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Chapter 15 - Fallout

Part I — The Silence After the Storm (Cole's POV)

The storm broke sometime before dawn, but the world still looked bruised.

Gray light seeped over the compound, turning puddles into mirrors and the mud into something slick and red-brown. The smell of wet earth and gasoline hung in the air, thick enough to taste.

Cole stood where he'd been for hours — boots planted in the same patch of mud, the same one where Trigger had knelt. The rain had washed most of the blood away, but not all. It never did.

He'd sent the others inside before the sun came up. Didn't say a word — just gave the look that meant go.

Now, it was just him and the hum of cooling engines.

The gun still felt heavy in his hand.

He hadn't fired it.

Or maybe he had.

Even now, he wasn't sure which would've been worse.

He looked down at his reflection in the puddle — raincoat soaked through, knuckles bruised, eyes hollow enough to scare himself. Somewhere behind him, a crow called out, low and harsh.

He'd made the call.

Whatever happened to Trigger after that — mercy or exile — didn't matter. The club had seen him draw the line, and that was what mattered in this world.

But the truth didn't sit right. It clawed at him.

Because underneath all the noise, the lies, the betrayal — Trigger had been right.

They did have her.

And if the Vultures knew enough to play that card, it meant someone else was still feeding them scraps from inside the Reapers' walls.

Cole holstered the gun and turned toward the clubhouse. Deke was waiting on the steps, coffee steaming in one hand, concern hidden behind the lines of his weathered face.

"Morning," Deke said quietly.

Cole gave a nod. "That what we're calling it?"

Deke huffed a breath that wasn't quite a laugh. "You sleep at all?"

Cole didn't answer. The silence was enough.

"Boys are restless," Deke said. "They wanna know if we're moving. Some think we should take the fight to the Vultures. Others wanna lay low. You know how it goes."

Cole's jaw flexed. "Yeah. They start to forget what patience looks like."

Deke studied him. "What about you, Prez? You forget too?"

Cole's eyes lifted to the horizon — a faint line of gold cutting through the clouds. "I remember enough."

They stood there for a long moment, the quiet thick between them.

Finally, Cole spoke. "We move at sundown. Lock everything down, pack the weapons, prep the trucks. We go dark for a while."

Deke nodded, but didn't leave. "And her?"

Cole didn't look back toward the window where he knew Elena was watching. "She comes with us."

Deke's brows furrowed. "You sure about that? Bringing her deeper into this mess—"

"She's already in it," Cole cut in. "Because of me."

The words came out sharper than he meant. Deke gave him a long look but didn't argue.

When Cole was alone again, he dragged a hand down his face, trying to scrub out the ache behind his eyes.

He didn't believe in fate. Didn't believe in signs or second chances. But lately, every road kept leading back to her — Elena — like she was the one thing the universe refused to let him ride past.

And that scared him more than any war ever could.

He turned toward the open yard one last time. The clouds were breaking now, strips of morning light pushing through.

But the day didn't feel new.

It felt like the calm before something worse.

---

Part II — Shattered Morning (Elena's POV)

The first thing Elena noticed was the silence.

No engines. No shouting. Just the sound of the wind moving through the trees and the steady drip of rain sliding off the roof.

She lay there for a while, awake but still, staring at the ceiling fan as it turned slow circles above her. The sheets smelled faintly of smoke and oil — a scent she was starting to associate with safety, though she wasn't sure she liked what that said about her.

Sleep hadn't helped. The images from the night before kept replaying in her head — flashes of rain, of men standing in the yard like shadows, of Cole's voice cutting through the storm.

She didn't know what he'd done after that moment. Didn't know if Trigger was dead or gone. But when she looked out the window now, the ground told its own story — churned earth, muddy footprints, and the faint stain of something darker.

She sat up, pulling the blanket around her shoulders, listening to her heartbeat fight against the quiet.

For the first time since she'd arrived, she wanted to leave her room — not to escape, but to understand.

The hallway was empty. The floorboards creaked under her bare feet as she made her way downstairs. The clubhouse always had an energy — loud laughter, boots, clinking bottles — but this morning it felt hollow. Like the building itself was holding its breath.

Through the open door, she saw him.

Cole stood near the bikes, the early light catching the wet leather of his cut. His shoulders looked heavier than she remembered, like the night hadn't ended for him yet.

For a second, she almost turned back — part of her afraid of what she'd see in his face. But she made herself move forward, slow steps across the porch until she stood beside him.

He didn't turn right away. Just handed her a cup of coffee without looking. It was black and bitter, but the warmth steadied her hands.

"Did you sleep?" he asked finally. His voice was low, rough around the edges.

"Not really," she said. "You?"

He gave a small, humorless laugh. "Didn't try."

They stood in silence for a long moment, the world waking up around them — birds starting to stir, the rain tapering off into mist.

"What happened last night?" she asked softly.

Cole's jaw tensed. "What you think happened."

She frowned, watching him. "Did you kill him?"

He didn't answer. Just stared out over the yard, coffee steaming in his hand.

Elena felt a knot tighten in her chest. "He said they had me, didn't he?"

Cole's head turned sharply. "You heard that?"

She nodded. "Enough."

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Cole sighed, eyes heavy. "He said the Vultures were gonna come after you again. Said he thought he could stop it by feeding them intel."

Her throat went dry. "And you believed him?"

"I wanted to," Cole said quietly. "Doesn't make it true."

Elena looked away. The ground was still wet, the puddles reflecting the pale morning light. "So this is all because of me."

Cole's gaze hardened. "Don't do that."

"Don't what?"

"Blame yourself for their sins."

Her chest ached. "People are dying because I exist in your world, Cole. Because I was in that truck."

He took a step closer, his voice low but fierce. "No, they're dying because men like the Vultures think they can own whoever they want. You didn't bring that war here — they did."

She looked up at him then, really looked — the rain still clinging to his hair, the dark shadows under his eyes, the weight of too many choices dragging him down.

"You look tired," she said softly.

"I am."

And that was the truth of it — stripped bare, simple, human.

She reached out before she could stop herself, her fingers brushing his arm. The leather was cool and slick, but beneath it, he was solid, real. He didn't pull away.

The silence between them shifted — not awkward, just heavy with things neither of them knew how to say.

Finally, Cole broke it. "We're moving out tonight."

Her brow furrowed. "Leaving?"

"Going dark for a while," he said. "Too many eyes on us here."

She hesitated. "And me?"

His eyes met hers. "You're coming."

Something twisted in her stomach — fear, yes, but something else too. Trust.

He turned back toward the yard, finishing the last of his coffee. "You should get ready. It's not gonna be a quiet ride."

Elena looked at him, wanting to ask more, but knowing he'd already said everything he could.

So she just nodded, whispering, "Okay."

He gave her a small, tired smile — the first she'd seen in days — and it almost broke her.

Because in that smile, she saw the truth he'd never say out loud:

He'd kill to keep her safe.

And maybe that was the most dangerous thing of all.

---

Part III — Orders and Ghosts (Cole's POV)

By noon, the yard looked like a war zone waiting to happen.

Engines idled, gear was strapped down, and men moved with that hollow kind of silence that said too much had been lost, and not enough had been buried.

Cole stood at the edge of it all, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, a cigarette burning low between his fingers. He'd been up since before sunrise, not because he had things to do — though he did — but because every time he closed his eyes, Trigger's voice was still there.

The rain had washed the blood away, but not the memory.

He took a drag, exhaling smoke through his nose, watching it twist into the air. The storm had taken the sound from everything — even the birds stayed quiet.

Deke came up behind him, helmet in one hand. "Crew's loaded," he said. "Ammo split between the vans. Food, gas, meds — all set."

Cole nodded once. "Good."

"Where we headed?"

"North," Cole said. "Back roads, no stops till the ridge. We'll hole up in the mill house near Clearbend."

Deke gave a low whistle. "That old place? You think it's still standing?"

Cole flicked the cigarette away. "Doesn't matter. It's off-grid."

Deke hesitated, then leaned in a little. "You sure about bringing her?"

Cole's jaw tightened. "You questioning me?"

"No," Deke said quickly. "Just— we lose someone every time we try to protect something that ain't part of the life."

Cole looked at him then — steady, unreadable. "She is now."

That shut Deke up. He just nodded and walked off, barking orders at a few of the younger guys.

Cole turned back toward the open bay doors where the light cut sharp across the concrete. Elena stood there, hair pulled back, wearing one of the club's old jackets that hung loose on her frame. It was too big, too rough — but somehow, it looked right on her.

She caught his gaze and offered a small nod, unsure but trying to match the calm in his. He gave one back, short and silent.

That was all they could afford in front of the others.

He walked to his bike, running a hand along the chrome, feeling the familiar hum in his chest — that pre-ride stillness, the one that always came before chaos.

He swung a leg over the seat, the engine coughing to life beneath him. One by one, the others followed suit until the air vibrated with noise — raw, deafening, alive.

Cole glanced once more toward the building — toward what they were leaving behind. It wasn't much, but it had been home long enough to make the leaving hurt.

"Reapers," he called, voice cutting through the roar. "We move in five. Keep formation tight, no hero shit. Eyes on the ridge and guns ready."

A chorus of engines answered him.

As the club started rolling out, Deke pulled up beside him. "You think they'll follow?"

Cole stared down the road — wet asphalt stretching into mist. "They already are."

He twisted the throttle, and the line moved forward, engines thundering like a single heartbeat.

Behind him, Elena rode in the van with their medic, the window cracked just enough for her to hear the sound of the bikes. She watched the road coil ahead, gray and endless, and tried to steady her breath.

Somewhere in that noise — that dangerous, reckless sound — she felt something bloom. Not peace, exactly. But belonging.

Cole didn't look back. He couldn't afford to. But every mile that passed under his tires carried the same thought:

If the Vultures wanted a war, they'd just found one.

And this time, he wasn't running.

He was done running.

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