He pulled into the gravel lot, the tires crunching beneath him.The bar’s sign, The Rusty Nail, buzzed weakly.A couple of bikes were parked outside, a few old pickups.The kind of place no one asked questions and everyone minded their own business.
Viper killed the engine and swung off the bike.He stood for a moment, letting the silence settle before heading inside.
The bar was dim, lit mostly by the neon over the counter and the flicker of a muted TV.A few locals nursed beers at the tables.Country rock hummed low from the jukebox.
He ordered whiskey, neat.The bartender, a grizzled guy who looked like he’d been poured from the same bottle, didn’t bother with small talk.
Viper liked that.He took his drink to a corner table and sat with his back to the wall again, old habits refusing to die.From here, he could see the door, the bar, the reflection of headlights passing outside.
He sipped slowly, the burn grounding him.
For a while, it worked.The noise in his head dimmed.The ache behind his ribs dulled to something manageable.
Then a familiar restlessness crept back in, the one that always did when things got too quiet.
He rubbed at the scar along his jaw, feeling its raised edge beneath his fingers.People thought scars made a man look dangerous.They didn’t see what came with them.The memories stitched into skin, the nights when he woke up gasping, thinking he was still in the desert, the screams still echoing.
He’d had women before.Plenty of them.One-night distractions that blurred the edges for a few hours.But none of them lasted.They never could.Because sooner or later, they saw the cracks.The distance.The way he flinched at sudden noise or froze in his sleep.
He wasn’t built for softness.He’d tried once, years ago, with someone who thought she could fix him.She’d lasted three months before walking out, leaving a note that said she couldn’t live with a ghost.
Viper hadn’t blamed her.He’d just stopped trying.
Now, thinking of King and Lena laugh back at the clubhouse, he couldn’t help but wonder what it felt like to be known and still wanted.He finished his drink, signaled for another.
Outside, rain began to fall, faint at first, then harder.It drummed against the roof in a steady rhythm that matched the dull throb in his temples.
He stared out the window, watching the rain blur the world into streaks of gray and gold.
A motel sign flickered in the distance.Ridge Motel.The place had been around forever, half-forgotten, a pit stop for drifters and people who didn’t want to be found.He’d crashed there once after a long ride, back when the club was still cleaning up Blood Vulture territory.
He hadn’t planned on going there tonight, but something in the way the rain shimmered over the asphalt pulled his attention.
He needed to keep moving.Sitting still too long let the memories catch up.
Viper tossed some cash on the counter, nodded at the bartender, and stepped back into the night.The rain hit him cold and clean.
He swung onto his bike and started the engine again, the sound cutting through the quiet like thunder.
The road to the Ridge was slick, winding through the trees.The rain turned everything ghostly.Headlights flared against wet pavement, and shadows darted between branches.
He didn’t know why he headed that way.Maybe just instinct.Maybe fate.All he knew was that the air felt different out here.It felt heavier somehow, charged.Viper decided he’d spend the night there, return to the clubhouse in the morning.
****
The morning came toosoon.Mara woke with a start, heart hammering against her ribs.She automatically reached for the knife she’d stashed under her pillow.
It took a few seconds for the room to come into focus.The dull beige walls, the threadbare curtains, and the thin strip of sunlight sneaking through the window.
For a moment, she didn’t know where she was.Then the smell of mildew and cheap detergent reminded her.The Ridge Motel.The same faded dive she’d stumbled into last night when her legs refused to carry her any farther.
Her breath came slow, shaky.The dream still clung to her skin like sweat.The voices, laughter, and her father’s hand on her shoulder.She rubbed her face hard, trying to chase it away, but the ghosts of it lingered in the corners of her mind.
Sleep had never come easy, not since she ran.She pushed herself upright, stretching the stiffness from her limbs.Every joint ached.Her eyes burned from lack of rest.Still, she was alive.Still free, for now.That was all that mattered.
The motel’s clock blinked 8:07 in dim red light.She couldn’t stay long.She knew better than to linger anywhere too long.Her father’s reach stretched farther than people gave him credit for.
She swung her legs off the bed and started to move on instinct.It was a routine she’d learned over the past few weeks.Check the locks.Peek through the curtains.Make sure the street was empty.Then pack.Always pack.
