CHAPTER 5 — FRIDAY NIGHT FIRE
1017 Words
(Gina’s POV)
By Friday night, I had already made up my mind.
I wasn’t going to let Reaper get under my skin.
Not after the way he dismissed our night like it had been nothing.
Not after the cold look in his eyes when he called it one night.
So when Tessa stood in my doorway, already dressed in black leather pants and a cropped top, grinning like she was about to drag me into trouble, I should have said no.
Instead, I grabbed my jacket.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
Tessa’s grin widened.
“The Black Vipers’ Friday party.”
My stomach tightened.
Of course it was.
Every biker in Raven Hollow seemed to revolve around those Friday nights like it was church.
And from the way Tessa said it, maybe it was.
The Black Vipers clubhouse sat at the edge of town like a warning.
Low brick building. Steel doors. Rows of motorcycles lined outside under floodlights. The deep growl of engines still echoed in the night air.
The moment we stepped inside, the atmosphere hit me.
Music. Whiskey. Cigarette smoke. Laughter. The rough energy of men who looked like violence wrapped in leather.
I stopped just inside the main room, taking everything in.
There were women everywhere.
Some in tight dresses draped over patched men. Some laughing too loudly around the bar. Some already sitting on bikers’ laps like they belonged there.
Tessa leaned close.
“Remember the rules.”
I frowned. “Rules?”
“No women near the chapel room,” she said quietly. “That’s church. Members only. Ladies are out of bounds.”
I followed her gaze toward a closed wooden door down the hall guarded by two armed prospects.
The seriousness in the room around that one space sent a chill through me.
This really was a world with its own laws.
Its own religion.
Its own danger.
Then I felt him.
I looked up instinctively.
And there he was.
Reaper stood on the upper balcony overlooking the main floor, one tattooed hand resting on the metal rail, black cut stretched over broad shoulders.
The President patch gleamed under the clubhouse lights.
He looked untouchable.
Cold.
Like the man who had taken me upstairs at Venom Lounge no longer existed.
Our eyes met.
For one suspended moment, the room disappeared.
Then he looked away.
Just like that.
Like I meant absolutely nothing.
The sting of it burned hotter than it should have.
Tessa squeezed my arm.
“Don’t let him do that.”
“Do what?”
“Make you chase.”
Too late.
Because I was already watching him.
An hour later, the party had turned louder.
Music pounded through the walls. Prospects moved through the room carrying bottles. Old ladies sat close to their men, marked by rings, cuts, or the way the patched members kept protective hands on them.
I noticed the difference immediately.
Old ladies were respected.
The other girls?
They were entertainment.
That thought was still settling in my chest when I saw Reaper coming down the stairs.
Every conversation around us shifted.
Respect followed him like smoke.
Men nodded. Prospects straightened. Clubwhores smiled like prey spotting danger.
And then one of them touched him.
A blonde in a red dress stepped into his path, fingers sliding over the front of his cut with practiced ease.
She laughed at something he said.
Then, to my disbelief, she let her hand drift lower over his stomach.
Heat flared in my chest.
Sharp. Instant. Humiliating.
Because he let her.
Worse—
His hand settled on her waist.
Casual. Possessive enough to make the room notice.
Tessa muttered a curse under her breath.
“He’s doing it on purpose.”
I tore my eyes away.
“I don’t care.”
Another lie.
A terrible one.
Because I cared so much it made my pulse hurt.
I moved toward the bar just to get distance.
Just to breathe.
That was when someone stepped into my path.
Tall. Broad. Dark-haired. Patched.
The road name on his cut read Havoc.
He smiled slowly.
“Well, you’re new.”
I lifted a brow. “Is it that obvious?”
He chuckled. “No old lady patch. No biker hanging over your shoulder. Yeah, it’s obvious.”
His gaze lingered a little too long, but unlike the club girls, it didn’t feel disrespectful.
More curious.
“You with somebody?” he asked.
Before I could answer, Tessa was suddenly beside me.
“Havoc, don’t.”
He smirked. “Relax. Just being friendly.”
But the moment he leaned a little closer and said, “I can show you around if Chains’ girl is too busy,” the temperature in the room seemed to drop.
I felt it before I saw it.
The silence spreading outward. The tension shifting. The dangerous stillness of men noticing something had gone wrong.
Then Reaper’s voice cut through the room.
Cold as steel.
“She doesn’t need a tour.”
Havoc straightened immediately.
Every biker instinct in the room responded to the tone.
President.
Authority.
Danger.
I turned slowly.
Reaper stood behind me now, close enough for the scent of leather and whiskey to drag memories of that night right back to the surface.
His expression gave nothing away.
But his eyes?
His eyes were fire wrapped in ice.
Havoc lifted both hands slightly.
“Didn’t know she was claimed.”
Claimed.
The word hit me like a slap.
Reaper’s jaw tightened.
Then his gaze dropped to mine.
And for the first time all night, his voice lowered into something darker.
More personal.
“She’s not.”
The words shouldn’t have hurt after everything he’d already said.
But somehow they did.
Because the jealousy in his eyes had said one thing—
While his mouth said another.
Reaper leaned closer, his voice barely above a murmur only I could hear.
“But if another patched brother puts his hands on you tonight, I’ll break his jaw.”
My breath caught.
Because that didn’t sound like a man who didn’t care.
That sounded like war.
- Writer
