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Part 1 – Cole's POV
The next morning bled red across the horizon — one of those dawns that looked like fire before it burned out to gold.
Cole hadn't slept. He stood in the yard with a mug of black coffee, staring at the gate where those headlights had flashed hours before. Every instinct told him it wasn't nothing.
The club yard was quiet except for the occasional clang of a wrench or the low grunt of a prospect cleaning up after last night's storm. Deke walked over, rubbing a hand over his beard.
"You look like hell, Prez."
Cole took a sip of coffee. "I feel worse."
Deke leaned against the post beside him. "You think that truck was them?"
Cole's jaw tightened. "I think not knowin' is worse."
There was silence for a beat. Then Deke said, "The boys are talkin'. They say if the Vultures want the girl that bad, maybe we oughta hand her over before this turns into somethin' ugly."
Cole's head snapped around, voice low and sharp. "That talk better stop."
Deke didn't flinch. "Ain't sayin' I agree. But you can't ignore it. The men are scared. They signed up for brotherhood, not for draggin' a war into their beds."
Cole stared out over the yard again, the coffee cooling fast in his hand. He understood. Hell, he felt it — that edge of fear that came with leadin' men you might not be able to save.
But there were lines he wouldn't cross. Not again.
"Tell the boys this," he said finally. "We don't hand over victims to devils. Not while I'm breathin'."
Deke nodded slowly, the faintest smile in his beard. "Knew you'd say that."
Cole finished his coffee and set the cup down hard. "Then we get ready. They're comin'."
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Part 2 – Elena's POV
From the second-floor window, Elena could see everything — the yard, the bikes, the men moving like restless shadows.
She could feel the tension even through the glass. Eyes followed her whenever she stepped outside. Conversations stopped when she passed.
The night before had left her shaken — not because of the headlights, but because of how fast her heart had jumped when Cole told her to get inside.
That voice. That look.
The kind that made you believe you were safe, even when you weren't sure what safety meant anymore.
She turned away from the window and sat on the edge of the bed. The hoodie she wore was his — too big, smelling faintly of leather, smoke, and something clean underneath.
She should've left days ago. She'd thought about it. Packed her few things more than once. But every time she tried, something pulled her back — something steady and stubborn, like the man who'd refused to let her be just another ghost.
A knock came at the door.
She tensed. "Yeah?"
The door cracked open, and a younger Reaper — maybe nineteen, face still too soft for this life — poked his head in. "Prez wants you downstairs."
Her pulse kicked. "Why?"
"Somethin' you oughta see."
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Part 3 – Dual POV
The note lay on the clubhouse table, torn from a ledger page and stained with dust.
Cole stood over it, hands braced on the wood. Deke and two others lingered nearby, faces tight.
Elena stepped into the room, heart thudding when she saw the writing — thick black ink, slanted and mean.
> You kept what's ours. We're comin' to collect.
— The Vultures
The words might as well have been carved into her skin.
Cole's voice was low, steady, but the edge in it could cut glass. "Found it wired to the gate this morning. No sign of who left it."
Her mouth went dry. "They know where I am."
"Yeah," Cole said, meeting her eyes. "And now they know who they're dealin' with."
The room was silent for a long moment — the kind of silence that carries too much meaning.
Finally, Elena asked, "What happens now?"
Cole's gaze didn't waver. "Now we stop waitin'."
He looked at Deke. "Double the watch. Nobody rides alone. And get word to our contacts — I want eyes on every road south."
Then he turned back to her. His tone softened, just barely. "You stay inside tonight. You hear me?"
"I can help," she said, surprising herself. "If I see the tattoo again — the man with the feathers — I'll know him."
Cole shook his head. "You've done enough."
"No." Her voice rose, trembling but fierce. "I'm tired of being a ghost in someone else's story. If they're coming for me, I should face it."
He stared at her for a heartbeat too long — then something flickered behind his eyes. Respect. Maybe fear. Maybe both.
Finally, he nodded once. "All right. But you don't face it alone."
Elena exhaled slowly, the first trace of relief in her chest. The room still smelled of oil and smoke, but for the first time since that truck, she didn't feel powerless.
Outside, thunder rolled across the horizon.
Somewhere out there, the Vultures were moving.
And the road between them was shrinking fast.
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