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Cole
Morning came too fast.
Cole hadn't slept. The safehouse still smelled of ash and oil, the air heavy with silence. Outside, the rain had finally broken, leaving the red dirt slick and shining under a washed-out sky.
He stood on the porch, cigarette burning low between his fingers, watching the club stir awake.
Deke was barking orders, the mechanics were patching up bullet holes in the bikes, and a few of the younger Reapers stood guard near the gate — eyes hollow from what they'd seen.
The Vultures' ambush had left scars. Three brothers dead. Two still clinging to life.
And Cole — well, he was starting to feel like something in him had cracked for good.
He flicked the cigarette away and went back inside.
Elena sat at the kitchen table, wrapped in one of his shirts, her hands curled around a mug of coffee. She looked like she hadn't slept either — dark circles under her eyes, hair messy, but her posture steady.
He paused in the doorway. For a second, he just watched her — the way the morning light softened her edges, the quiet resilience in her face.
"You remember more?" he asked finally.
She looked up, startled — then nodded. "Bits and pieces. Names. Places. One of the men, he wore a ring — gold, with an emblem. Same as one of the cops I saw at the checkpoint before they took me."
Cole leaned against the counter, arms crossed. "So they've got law in their pocket."
"More than that," she said. "Someone powerful. The way they talked — it wasn't street-level business. It was organized."
Cole's jaw flexed. "Politicians?"
"Maybe," she whispered. "I heard something about a shipment coming through Rockton airfield. Two nights from now."
That made him go still. Rockton was federal turf. Off-limits even for most outlaw crews.
"Deke!" Cole called.
The sergeant came in a second later, wiping grease from his hands. "What's up?"
Cole's eyes were cold. "We just got a lead."
---
Deke
Later that day, the table in the clubhouse was surrounded — twelve men, most looking like they'd been chewed up and spit out.
Cole stood at the head, maps and files spread out before him. Elena's notes lay beside them, her handwriting sharp and steady.
"Rockton airfield," Cole said, tapping the map. "That's where the Vultures are moving product — and people. Two nights from now. We hit them before they move."
Murmurs rolled through the room.
Deke exchanged a look with Reno, one of the older Reapers. Reno's face was hard, his tone harder. "You sure you wanna drag us into this? We just buried three brothers. You're talking about taking on the feds now?"
Cole didn't flinch. "I'm talking about ending this."
Reno slammed a hand on the table. "And when they come for us? When the cops who bought in start kicking down our doors? We ain't built for that kind of heat, Cole."
The room went quiet.
Cole looked around, meeting each man's eye. "They crossed a line. They're selling people like cargo — and they used our roads to do it. You want to look the other way? Go ahead. But I didn't build this club to stand by while bastards like that run free."
Deke nodded slowly. "I'm with you, Prez."
Half the table followed. The other half stayed silent.
Lines were being drawn.
---
Elena
She listened from the hallway.
Their voices were muffled through the wood — rough, angry, uncertain. She could hear the divide. Some wanted to fight. Some just wanted to live.
And she couldn't blame them.
She'd seen what power looked like — real power. Men in suits shaking hands with killers in leather. If the Reapers went after that, there'd be no going back.
But then she thought of the other girls in that truck. The ones who didn't make it.
She stepped into the doorway. "Then you'll need proof," she said quietly.
The room turned toward her.
Cole's eyes softened, but his voice stayed even. "What kind of proof?"
"I can get into their database," she said. "They kept records. Names, transactions, buyers. I saw the access codes."
"Jesus," Deke muttered. "You think you can hack into that?"
"I know I can," Elena said. "If you get me close enough."
Cole studied her for a long time. The weight in his gaze wasn't doubt — it was fear. Not for her skill, but for what it'd cost her.
"You sure about this?" he asked.
She met his eyes. "You're not the only one who wants it to end."
Something in his chest tightened. He gave a single nod. "Then we move tomorrow."
---
Cole
That night, when the others had drifted off, he found her sitting on the steps outside the safehouse, blanket around her shoulders, staring at the stars.
He sat beside her without a word.
"You ever wonder," she said softly, "if the road just… leads nowhere?"
He glanced at her, half-smiling. "Sometimes. Then I remember — it's not about where it ends. It's about who rides with you."
For a long while, they sat in silence. The kind that didn't need breaking.
Then, as the night wind rolled through, he said quietly, "You're braver than most men I know."
She turned to him, eyes glinting. "And you're worse at lying than I thought."
That got a low chuckle out of him.
The sound faded into something unspoken — something that hung between them, fragile as glass.
They both knew what was coming.
And they both knew there was no turning back.
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