dust, carrying the distant hum of engines—a rough-edged Reaper lullaby.
The clubhouse lights had dimmed. Most of the men were either passed out or pretending not to watch their new guest's every move.
Elena needed fresh air.
She slipped outside quietly, the loose hoodie someone had lent her brushing against her wrists. The night smelled like rain on metal—sharp, clean, and alive. Rows of bikes glimmered in the faint light, chrome catching the moon's glow.
She found Cole sitting on the step beside his bike, a cigarette burning low between his fingers. He didn't turn immediately, but she could tell he'd heard her—the slight tightening of his shoulders gave him away.
"Can't sleep?" he asked.
"Didn't want to."
He smirked, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "Yeah, sleep's overrated."
She moved closer, hesitant, and sat down at the opposite end of the step. For a while, they stayed silent. The distant engines faded away, leaving only the chirp of night insects and the gentle rustle of wind through the trees.
It was peaceful—and somehow that made it worse.
Cole broke the silence first. "You remember anything more? From that truck?"
Elena stiffened, her fingers curling into the fabric of her hoodie. "Flashes. Voices. A tattoo on someone's hand."
He turned to look at her, his eyes narrowing slightly. "A tattoo?"
"Black feathers. Looked like wings, maybe. I think he was giving orders."
Cole crushed his cigarette on the step. "That's good, Elena. That's something we can use."
She let out a small, humorless laugh. "I'm not sure it's good. It feels like a target."
He studied her—really studied her this time—and she noticed that strange mix of toughness and humanity beneath it all. "You were already a target," he said quietly. "Now you're something else too—a survivor."
The words hung heavy in the air between them. She met his gaze and took in the faint scar along his jaw and the years etched into the lines around his eyes. She wondered what kind of ghosts haunted him when the engines stopped.
"Why do you care?" she asked softly.
Cole hesitated before responding, "Because I know what it's like to lose everything.""And I'm not letting it happen again."
The sincerity in his voice broke something inside her. She wanted to reach out—to touch the scar on his arm, to let him know she understood that kind of pain—but instead, she looked away, fearing that any movement might shatter the fragile silence.
The wind picked up, carrying the distant rumble of a truck somewhere far off. Cole's head snapped up at once, his instincts on high alert.
"You hear that?" he whispered.
Elena froze. "Yeah."
They both turned toward the gate—faint headlights flickering once, twice, then disappearing.
Maybe just a traveler. Maybe not.
Cole stood up, his eyes narrowing at the horizon. "Inside," he said softly, every trace of warmth vanished from his voice.
She hesitated. "Cole—"
"Now."
The change in his tone—protective and commanding—sent a chill down her spine. She complied and moved back toward the door as the engines in the distance faded into silence.
When she stole one last glance back, he remained there—standing in the dark beside his bike, watching the road as if it had shared a secret only he could comprehend.
The night was still quiet. But the air felt different now.
Charged. Anticipating.
And deep inside, Elena sensed that whatever peace they had found was already slipping away from them.