The sun had barely sunk beneath the jagged skyline when the thrum of anticipation overtook the Highway Demons MC compound. Beers were flowing. Engines roared as if in celebration. Music blared from the main building, and the scent of grilled meat mixed with fuel and tobacco in the thick summer air. Tonight wasn’t just a party—it was a tribute to legacy.
Ash, the son of Chaos’s old comrade, was finally supposed to arrive.
Chaos stood near the edge of the courtyard, a bottle of bourbon in one hand, his weathered leather kutte worn like a badge of time and power. His hair had thinned, beard silvered, but his posture remained iron-straight. He’d told stories about Ash’s father for years—how they’d bled together, built this MC’s roots when it was just six men and a dream. Now, he was ready to
