All Chapters of The Biker's Rules: Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

Date = 21 JanuaryThe longest day ever.Place = San Francisco (Haunted house)POV - MelaenaWe’ve been here for hours.Or days.Time doesn’t move properly in this place. It just rots.Misty rain taps against the cracked little window high above us, the sound soft but relentless. The wind squeezes through the gap in the frame, sharp and wet and cruel, dragging the cold deeper into our bones. It smells like mold and damp wood and old dust — the kind of smell that settles in abandoned places and never quite leaves.I’m covered in goosebumps. My fingers are numb.I pull the thin, scratchy blanket tighter around us and shift closer to Luke, wrapping an arm around his small body. He’s warm in patches and freezing in others. I try to press as much of myself against him as I can, like maybe we can share survival.Maybe if we fuse together, we won’t break separately.The movement wakes Kiara. Her eyes open slowly. They meet mine over Luke’s messy head. We just … stare. No words.Her eyes are g

Date = 21 JanuaryThe day just gets longer and longer.Place = San Francisco (different places)POV - DamionThe hermetic door seals behind us with a heavy metallic hiss — like the bunker is swallowing us whole.“Let’s get ready, guys!” Uncle John’s voice ricochets off concrete and steel before the echo even has a chance to settle.The underground bunker hums with life — a low, mechanical symphony of servers, cooling fans, and machines so advanced they look like they were stolen from a government black site. Screens glow electric blue. Data streams scroll. Wires snake across ceilings like exposed veins.Blackburn Inc. doesn’t do anything halfway.Jesse makes a beeline for the high-tech computer bay, instantly blending in with the other brainiacs — a pack of caffeine-fueled nerds who look like they haven’t seen sunlight since 1919. Fingers fly across keyboards. One guy mutters about signal triangulation like it’s foreplay.“Guys, grab some clothes,” Logan calls, already halfway into a

Date = 21 JanuaryPlace = San Francisco (Haunted house)POV - DamionPain, devastation, helplessness … feelings I’ve buried deep inside long ago come rushing forward.“Now you can focus on our plan,” Lucinda snaps at her brother.Darren moves without thinking. He points the gun at his own sister. His hand shakes.Lucinda laughs. Actually laughs. Low. Delighted. “Besides … I never liked that bitch.”They’re all fucking insane.“Are you gonna die here because of HER?” Lucinda sneers lowly.Darren’s breathing hard now. Torn between obsession and blood.Lucinda takes one step back. Another. “Darren!” she yells. “We really need to go.”She swears softly, and then the shadows swallow her whole. Gone. Like she was never there. Like she didn’t just shatter my entire world with one calculated swing.And Mel — Mel hangs there. Too still. Too quiet. And something inside my chest stops beating the way it used to.That’s it. That’s the line. Whatever was holding me back — strategy, restraint, sani

Date = 21 January (late at night)Place = San Francisco (UCSF Mission Bay Medical)POV - DamionI look at Mel again. She looks so small in that hospital bed. Bruised. Bandaged. Unaware.And for the first time … I’m terrified in a completely different way. Because … there’s something else. Something I didn’t see coming.“Is it okay?” My voice cracks. “The baby … I mean. He punched her in the stomach …”The word baby still feels illegal in my mouth.Dr. Burden gives me that steady, unbothered doctor smile. “That’s why I’m here. To check on the little bean.”Bean. Luke called it. I thought he was being an idiot. Apparently, he was being accurate. And Mom caught it.I drag my hands down my face and pick up the fallen chair, setting it upright while Dr. Burden wheels the ultrasound machine closer. The soft mechanical hum suddenly feels louder than gunshots.“Let’s see what the little one is up to,” she says.I move closer to the bed. Closer to Mel. Closer to the screen.My heart is poundin

Date = 14 FebruaryThree weeks passed. A sorrowful time. A therapeutic time. A time of grieving and healing.Place = San Francisco (graveyard)That’s where you bury the dead.POV - MelaenaI shift my legs, trying to find a position that doesn’t make every muscle in my body complain like a group of pensioners at a broken elevator. The freshly planted grass covering the heap beneath me is soft, still damp from morning dew, the blades bending under my weight.I place the red flowers carefully against the brand-new marble tombstone. It smells faintly of dust and rain, the engraved letters too sharp, too fresh, like the universe hasn’t yet realized how wrong they are.A few tears slip down my cheek before I can stop them. I wipe them away quickly with the back of my hand, glancing around as if someone might catch me.Which is stupid.Because crying at a grave is probably the one place society actually allows emotional breakdowns without judgment.Still. I didn’t know it was possible to fee