The clubhouse was alivetonight.Music pounded from the speakers, laughter spilled from every corner, and the air was thick with beer, smoke, and sweat.
To anyone else, it might’ve looked like the picture of brotherhood.The Devil’s Crown MC had come a long way since the chaos of its early days.Fights were rarer now, deals cleaner, money steady.King had built something solid out of the ashes and Viper respected the hell out of that.
However, as the night stretched on, the noise pressed in like a vice.
Viper sat at the bar, a bottle sweating in his hand, his back to the wall out of habit.He tracked the room out of instinct.Faces, exits, and weapons within reach.The hum of conversation blended into one low growl that set his teeth on edge.
Across the room, King sat with Lena tucked under his arm.She was laughing at something he said, her head thrown back, her dark hair catching the dim light.They looked easy together, natural.
Viper took a long pull from his beer and tried not to think about the way his chest tightened watching them.He was happy for his brother, sure.King had earned that peace.Hell, they all had.Still, it didn’t stop the faint pulse of envy that burned somewhere deep in his gut.
Because Viper couldn’t picture that kind of life for himself.
He didn’t think there was a woman alive who’d put up with the mess inside his head or the scars carved into his skin.He caught his reflection in the mirror behind the bar.
There was a jagged line that ran down from his jaw to his collarbone, the faint burn marks that peeked out from under his shirt.He’d stopped seeing them years ago.Other people hadn’t.
Two of the club girls approached, hips swaying, their laughter soft and deliberate.One of them, Tina, ran her hand along his arm.
“You look tense, baby.Want some company?”Tina asked.
The other one leaned in close, perfume thick and sweet.“We could help you relax.”
Viper managed a faint grin, but it didn’t reach his eyes.He lifted his beer, shook his head.“Not tonight.”
They pouted, exchanged a glance, then moved on to the next willing body.He drained the rest of his drink and set the bottle down harder than he meant to.The sound cut through the music for a second, sharp enough to earn a few looks.
He ignored them.The walls were closing in.The laughter, the clinking bottles, and the smell all blurred into static.Too many voices, too many ghosts.He needed air.
Viper stood, grabbed his keys from the counter, and walked out without another word.
The night hit him like a balm.Cool air, quiet except for the faint echo of music bleeding through the door.His Harley waited where he’d left it, gleaming black under the pale light.He swung a leg over, started the engine, and let the rumble steady his heartbeat.
Out here, with the road stretching ahead and the dark wrapping around him, he could breathe again.
The miles rolled under his tires, the world reduced to the hum of the bike and the wind against his face.He didn’t have a destination in mind.Viper didn’t need one.Sometimes the ride itself was enough.Movement without meaning, motion for the sake of silence.
Still, the ghosts followed.He hadn’t been sleeping much lately.Every time he closed his eyes, the same nightmares waited.Sand.Smoke.Blood.
He saw the men he couldn’t save.Their faces looked half-shadowed in his nightmare, their voices echoing in his head.Then came the blast and the screaming.The split second between pulling the trigger and realizing he’d been too late.
He could still feel the heat of the desert sun, the grit in his teeth, the metallic sting of gunpowder in his throat.Could still hear his CO’s voice crackling through the radio.Sniper three, pull back.
He hadn’t pulled back fast enough.When King had found him years later, Viper was angry, half-drunk, living off adrenaline and guilt.Viper hadn’t expected King to offer anything but pity, but King hadn’t done pity.
He’d offered him a brotherhood instead.A way to channel the violence into something that made sense.A reason to stay alive.For a long time, it had worked.
The MC had become his family.The club gave him purpose, order, loyalty.Things the military had stripped away and left him starving for.However lately ...he wasn’t sure where he fit anymore.
The club was stable now.King didn’t need a soldier to hold the line.He needed a diplomat, a VP who could help keep the peace.That wasn’t Viper’s strength.Never had been.
He knew how to fight, how to kill, how to survive.Peace felt foreign.Like trying to breathe underwater.
He throttled harder, the Harley roaring down the dark highway.The wind tore at his clothes, the cold biting at his skin, but he welcomed it.Pain reminded him he was still here.Still moving.
He passed the familiar landmarks.The old mill, the ridge, the flickering neon sign of a roadside bar up ahead.A place he’d stopped at a dozen times before.Neutral ground.
Maybe a drink would quiet the noise in his head for a while.
