Chapter Four

Ash’s POV

The clubhouse felt different when I walked in the next day. The laughter was gone, the activities of last night had gone out and the atmosphere had shifted to something quieter and colder, like everyone was waiting for something to break.

Conversations stopped when I passed. Eyes trailed me. It was the same place I’d bled for, the same men I’d called brothers, yet it suddenly felt like enemy ground.

Knox stood near the bar, leaning against the counter, a cigarette tucked behind his ear. He smirked the moment he saw me, that kind of smirk that never reached his eyes.

“Well, look who crawled back,” he said, voice slick and playful. “You sure you’re still one of us, Ash? ’Cause word is, you’ve been getting soft.”

I ignored him and kept walking. He followed like a shadow that wouldn’t quit. “I’m just saying,” he went on, “Griff’s losing faith. Man needs soldiers, not saints.”

“I’m not here for a sermon,” I replied, grabbing a beer just to keep my hands busy. My fingers shook around the bottle. I hated that he noticed.

He chuckled low. “Good. ’Cause there’s blood coming, brother. You either pick up your cut or get cut out.”

I turned to him then, eyes cold. “You ever think maybe blood isn’t the answer?”

He leaned in close, voice a whisper meant to sting. “This is the club, Ash. Blood’s always the answer here.”

Before I could reply, Griff’s office door slammed open and he stepped out with fire in his eyes and a paper clutched in his hand.

“Everyone inside. Now.”

The room filled fast. Boots thudded against the floor, leather creaked as cuts brushed together, and the air thickened with tension. I stood near the back as Griff spread the paper across the table. It was a photograph. Trigger, one of ours was face down in the dirt with a bullet to the head.

My stomach knotted. Trigger had a wife and a baby. I’d seen him hold her once, smiling like the world wasn’t always cruel. Who would have done this to him? 

“This is what happens when we go soft,” Griff said, voice sharp as broken glass. “they left him like trash.”

A growl rippled through the room. Fists slammed tables and curses filled the air.

Griff slammed his palm on the table. “We’re striking back tonight. No mercy.” Murmurs rose. Some nodded, eyes blazing for vengeance while others shifted uncomfortably, glancing at one another like they weren’t sure this was the way.

I stayed silent. My chest felt heavy, like every heartbeat was dragging me closer to a choice I didn’t want to make.

Then Knox stepped forward. “We can’t wait. They’re laughing at us and we won't have that.” His gaze slid to me. “Unless someone here wants to talk peace.”

I met his eyes. “I want to think before I bury another brother.”

“Thinking doesn’t stop bullets,” he shot back. “You gonna write them a letter, Ash? Ask them nicely not to kill us?”

A few brothers snickered, uneasy laughter mixing with anger.

Griff slammed his fist down. “Enough! Ash, you in or out?”

The room went dead still and every gaze landed on me. I swallowed hard. “I’m not doing it,” I said quietly. “Not like this...”

The silence that followed my words was deafening t

Griff’s jaw clenched. “Then you better figure out where you stand, because if you’re not with us by midnight, you’re out. And I mean for good.”

He stormed out, the door slamming behind him like a gunshot. The room erupted with different noises. Some accusations , some curses, other voices rising like a storm. Brothers who used to have my back now muttered my name like I was a ghost.

Knox’s voice cut through it all. “Told you,” he said, smirking at me. “Saints don’t last long here.”

I didn’t answer. I just walked out, fists tight, heart pounding and the walls closing in around me. This is ridiculous .  

Outside, the air was hot. The sun burned low, casting red light across the bikes lined in a row like soldiers. I got on mine, but I didn’t ride back home. My head was too loud. Every sound felt sharp even the revving engines, the scrape of a gravel, my pulse… everything. 

I rode through the streets with no destination, just trying to breathe. Trying to remember who the hell I was before the blood, before prison, before the bikers. But I barely recognised the shadow I had become. 

Driving aimlessly, I ended up back at the clinic. I just wanted to see something that wasn’t drowning in violence. Something clean and human.

Noah was outside, leaning against the wall, smoking under the flickering streetlight. The glow lit half his face, shadowed the other, and somehow he looked more tired than I remembered.

He saw me and sighed like he’d expected this. “You don’t listen” he said.

“Guess not,” I replied, shoving my hands into my pockets.

He didn’t tell me to leave this time. Maybe he saw something in my face, something broken, something he recognized.

“The kid?” I asked.

“Still fighting,” he said. “Might make it.”

I nodded, staring at the ground. “Good.”

We stood in silence for a moment, the kind that says too much. Then he looked at me, really looked at me.

“You ever think maybe some wars just never end?” he asked quietly.

“All the time,” I said.

He nodded, eyes tired and old. “Then maybe the only thing left to do is pick what side you want to bleed for.”

I didn’t have an answer. Maybe because I didn’t know which side was mine anymore.

Before I could speak, my phone buzzed. Unknown number. I almost ignored it, but something made me check.

A photo popped up.

Griff was on the ground and there was blood everywhere. The clubhouse was behind him… burning.

My breath caught and my world instantly tilt. 

Then another message followed:

“You chose wrong.”

For a second, everything inside me froze. Then adrenaline rushed through me. I was scared and angry. 

“Noah…” I whispered.

“What?” he asked, frowning.

But I didn’t answer, I was already running.

By the time I got to the compound, flames were tearing through the roof. The sky glowed orange, thick with smoke. Sirens wailed in the distance, echoing off the concrete walls. Brothers shouted, coughing, dragging bodies out into the yard.

The stench of smoke and blood filled the air, thick and choking. And through the chaos, I saw Knox standing by the gate, a gun in his hand and a smirk on his face. Beside him, men I didn’t recognize, Reaper colors stitched into their cuts.

My heart dropped. He turned just enough for me to see the glint in his eyes before walking away, vanishing into the smoke like the devil himself.

“Knox!” I shouted, but my voice drowned in the roar of the fire.

I stumbled forward, searching, calling out names. “Griff! Smoke! Anyone!”

The flames cracked loud, heat searing my skin as I pushed through the wreckage. I tripped over a fallen chair and nearly went down. 

Then I saw Griff. He was lying face down near the bikes, blood pooling under him, his hand still clutching his cut like it could save him.

“Griff!” I dropped beside him, flipping him over, my hands shaking. His eyes stared past me, glassy and still. There was no pulse.

My throat closed and for a second, I couldn’t move.

This was my fault. I’d walk away when he needed me. I’d left the club divided.

And now it was burning.

The sirens approached and the tires screeched outside the gates.

Voices shouted my name.

“Ash Vega! Step away!”

Flashlights cut through the smoke and cops poured in, guns drawn and shouting orders.

“Hands where we can see them!”

I froze, still kneeling beside Griff’s body, blood on my hands, fire behind me and betrayal burning in my chest. One of them stepped forward. “He’s got blood all over him!”

I stared at my hands, slick and red and Knox’s smirk flashed through my mind. He’d set me up.

Griff was gone. The club was burning. And I was about to go down for all of it. Again. 

I raised my hands slowly, eyes locked on the flames devouring everything I’d once called home.

There was no more running now. Not this time.