Silence. Thick and holy.
Riot breaks it. “You dumb or suicidal?”
Blade steps into their space and points at his cut. “You see this on a man’s back? It means he earned it. It means he bled for the brother next to him. It means he’s got graves he visits on Sundays.”
The leader swallows but holds eye contact. Barely. “We can earn it. We’re not scared.”
Switch mutters, “He says while shaking like a chihuahua in winter.”
The kid turns sharp. “You wanna go outside?”
Switch grins slow. “You first. I’ll send the pieces out after.”
Blade puts one palm flat to the kid’s chest, not pushing, justremindinghim who’s the predator here. “You think wearing our mark makes you dangerous? That patch paints a target the size of your futures on your backs. You think you can live with that kind of enemy?”
“What enemy?” one asks, voice cracking.
Lucky taps the gun at his hip. “The kind we keep these for.”
All three boys flinch like firearms are a surprise.
“You don’t join the Reapers because it looks cool,” Blade says, leaning in. “You join because you ain’t got anything left but loyalty and rage.”
Rev chuckles darkly. “And sometimes even that ain’t enough.”
The leader’s bravado starts melting in real time, pooling at his feet. “We just… wanna look like we belong.”
Blade grabs the front of his shirt and pulls him up to eye level. “Then find somewhere you do.”
He drops him just as fast.
“And if I hear you throwing our name around again?” Blade adds, voice so quiet it’s lethal. “You’re gonna learn what belonging costs.”
This time when Blade jerks his chin toward the exit, they don’t posture. Don’t argue. They scatter like cockroaches in daylight.
The door slams behind them.
Riot exhales. “College really ain’t what it used to be.”
Switch cracks his neck. “Bet they go cry to whoever’s funding this stupid idea.”
Blade doesn’t look away from the door.
“They’re being pushed,” he says. “And someone wants to see how far they can poke the Reapers before we bite.”
My stomach knots. Because Blade is right. And the bite is coming.
The mood shifts instantly from humor to dread. And I can feel it deep in my chest…This just escalated big time.
My heart is in my throat and my hands are a little sweaty, but curiosity and anxiety link arms inside me and push me forward. Before I can overthink it, my hand pops up like I’m in third grade volunteering to read aloud.
Every biker head turns toward me like I just started juggling chainsaws.
Mason squints, eyebrows scrunching in confusion. “Are you fucking raising your hand to ask a question?”
Heat rushes to my face and I lower my hand halfway. “Maybe? Look, it’s clearly none of my business, so feel free to tell me to shut up if you want to, I just—”
“Anyone tells her to shut up and I’m kicking your ass,” Blade cuts in casually, like he’s discussing the weather. He doesn’t even look up from the rag he’s folding. Just says it like a fact of nature. Like gravity. Everyone accepts it because they know he means it.
